It’s just one party. And it would make Maddie happy. Plus, if our roles were reversed, she’d totally be my wing woman, no questions asked.
“Fine. I’m in.”
Two hours later, we meet Brooke and Soraya on the sidewalk out front of Sig Chi. The frat house is a three-story brick mansion nestled smack in the middle of Greek Row with white trim, a sweeping porch, and a couple of pendejos sitting on the roof, their legs dangling over the edge as they sip from red plastic cups.
“That’s an accident waiting to happen,” Soraya says, staring with unabashed disapproval.
“Something tells me the Sig Chi founders would die of shame if they could see their legacy,” I add, eyeing drunk partygoers who’ve spilled out onto the expansive lawn.
“Would you two relax already?” Brooke shoots us a look that says she’s not here for any Debbie Downer bullshit.
The girl is ready to party and dressed to impress in a slinky green dress that complements her coppery hair and sky-high heels that give her the kind of height most gymnasts can only achieve with platform stilettos.
How she manages to not break her neck in those shoes is a complete mystery.
“Okay, so how do I look?” Maddie asks for the eleventy-billionth time as she smooths her freshly straightened locks.
“Ah-maz-ing.” Brooke gives her a full body scan, gaze catching on the little black dress that accentuates Maddie’s curves. “God, I wish I had your boobs.”
I laugh and shake my head, becausesame.
“Are we doing this or what?” Soraya asks, arching a brow. She’s wearing a fitted, rust colored dress that looks incredible against her rich brown skin and for half a second, I wonder if I could pull off that shade of orange.Not likely. “It’s been a week and Mama needs a drink.”
We all burst into giggles at the announcement, which is totally out of character. Soraya rarely touches alcohol, and when she does, she has a firm two-drink limit.
Some girls on the team have given her shit about it in the past, but I respect the hell out of her for standing her ground and not caving to pressure.
“Let’s get you that drink.” I hook my arm through Soraya’s and steer her up the sidewalk, noticing for the first time that there are a handful of football players gathered on the porch. My belly clenches, nerves I didn’t know I had standing at attention. I don’t know the players’ names—hell, I don’t even recognize their faces—but they’re wearing official jerseys and Wildcat Football apparel, marking them as members of the team.
Probably underclassmen hoping to get laid.
“Who did you say invited you to this party?” I ask, twisting around to look at Maddie.
“I didn’t.”
“Qué cajones.” I shoot her a dark look. “It was the neighbors, wasn’t it?”
I should’ve known. That I didn’t even ask just goes to show how distracted this Wildcat thing has me.
Maddie grins, looking far too pleased with herself. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”
“We have vastly different definitions of that word.” I huff out a breath. It’s too late to argue, and I didn’t put on makeup just to sit at home alone. Besides, why should I let Parker—or the fear of running into him—dictate how and where I spend my Saturday night? I have just as much right to party on Greek Row as anyone. “Fine. But I’m only staying for one drink.”
Brooke laughs, the sound carrying on the balmy night air. “That’s what they all say.”
We climb the front steps of the house and get our red plastic cups from the baby-faced guy at the door. He gives us an appreciative once-over before zeroing in on Maddie.
“Save me a dance?” he asks, brushing a mop of black hair back from his forehead.
“I’m meeting someone,” she says, craning her neck to peek inside the dark foyer.
The kid turns to Soraya, completely unfazed. “How about you? Wanna dance later?”
Soraya smiles and pats his cheek. “You’re cute, but you don’t have the right equipment.”
“Huh?”
She ignores him and pushes Maddie through the door. Brooke follows, sweeping past him without a second look.
