His voice is quiet when he speaks again. “It is.”
“Why don’t you get back to your boyfriend? You don’t have to keep an eye on me.”
I can see he doesn’t like being told what to do by a newcomer. He’s probably trying to figure out a way to leave without making it seem like he’s following my suggestion. I decide to be charitable and help him out.
“Do you know where the bathrooms are?”
His shoulders sag with relief. “Sure. They’re just down the hallway.”
I take my time looking at all the pictures on the walls of previous sorority groups. Class of ‘88 has especially interesting hairstyles. They look like my mother in that one picture where she’s dressed up like a Van Halen groupie. My heart clenches and I move on.
There’s a long line for the bathroom, so I keep walking until I reach an open door. I was listening to Nate when he warned us to stay out of any rooms we haven’t been invited into, but this door is wide open, and it’s clearly not someone’s bedroom or anything.
There are walls and walls of books, all lined up neatly on floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Most of them are leatherbound.The shelves are a solid mahogany wood.Wow.This is what I envisioned when people talked about the Ivy League—opulence. Stuffy displays of wealth filtered through an academic aesthetic. I walk along the rows, studying the titles, some of which are in Latin—I think. I’m running my finger along the spine of an English title when the shuffle of feet on carpet alerts me to someone coming in behind me.
I turn around to find Ben slouching into the room with a drink in his hand. His face heats up the second he sees me.
“Oh,” he says.
For some reason, his whole bumbling, shy thing makes me smile. He’s like a very young, very American Hugh Grant, from those movies Mama and Carina used to watch together. “Hello,” I greet him cheerfully.
“You’re not supposed to be in here.”
“Neither are you.”
He studies me a moment, sizing me up. And in that look, I see behind Ben’s bumbling exterior. He’s got the potential to be calculating, and to be very good at it—if he wanted to be. I’ve yet to figure out whether he has a callous bone in his body. One that would allow him to use the intelligence he obviously has to screw me over.
I come around the desk and perch against it, keeping my eyes on him the whole time. Perhaps I can preempt an attack? I have no desire to be captain of a team, but I do have a strong desire to get more attention than the captain of this team. To be considered a better player than he is.
“Why aren’t you out there having fun with your fraternity friends?”
“We refer to each other as brothers.”
“That’s weird.”
His eyes get even wider than they already were. They’rea very warm shade of brown, matching his shaggy hair, and all big and doe-like.
I can see he’s not used to people being so—some may say rude—honest.
“If you think we’re weird, why did you agree to come to a sorority party?”
Because I wanted to get the low-down on my competition.There’s honest, and there’s showing your hand. I play my cards close to my chest and shrug apathetically. “I was curious.”
He snorts before composing himself. I enjoy the flicker of honesty. The stuffy exterior showing some cracks. It must be exhausting being polite all the time. And in Ben’s case, to hide your feelings from everyone while doing it.
“Who’s the guy with Nate?” I ask, pretending I haven’t already been introduced. I want to see how Ben reacts when he talks about his competition.
Ben swallows. “That’s Evan, Nate’s boyfriend.”
I nod. “How long have they been together?”
“They got together last year, but they grew up together. Evan was Nate’s next-door neighbor until he was fifteen.”
First love. That’s got to suck for Ben. I’m transported back to being fifteen myself, falling for my ‘straight’ best friend. How exciting it was when I thought he liked me back. And how he led me on for years. Coming back when he wanted something, making promises he knew he wouldn’t keep. Between countless girlfriends and painful PDAs to prove to the world he was something that he wasn’t.
“Hey, are you okay?” Ben asks.
I flash a smile, hopping up to sit on the desk. I’m being a dick. If I want to discover how Ben deals with competition, this is not the way to do it. I know how it feels to be messedaround by your supposed best friend and be left heartbroken.
