Heat floods my face and I bite down on a smile I can’t quite stop.
He bends, grabs the knee-high boots from by my wardrobe, and gestures at the bed. “Sit.”
I raise a brow at him. “What, you’re my stylist now?”
“Damn right,” he says, dropping to a squat in front of me. “Now sit Agar judgment, I obey. My knees brush his shoulder as he takes my ankle in his hand, and a rush of heat spreads up my leg. His hand is warm…too warm and I fight the urge to yank my foot back.
“Relax,” he mutters, slipping my foot into the boot. “I don’t bite.”
“That’s a lie,” I shoot back.
He smirks without looking up. “Okay, I bite. But not your feet, Peach.”
My stomach flips, and I look anywhere but down at him. The ceiling, the wardrobe, the mess on my desk…anything to avoid seeing him kneeling in front of me like that. But then he runs his palm over my calf to smooth the leather and my breath catches anyway.
“There.” He tugs the zipper up and grabs the other boot. “Other one.”
I stick my foot out, maybe a little too fast, and almost kick him in the chest.
“Whoa.” He catches my ankle with one hand. His head tilts up, and for a moment our eyes lock. His grin is lazy, like he knows exactly what kind of mess I am right now.
“You always this jumpy?” he asks.
“Only when guys kneel in front of me,” I mutter before I can stop myself.
His smirk deepens. “Good to know.”
When he finishes, he straightens, helps me up, and I face the mirror. For the first time tonight, I actually like what I see and I didn’t even have to change my skirt.
“I look good,” I say, cocking a brow at him.
He nods slowly. “You look more than good.”
He closes the distance again and my pulse jumps. His hand comes up, cupping the back of my head and my breath hitches. Is he going to kiss me? Why?
But instead he just slides out my hair tie and steps back, letting my hair tumble down my shoulders.
His eyes run over me one more time. “Much better,” he says simply.
I bite my lip and force myself to break eye contact. “So… how long do we have to stay?”
“For as long as you want.” He answers right away, like he’s been thinking about it too. “Just say the word and we’re gone.”
Good. Relief flickers through me because I don’t know how wild this party’s going to be, and the last thing I need is him dragging me deeper into it if I start to feel overstimulated.
“Bryan will be there,” he cuts into my thoughts.
“Oh.” My shoulders tighten. “I already figured that.”
His eyes stay on me. “So you know what that means?”
“Yes.” I shrug lightly. “Don’t worry. I won’t freak out when you kiss me or something.”
His eyes narrow, a hint of something darker there. “And if I want to do more than that?”
Want? Are we on a want basis now? My heart gives a weird little kick.
“I mean…” I swallow. “If you’re not crossing any boundaries, I’m cool.”
He studies me for a long moment before finally nodding. “Alright.”
KATY’S POV
I shouldn’t have come to this party. That thought hits me the second Braydon pulls into the front lawn of the Sigma frat house.
The bass from inside rattles through the car, even with the windows rolled down, and the front yard is a mess of red cups, smoke clouds, and people yelling like their vocal cords are invincible.
Seriously, does nobody care about their lungs anymore?
“You look disgusted,” Braydon says, glancing over with that smirk he always wears when he’s amused by me.
He’s not wrong. I already hate this scene, and it’s hard to imagine how anyone considers this chaos a good time.
“This is going to be a long night,” I mutter, pushing open the door. The fall air in Boston nips at my bare skin, goosebumps rising instantly as I tug my skirt down.
The moment I step out, Braydon rounds the car and slips an arm around my waist, pulling me closer. I tip my head toward him, catching his eyes.
Tonight, we have to sell the perfect couple, and perfect love act if I want Bryan’s inflated ego to suffocate him in front of everyone.
“Ready?” Braydon asks.
I flash him a smile. “More than ready.”
Together, we push our way toward the front door, squeezing past a couple grinding against the porch railing and another pair making out like the world might end tonight. The closer we get, the louder the music pounds, until the bass is in my chest and my pulse is trying to match it.
Calm down, Katy, it’s just a few hours.
But my body doesn’t listen. It never does. Situations like this always flip some internal switch, leaving me jittery and hyper-aware.
The second we make it inside, it feels like I’ve been thrown under a spotlight. And I don’t mean to exaggerate, but the room actually seems to pause for a second, eyes flicking toward us. My knees. wobble, and I curl my fingers into fists just to keep them from shaking.
There have to be at least three hundred people jammed into this house. The living room has been stripped bare, with the couches shoved against the far wall to make room for a makeshift dance floor.
To the right, a cluster of International Relations majors I recognize are already half-drunk and arguing politics like anyone cares. To my left, sorority girls are shrieking along to the music, tossing their hair and dancing. A group near the kitchen is locked into a drinking game, and a few guys are going at it over beer pong.
Basically, the frat managed to squeeze the entire campus into one house and still give everyone something to do.
Braydon doesn’t seem to notice the stares as he steers me through the crowd, his hand firm on my waist. I can’t tell if people are staring because he looks good, because my n*****s are showing through this top, or because this is officially my first appearance at a frat party. Not like I’m that big of a deal for anyone to notice.
By the time we make it across the room, the attention fades, and everyone is back to their beer pong, screaming, or making out against walls.
“Cap!” A ginger guy smacks Braydon’s chest, grinning as we walk up to a group of jocks. I recognize most of them from his team and then Justin, who’s currently busy trying to swallow a girl’s face whole. Gross.
His tongue is practically spelunking down her esophagus. And thankfully, he hasn’t noticed me yet which is honestly a blessing, because watching my brother make out like that is nothing short of traumatizing.
“Happy birthday, man,” Braydon says, clapping Ginger on the back.
“Thanks, bro,” the guy Zach grins before his attention shifts to me and his eyes widen. “Well, damn.
And who’s this?”
“Katy, right?” another one pipes up. “You let Cap drag you to this madhouse?”
“You’re one hot chick!” someone else blurts, earning a round of cackles.
“What’s the deal, Cap? You’re seriously whipped over her, huh?”
“She’s too good for him anyway.”
They tumble over each other with laughter, shoving and teasing like frat boys do, and I feel heat creeping up my face.
“Peach, this is Zach,” Braydon says, cutting them off.
Right, Zach is still waiting for a response.
“Once a quick smile. “Happy birthday, Zach. Braydon tells me you’re the best goalie on the team.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.