AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Looking back at me, her eyes widening in excitement, “YES! Oh, my God, where did you find it?”
“In your bra and panty drawer with the rest of your underwear,” I say dryly but then grin.
“I could have sworn that I looked in there.” She strips her robe off and finishes getting dressed. “Why are you in such a hurry anyway? Nobody really starts showing up until about ten; it’s not like we are missing out on a lot,” Dani states as she looks at herself in the full-length mirror.
“I know, but this room just feels stuffy. Besides, I want early dibs on the guys.” I wink at her, because she knows that I’m not like that.
I’m far from being a virgin, but I’m also not one to have a new flavor of the week, and neither is she, but sometimes you just feel in the mood. The guys I want to see are never at the parties we go to, they throw their own, and Felisha is always there to remind us to stay away from the Sinner’s Frat House. She’s like a broken record every Friday and Saturday night when any of us plan on going out.
“Okay, ready. Let’s go.” Dani grabs my hand and practically drags me down the stairs. I’m so happy I decided to wait to put my heels on until I get downstairs, because I’d probably be tumbling down the steps right about now.
“Sheesh, where’s the fire?” Felisha giggles as she stands at her post by the door.
“No fire, just need to get to the good men first!” Dani uses my own words to answer.
The President of Saints Sorority House chuckles, “Well, have fun, and remember, no sinning!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, we know!” Dani and I are in sync as we respond back.
“Bye, Felisha!” I chuckle because that saying never gets old.
The first party weget to is at the Phi Beta Kappa, A.K.A. the Jock House. Typically, the guys are good-looking, but they are such meatheads, and they are more interested in getting drunk, but every so often, a partygoer may catch an eye, but not tonight. At least not for me, but Dani, on the other hand, has got her eye on two different guys.
I leave her as she talks to one of the two, to go into the kitchen where the beer keg is at. I’m not one for heavy liquor, so I stick with the gut rot, as I like to call it. I stand in line to wait my turn, and when a guy, who I’m sure is just being polite, hands me a solo cup that he just filled, I politely decline it.
“Sorry, but I pour my own drinks. You know, I’m not too fond of being roofied, so it’s safer this way.” I smirk at the guy, who then shrugs and drinks from the cup he tried handing me as he walks away. “Thanks anyway!” I call out sarcastically.
“That was a smart move. You must not be very drunk yet.” A blonde guy asks. He’s casually leaning against the counter, people-watching, “Catalina, right?”
I lift my cup in the air, “That would be me, but most just call me Cat.” I walk over and lean against the island across from him, “So, are you usually the creeper at all the parties?” I ask jokingly, “Hanging out in the kitchen, looking for your next victim.”
He chuckles, “Nah, I barely go to parties; I’m not huge on drinking.”
I eye his glass, “I suppose you’re going to tell me that that’s just club soda.”
“Oh, gross! No, it’s Sprite, actually.”
“Ah, I’m sure.” I grin and lift my own cup to my lips.
“Want to taste it?” He holds it out to me.
I raise my brow at him, “You watched me turn that glass down from the guy who I watched pour it, and you think I’m going to take a sip from a guy’s cup who is creeping on innocent women?”
He shrugs, “Something tells me that you’re not so innocent.”
“Touché,” I lift my cup, and he follows suit. After taking a sip, I study him for a moment, “So, if you don’t go to parties, and you don’t really drink, what are you doing here? Are you a D.D. or something?”
He chuckles, “It’s hard to get studying done when there is loud music and people having sex in the room next to where you are trying to study.”
That’s when it hits me, “Oh shit, you live here! So, you’re a jock?”
“Yeah, I guess you can call me that,” he grins.
I look him up and down, “Hm, you don’t look like a football player, but let me guess. You are a tennis player.”
I must offend him, because he pushes away from the counter and flexes his bicep, “Does that look like the arm of a tennis player?”
I have to admit; his arms are slightly bigger than most tennis players I know, “Okay, so not a tennis player or a golfer.”
