Noah gestures over toward a nearby table where there’sa tray full of small glasses, all full of brown liquor. They’re a little bigger than shot glasses, but curved.
“Apple brandy. It’s aged. Rare. Hundred bucks a bottle. Take a glass.”
I down the rest of my whiskey and grab a glass of the brandy.
“Noah, I’d like toproperlyintroduce you to Niko, our newest member,” I tell him.
Noah finally turns to Niko, holding out his hand and giving him a lopsided grin. “Was glad to hear you and your brothers found each other. Shit, you really are like Wes and Hunter, but with black hair.”
“Did you call Olliefuck machine?” Niko asks.
Noah and all the other guys think I sleep around a lot, and no one knows the opposite is true.
I may have started the rumor myself.
In a moment of desperation, I was on a mission to begin college with something I’d never had: a reputation.
Guys like Niko and Noah are fuckboys, and being a fuckboy always means you getmoreaction. People seem to flock to them, once they’re known for good sex.
When I secretly started the rumor about myself, the rumor was successful.
But it still hasn’t led to any actual sex.
Yet.
Noah nods at Niko. “Because Ollieisa fuck machine. He’s lucky we’re just friends, or I’d fuck him myself.”
Noah pinches my cheek like he’s some doting grandmother.
I watch Niko’s eyes follow, like he’s almost angry that someone else is touching me.
You jealous?
You want to hurt me so bad that you’re even envious of someone else pinching my cheek?
I give Noah a little shove. “Fuck machineis just a nickname that he can’t stop calling me.”
Noah laughs, squeezing his arm tighter around me. “Because nobody in the three societies can shut up about you. Was Ollie like this in high school, Niko? Rumor last week was that he fucked one guy three times in a row?—”
“Noah,” I interject.
I can feel heat creeping onto my cheeks and I sip more apple brandy.
“Yo. Where’s my planner?” Noah asks, his eyes scanning the room.
“You need your planner in the middle of a party?”
“Roman just reminded me that wehaveto do a game of strip poker next week,” Noah says. “I need to write it down or I’ll—wait. I see it.”
Noah finally stops touching me as he points over at a table with a leather-bound planner on it.
“Grab a glass of water while you’re at it, Noah,” I call after him.
Once Niko and I are alone again in the crowd, I don’t bother to hide that I’m staring. I look him up and down, taking in his body, his tattoos, the silver necklace hanging around his neck.
He talks first.
“If you’re in Onyx Society, and I’m forced to be here too, there are only two options. We fight, or you leave me alone.”
