I’m about to turn around and go find Lani when he spots me, and before I can make my escape, his huge palm closes around my shoulder, as if he knows I’m about to flee.
“Beth, come meet Liz. She’s in SDG, our sister sorority.”
Liz’s smile stretches wide, revealing a mouth full of unnaturally whitened teeth, framed by scarlet lips that match her nails. “Nice to meet you,” she sings, but I suspect she’s less than thrilled about adding another girl to the equation.
I murmur a cursory greeting. I’m not great at conversation, especially small talk with strangers. It doesn’t help that David’s hand hasn’t left my shoulder, and I try to focus on the tail end of whatever this girl who wants to sleep with him is saying, instead of the way his contact sears my skin.
“I don’t think that’s really Beth’s thing,” David murmurs, and I blink at him, mortified that I have no idea what was even said.
But David rescues me. “Sororities aren’t for everyone,” he says. “Rush starts next week,” he explains.
“Oh—uh, yeah,” I agree.
Liz doesn’t respond. The way she looks at me has unease rising in my belly—like she’s sizing up the competition or something. Well, the joke’s on her, because that’s the last thing I am. I am the girl-next-door to her vixen, the kid sister to her one-night stand. But that’s fine. In all of my fantasies of David, I never once imagined myself as some one-night stand. No, I wanted to be more than that, and that’s something this girl will never be.
“So, Beth,” she says, “is that your full name? Or is it Elizabeth?”
“Oh. Um, it’s Elizabeth. But no one ever calls me that.” It’s not that I didn’t know Liz is short for Elizabeth; it’s just that I haven’t enough interest in her to care.
“How funny,” she coos, though I don’t know why. It’s not exactly an uncommon name.
My smile is forced and, I suspect, only marginally convincing.
David’s hand squeezes my shoulder in encouragement, or camaraderie. He may want to fuck her—hell, for all I know he already has—but he doesn’t think much more of her than I do. I know him well enough to know that.
“You know, my mom once told me they’d considered calling me Beth. You know, as a nickname. But she said it was too…” Liz searches for the word, waving her hand in practiced nonchalance. “You know—like for a little girl. Childish. And she knew it would stick, so she went with Lizzie, knowing that as I grew up it could easily be shortened to Liz.” She laughs dismissively, flipping her long, black hair, as if it’s all just good fun. Like she didn’t just insult my name. It’s calculated, and I see right through it.
Yeah, this is why I don’t like people.
“Beth isn’t childish,” David interrupts before I can even work my way up to a response.
Liz’s eyes go wide—fake—as if she’s been misunderstood. Bullshit. “Oh, no. I didn’t mean she’s childish. I was talking about nicknames and—”
“No. The name. Beth. It isn’t childish.” David’s voice strengthens as he loses his patience.
Liz waves her hand again. “Of course not. I was just saying my mother—well, you know, it doesn’t really matter. She just preferred the name Liz. It was her hang-up. She went to school with some girl they nicknamed Bad-Breath Beth, and I guess—”
“That’s so funny,” David cuts her off. “My mom went to school with some bitch named Liz they nicknamed Lizard. On account of her reptilian personality.”
Liz’s mouth gapes and her eyes narrow. I chew on my bottom lip to fight a smile, clamping down the giggle trying to burrow its way out.
Liz pretends she doesn’t realize David’s dig was personal. Instead, she changes the subject, but if David was open to her advances before, he obviously wants nothing to do with her now. That’s one thing about these boys—my brother and his brothers. They like their fun, but fuck with one of their own and they close ranks like SEAL Team Six.
And I am one of their own.
* * *
Eventually, David’s frat brother Reeve emerges from the basement door like he’s only even mildly aware there’s a party going on at his frat house, and he gives exactly no fucks about it one way or the other. He’s David’s closest friend here at school, and idly I wonder how you become close to someone who seems so unapologetically closed off. Reeve forgoes the keg, retrieving a bottle of Scotch from some cabinet in the kitchen island, and drinks from it straight.
I’ve met him a couple of times before, but I can never quite get a read on him, and it’s a little unnerving. There’s something dark about him, and even when he’s partying with his friends—his brothers—he never seems sincerely happy. He doesn’t talk much, and I’ve never seen him flirt with girls, or do anything really, other than drink a hell of a lot of whiskey and keep to himself. But he’s been nice enough to me so far, so I suppose I should probably just mind my own business when it comes to him. And other than my small smile to acknowledge his nod—the extent of his greeting as he passes—that’s exactly what I do.
I sip drink after drink, slowly at first, until I lose count of how many I’ve had. The guys continue to treat me like I’m contagious or something, and David barely leaves my side all night, which I find both appealing and frustrating.
“You don’t have to babysit me, you know.”
His eyebrows raise. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“Isn’t it?” I accuse.
