Except it’s all the same.
Maybe it always will be. I’d wanted to leave Tennessee for college. I had even defied my father and applied to several schools on the East Coast. When I’d gotten in, he’d played his own card: I attended his alma mater or he didn’t pay. There was no way I would qualify for financial aid. He had known the whole time. Mom had tried to reason with him, but Angus MacLaine gets what he wants, especially where family is concerned. Now I’m stuck here, doing exactly what I was doing last year. I don’t even get to live in the dorms.
I have to clean this up, because I can’t handle having wet feet. Bypassing the living room and its walnut paneled walls, complete with a half dozen couples procreating against them, I head toward the stairs. There’s a bathroom down here, but the line will be too long. There’s another one next to Montgomery’s room. On the few occasions when I’ve been dragged here before, his sister, Ava, and I have snuck up to use it. I have no idea where she is now. I’ve lost her to the crowd along with my best friend. I wonder if I made a mistake not rooming with Poppy when she asked. Not that I had a choice. But I can’t help feeling like Ava and Poppy are leaving me out.
The second and third floors of the Beta Psi house don’t pretend to be civilized like the main floor. There’s no tastefully upholstered furniture, no framed portrait of famous alumni, no polished wood. As soon as my hand slips from the walnut railing and I step into the hallway, I’m in a different world entirely. The faint scent of aftershave, sweat, and pot lingers in the air. Empty bottles clutter the floor, and there’s a hole where someone has clearly punched the wall. I can’t imagine what it would be like if they didn’t have a full time housekeeper. I feel sorry for the poor woman who has to put up with these boys. I step over a passed out guy slumped next to a door but instantly feel bad.
Bending I check to make sure he’s breathing.
“He’s alive,” a deep voice startles me with the announcement, and I press a hand to my chest. Then he steps from the shadows. It takes me a moment to place him because he doesn’t belong here—and knowing how snobby Montgomery is he won’t be invited to join. I don’t know Cyrus’s roommate. We haven’t even been introduced yet, and he already nearly scared me to death.
“What are you doing up here?” I snap defensively. I realize how it sounds too late.
His eyes narrow. Washed out by the dim hallway light, they look silver. Even blanched near colorless, they’re bright—and burning with hatred. It steals my breath and I scramble to collect myself. Overreact much? But it’s harder to appear poised in his presence. I’d glimpsed him earlier and liked what I saw. Now? Wow doesn’t quite cover it. His black hair sweeps over his forehead, artfully unkempt. He’s wearing the same old t-shirt and jeans from earlier today along with a scowl. He clearly doesn’t care to impress anyone.
“I have more of a right to be here than you do.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and leans against the wall.
“Is that so?” I challenge, my heartbeat ticking up. Who does he think is? “Why is that?”
“Necessary equipment.”
That catches me off-guard. I stare blankly at him. “Huh?”
He snorts before gesturing to his crotch.
Oh.
“That qualifies you to wander around a frat you don’t belong to?” I shake my head, hoping that it’s dark enough that he can’t spy the heat staining my cheeks. I feel them burning with a mixture of embarrassment and rage.
“I was invited,” he says stiffly.
I’ve struck a nerve. I should stop. Instead, I dig the needle in farther. “That doesn’t mean you belong.”
A low rumble vibrates from him. His body, now rigid, ripples with effort as he tries to suppress it, succeeding only in making his muscles strain against the thin fabric of his shirt. Plenty of guys I went to school with were athletes. In our circle, appearance is as important as the balance of your bank account. None of the guys I know look like this. There’s something feral about him, a savagery that peeks out of those angry eyes that’s only intensified by his large body.
“You think you’re better than me? That you can play the spitfire and look badass? Because I see right through you,” he bites out. “Daddy’s lucky little princess born sucking on a silver spoon.”
The words slice me open and now he’s not the one who’s struck a nerve—not like me—he’s split me open, gutted me. Somehow this total stranger has found my weakest point. I don’t want it to be true. I can’t deny that it is. Being at Valmont is proof of that. I didn’t go off to school. I didn’t have anywhere better to be tonight than alone at a frat house in expensive, beer-splattered shoes.
There’s no way in hell I’m going to let him know that.
“Jealous much?” I plant my hands on my hips like I’m daring him to continue. Why not? I’m already bleeding. He can’t do much more damage.
I hope.
He opens his mouth but before he can speak the drunk guy on the floor falls forward and pukes on my feet. I jump back, a scream escaping me as the hot sick coats my skin. The night has officially gone from crap to the ninth circle of hell.
