Ben shakes his head. “I get it. Priestley should have never made you come. Bereavement leave is something you’re entitled to, regardless of what type of job you’re doing.”
“He’s right, though. I have responsibilities. I’ll just have to suck it up.” Hearing the words, I feel a pang of guilt. My vice president instincts kick in and I say, “Anyway, Priestley isn’t so bad.”
“Maybe not to you. But he treats me like I’m an idiot.” Ben drops his gaze into his cup.
My heart sinks.
“Hey man, don’t let him boss you around. He might be the president of the fraternity, but he’s not your dad.”
This only seems to depress him more. I slap him on the back. “Everything okay? I could talk to him for you, if you want?”
He smiles, and there he is—my carefree friend who always seems to let everything slide off his back. “Everything’s fine. Don’t talk to him, it’d only make things worse.”
I lean against the washing machine, catching the smell of detergent and damp clothes, and make a mental note to find some way to get Priestley off Ben’s back without making it obvious. Right now though, I think he’d prefer it if I changed the subject. “So … see any girls out there you like?”
Ben blushes and rubs the back of his neck. “No, you?”
I hadn’t even been looking. I shake my head.
“Have you … dated anyone, since Mira?”
The cup I raise to my lips swallows my groan. Ben perches beside me, the smell of his expensive cologne mingling with the damp in the air.
“You need to move on,” he says. His eyes are planted on the floor.
“It’s fine. I’m not even hung up on her anymore.”
Ben raises an eyebrow.
“I’m not, I swear.”
“So why aren’t you out there talking to any cute sorority girls?”
“Can I be honest?”
Ben nods vigorously, giving me that look he gets in his eyes when he’s been handed a difficult task and is determined to do a good job.
“The thought of flirting with sorority girls makes me tired.”
He’s quiet and I swallow, waiting for him to call me weird. But then he bursts out laughing and I’m reminded of why we’re friends—and why I’m hiding in the utility room with him instead of partying out there with everybody. Ben and I rushed together freshman year, and there were times when he was the only thing that got me through it all. Any time I tried to talk to my stepdad about how hard it was, he’d just laugh and say, “Welcome to the Ivy League,Nathan.”Not helpful.
“I know what you mean. Those sorority girls are high maintenance.”
“High maintenance? Mira told me they have detailed checklists for what they’re looking for in husbands, and none of us tick off even half their lists.”
Ben shakes his head. “It makes sense, I guess. They don’t want to end up with a dud.”
“Yeah, but this is college. Husbands? Really?”
He laughs, shrugging. “Maybe they’re the smart ones? While we’re fooling around at frat parties, they’re planning their whole futures.”
I lean into the washing machine with a sigh. “I guess, but I can’t even imagine getting married,can you?”
When I look at Ben, he’s gone bright red. He shakes his head.
“What the hell is going on in here?”
We both shoot up at the sound of Priestley’s voice. He stands in the doorway with his arms crossed. Shiny, black hair slicked back from his handsome face. He’s still wearing the navy blazer he was wearing earlier. He hasn’t even undone a button on his shirt. And he’ll still look just as polished when the party’s over. He looks us both over with disapproval. We look embarrassingly shabby next to him—I’m not even wearing a jacket—but anyone would look disheveled next to Priestley.
