But the more I think about it—and his new tattoo—the more I think he’s right. Part of why I chose to go away to school despite my parents all but begging me to commute was to prove to them and Sammy—and maybe even to myself—that I’m not the same broken girl I was three years ago. That I’m ready for this. Adulthood. Independence. All of it. And like David said—like his bicep will forever say—there are more things in heaven and earth…
It takes a full five minutes before Lani and I are even on the steps of the front porch.
“Ten dollars each,” some faceless frat boy tells the group in front of us. He’s a walking cliché, with his jeans, polo shirt, and RRU baseball cap.
“I can’t believe we have to pay to get in here,” I murmur to Lani, and we both hastily rummage through our bags and pull together twenty dollars. Lucky, since I don’t often carry cash, it being 2017 and all.
The group in front of us is allowed through the door and we walk up next. Faceless frat boy does in fact have a face, it turns out. And it’s actually a pretty handsome face. He is the epitome of All-American with his blond hair and blue eyes, but he reminds me of Brian, and I find it a little irksome.
“Well hello there, beautiful girls,” Frat Boy smiles wryly.
Okay, flirting. I remember how to do this, right? “Uh…hi.” Apparently not.
“Hi handsome, this your house?” Thank God for Lani.
His smirk widens. “Sure is. Are you freshmen or transfers? Because I definitely would have remembered seeing you before.”
“Freshmen,” we say in unison, and I wince.
But Frat Boy chuckles. “Welcome to Rill Rock. Hope to see more of you.” He looks between the two of us like he hasn’t decided which one he finds more interesting, but I doubt he cares. It’s early days, and we are fresh meat.
“Um, it’s ten dollars, right?” I murmur.
Another chuckle. “For some people, yeah. Not for beautiful girls, though. Put your money away.” His stare slithers down my body in a way that makes me shudder, and I peek over at Lani. But her smile is pleased and inviting, and directed squarely at Frat Boy.
“I’m Drew.” His gaze lands on me as he holds out his hand.
I shakily slip mine in for a shake, but he kisses my knuckles instead. “Beth Caplan.”
He drops my hand like it’s on fire and I startle. He abandons the flirtation, his smirk rebounding into a cordial smile. “Go on in. Nice to meet you.”
I roll my eyes and start in through the open door.
“Your bodyguard is really starting to cramp my style,” Lani grumbles.
I wonder if David warned the entire party about hitting on me, or just his frat brothers. It’s irrational—I know I should probably be grateful, considering I have zero interest in dating right now—but still, it bugs me. Because it isn’t my disinterest that motivated him. It’s that he still sees me as a child. Imagine if he knew about my suicide attempt? He’d probably cover me in freaking bubble wrap and write “delicate” across my ass in black Sharpie.
The party is packed, and people toss drinks down their throats faster than they can refill their cups. Everyone seems to know each other, and I start to gather that we may be two of the only freshmen here. Some guy offers Lani and me drinks, but I stop her before she can accept. I know better than to take a drink from a stranger, and I tell him that we’ll make our way to the keg ourselves.
“There she is,” David’s voice drawls from behind me.
I turn to face him and he falters for a strange moment. Of course, this has got to be weird for him, too—seeing me here, in his frat house, all done up and in a dress.
“Let me get you guys drinks,” he says, recovering.
Minutes later we’re being introduced to crowd after crowd, drinks in hand, but I do note the guys are exceptionally disinterested. Lani grows increasingly discouraged as the night wears on, and eventually she gets tired of her boy-repellant roommate, and excuses herself to see what kind of trouble she can find.
While the guys work hard to discredit every frat-boy stereotype ever portrayed, at least every time they get within five feet of me—an act that would be far more encouraging if it were earnest and not, in fact, an act—the girls, on the other hand, are walking clichés. They don’t seem remotely daunted by the fact that David has a girl on his arm, ostensibly at least. I mean, they don’t know me. They don’t know I’m not his date, right?
Of course, it’s possible that they know David, or know his reputation well enough to assume that even if I were his date, it wouldn’t make him any less available. It irritates me, and I shrug his arm from around my shoulders, masking it by stepping the few feet back to the keg to refill my cup.
It takes less than a minute, and by the time I turn around to make my way back to him, another lioness has moved in on my territory.
Not your territory, Beth, I reluctantly remind myself. It’s a familiar message, and you’d think that all these years of repetition might actually get it through my head.
I hang back, watching her overt flirting, watching David fall so naturally into his role in this little game. He was made for it. Hitting on girls, getting laid. My chest echoes with a timeworn ache.
Well, I don’t have to watch him in action.
