Weird that he didn’t insist on one last night.
As soon as I put weight on my injured foot, I have t0 bite back a yelp. The pain is so much worse this morning. I perch on the edge of Kai’s bed and prop the ankle of my sore foot on my other knee to quickly check the damage.
It’s quite a deep cut, but thankfully it’s not bleeding anymore. Doesn’t look infected either.
Limping over to the door, I ease it open and peek into the hallway to check if it’s clear. I hobble as quickly as I can to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind me.
Ha, never mind myfoot.
My entire body is aching from our romp through the forest, our energetic fuck-fest session in the cabin, and the long trek back to the frat house.
No wonder Kai crashed so hard last night. I can’t imagine how sore his muscles are after carrying me all that way.
I close my eyes as I wait for my bladder to empty. It takes a while. When I’m done, I flush the toilet and summon the little resilience I have left as I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
The past few weeks have been…disastrous.
I’m used to shitty days. Exhausting days. Terrifying days.
But this?
Holy fucking shit.
Nosy bitch I am, I root around in the bathroom cabinet.
Aw, how nice. Someone left a small first-aid kit in here. I take it back to the toilet, sitting on the lid so I can bandage my foot.
Then, I squirt out a blob of toothpaste someone left lying around and scrub it over my teeth with a finger. Gargle with some dodgy-looking mouthwash after reassuring myself that just how soap can’t ever be ‘dirty’, mouthwash is basically pure alcohol and can’t breed germs.
Then I run my fingers through my still-damp hair, trying to get it into some kind of style as I frown critically at my disheveled reflection.
When I realize I’m preening—for Kai—I leave the bathroom scowling, first aid kit tucked under my arm.
I don’t get very far.
Hardly out the door, in fact.
I walk straight into the guy who followed me to Pie Palace the other week. He’s in a faded blue zip-up sweater instead of his bright red hoodie, and no baseball cap in sight, but I’d recognize those pedo eyeglasses anywhere.
Does this frat only let creeps and weirdos pledge or something? Blake was bad enough with his feet pics…but this guy?
Said creep leans back, not bothering to be subtle as he checks me out. And yeah, that makes me feel like a piece of meat. More specifically, some really juicy ‘long pig’ cuts.
I cross my arms over my chest, not just to cover up my stiff nipples—I got a serious jump scare—but also in case he thinks I’m giving him any positive signals.
“Haven.”
“Frat bro,” I reply, just as matter-of-factly.
“Girls aren’t allowed up here.”
I snort-laugh. “What are you, five?”
When I try to push past him, he either doesn’t realize that he’s filling up just enough of the doorway to block me, or he purposefully doesn’t make way.
“Does Kai know you’re here?”
“Wh—of course, you...” I almost call him a name, butdamnthis guy is all kinds of freaky up close.
