He didn’t expect that. He knows I’m sassy, but he never thought I’d have the audacity to call him out on his taunt this brazenly.
I’m somehow able to stay in place even as his wide blue eyes roam my face as if he’s never seen me before. Is it just my imagination, or is his body trembling beneath my touch?
I don’t get to contemplate that further, because he wrenches away, sending me tumbling to the floor.
“Hey,” I shout, and Tristan hesitates and then steps forward, his eyes wide and dazed.
“Are you okay?” he clips out.
“Yeah, I’m fine, but?—”
He doesn’t wait for me to finish. His tall form disappears into the crowd as fast as a comet.
“Fuck you,” I mutter before pushing myself up off the floor.
Clearly, all the drunk people here think it’s perfectly normal for a partygoer to fall on their ass since no one even blinked when I did.
My cheeks burn as I weave through the crowd. Why did I even come here? I didn’t need to confront Tristan. I could have just waited until tomorrow and gone to the administration office to withdraw my application.
I don’t want to do that now. Certainly not after what just happened between me and Tristan.
I want him to pay.
The problem is, I have no idea how to do that. What could I possibly do to make him suffer for his prank?
I need air. Space. A chance to breathe without inhaling the stench of cheap beer and vodka from a plastic bottle.
The hallway opens up ahead, and I quicken my pace, slipping past a couple locked in a sloppy kiss. I’m almost to the back of this stinky frat house.
Freedom.
I’m about to reach the back door when a strange noise catches my attention. Was that a moan? It didn’t sound like a sexual moan. It sounded like someone’s hurt. I halt in place, glancing around the area. A strip of light peeks under the bathroom door.
That’s where it came from.
I walk toward the bathroom door. “Is everything okay in there?”
Again, that moan, and this one sounded even more pained than the first. A chill ripples over my skin.
The knob twists, which means it isn’t locked, but I don’t push it open. What if I walk in on a couple having sex? That moan didn’t sound like pleasure, but what do I know? I’ve had three unsatisfactory sexual encounters.
And then there’s an even more mortifying possibility. What if someone is pooping in there? I’d never get over the trauma of bursting in on something like that.
But what if someone is hurt? What if they’re badly hurt, and I made the choice to ignore them? This is a frat party full of drunk assholes, after all. There could be a woman in there. I’d never forgive myself if I ignored someone in trouble.
I twist the knob again, pushing the door open slowly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to?—”
The words freeze in my throat as the door swings wide. A deep groan echoes through the room, and it takes a moment for my brain to process the scene before me.
Tristan is standing with one hand pressing against the counter. His head is thrown back, his expression languid andglazed. His hand moves furiously between his legs as he strokes that huge, thick, veiny…
Holy fucking Jesus Christ.
That’s Tristan’s penis.
Am I dreaming, or did I really just walk in on Tristan masturbating?
CHAPTER 2
