“And who knows?” she adds, shooting me a sly half-smile over her shoulder. “Maybe you’ll meet the love of your life tonight, and by tomorrow you’ll be saying, ‘Riley who?’”
“Sam.”
“What?”
“My name. It’s Sam,” the man yells, leaning in close to be heard over the music. I’ve been trying to avoid making eye contact with anyone ever since Katie left me alone to go on the hunt for drinks. I don’t know where this guy came from, but suddenly he’s hovering over me, invading my personal space.
“Oh,” I reply, attempting a retreating step, only to realize I’m now pressed up against the back of the couch. “Hi.”
He smiles at me, waiting. When I say no more, he prompts, “What’s your name?”
“Oh,” I say again. “Uh … Steph.”
“Nice to meet you, Steph. Is that short for Stephanie?”
His hot beer breath washes over me, and I cringe—at his proximity and also his lame attempt at conversation. What else would it be short for? Stephen?
“Yes,” I nod, glancing away. Where the fuck is Katie? She said she’d be right back with our drinks, and that was fifteen minutes ago.
“Are you … looking for someone?” Sam asks, a little dopily. Clearly, the dude is farther along than I am in the drinks department.
“Yeah,” I answer. “My friend. She went to get us drinks.”
He casts his head from side to side as though searching for her, though he has no idea who I’m referring to. Then he shrugs and grins. “Well, I can help you out with that. Come on.” He tilts his head towards the kitchen and the location of the kegs.
“Oh, umm, no thanks. I’ll just wait here.” I bite my lip, and he zeroes in on it.Shit.
“Nah,” he insists, taking my hand. “Your friend’s probably still over there anyway; there’s a line for the keg. But guess what?”
“What?” I ask, glancing around once more for Katie. Damn her.
He leans in close again, as though to impart a secret, and I sigh internally. “I have a hook-up.”
He stares at me, waiting for me to ask, so I do. “A hook-up?”
“Uh-huh. One of our frat pledges is manning the keg.” He shrugs with a pleased smirk. “I can bypassthe line.”
“Oh, that’s … cool,” I say, because it’s obvious he wants me to be impressed.
“So you’re a freshman?” he asks, and I nod. “I’m a junior.”
I nod again, not wanting to engage with this guy any further, but too polite to walk away. Plus, he still hasn’t dropped my hand, a fact he’s reminded of a moment later when he gives my arm a tug, saying, “Come on. Let’s get you that drink.”
“Youcan’tbeserious!”I exclaim, with a chuckle.
Sam holds his hands up as though to ward off my disbelief. “Swear to God, she pinched my ass,” he says.
I shoot him a skeptical look. “Really. Mrs.McNie? The librarian at Trinity Hall?”
He nods. “The one and only. I was doing research for my astronomy paper, and she just came up to me and …” he spins around, stumbling slightly in the process before gesticulating at his behind.
And I have to admit itdoeslook extremely pinchable.
“But she’s got to be in her late sixties,” I argue.
He shrugs, giving me a sly smile and smacking himself on the ass. “These buns of steel appeal to all ages, baby.”
I throw my head back and laugh—a real, genuine one—for the first time in a long time. And it feels good.
