Weston’s eyes left mine and landed on Gabe. Nodding, he shook his hand firmly. “Yeah, I think it was archery.”
“Best class ever.” Gabe sighed.
“Ah, now I remember.” Weston laughed. “You’re the guy who shot the professor in the ass with the arrow.”
“She turned me down.” Gabe shrugged.
“Sexual harassment.” Lisa fake-coughed.
Waving her off, Gabe continued talking. “How’s practice going?”
“He’s talking football,” Lisa whispered. “Shh, it’s like watching a baby turtle trying to find the ocean. He’s either going to get eaten because he knows shit about sports, or he’s going to swim free into the ocean and discover he’s a real boy.”
“It’s good.” Weston ignored us. “You know how practice is, brutal. But it’s going to be a good season.”
“You think you’ll get a bowl this year?” Gabe asked, sounding genuinely interested.
“Good Lord the turtle made it!” Lisa whispered in my ear.
“Yeah.” Weston’s eyes flickered to mine before he nodded at Gabe. “Coach is hoping for the championship. After the loss last year to Oregon, we kind of want to redeem ourselves.”
“Tell me about it.” Gabe sighed. “I hate the Ducks.”
“Green and yellow, green and yellow,” Lisa sang behind him.
“I will think nothing about punching you in the face if you sing that again.” Gabe swore.
Lisa grinned. “Well, my work here is done. I just saw one of the guys I met at registration. He walked in, our eyes met. Now I’m going to meet him in the middle of the dance floor.”
When she left, Gabe murmured, “She likes to narrate her own life.”
“Cool.” I laughed. “She needs her own soundtrack.”
“Don’t tell her that.” Gabe shook his head. “I wouldn’t put it past her to start singing rather than talking. And I’m already losing IQ points by hanging out with her.”
The conversation slid into a lull. Weston was still staring. Gabe’s grin grew wider by the minute. Finally, he mumbled something about spiking the punch and walked off. Which really just meant that Weston was the worst RA in the history of RA’s. Especially if he was okay with Gabe spiking things.
“Let’s take a walk.” He offered his arm.
I paused, staring at the outstretched arm and then back at his eyes. “I don’t know if I should.”
“I didn’t do it.” He swallowed, his eyes closing for a brief second before meeting mine again. “The rape? I’m sure you’ve heard about it by now. You can trust me. In fact, I’ll even let you have one of the rape whistles.”
“You carry them?” My eyes widened.
“Hey, guys get raped too.” His smile fell, and then he reached into his pocket and handed me a whistle. “Don’t forget the most important part about owning one of these babies.”
“What?” I took the red whistle in my hands and examined it.
Weston’s breath fanned my face. “Blow.”
“Huh?” Okay, I was going to pass out. His lips were inches from mine.
“You have to blow…” His full lips expanded into a bold grin. “The whistle. You know, in order to get help.”
“Oh,” I said, breathless. “Right.”
He led me out of the lobby. I was lucky to be walking in straight lines after that little exchange. I had no idea why I’d captured his attention, but I still had that sinking feeling in the back of my mind that it wasn’t a good thing. Being his friend would never work and being more scared me half to death.
Chapter Seven
Note to self, when a girl’s smile makes you forget your own name — you’re in some deep shit.
Weston
“This way.” I grabbed her hand and led her down the street. “So, tell me about yourself, Kiersten.” Lame. My first question was so unoriginal I wanted to punch myself. That was what freshman orientation did to a person.
“I’m eighteen.”
“No, I didn’t—” I turned and found myself under the full force of her green eyes penetrating mine. “That is, yes, I’m glad you’re over eighteen, I don’t want to get in trouble for holding your hand or anything.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t strike me as the type of guy who just holds hands.”
“You’re right.” I exhaled. “But I’m a fan of hands, or maybe it’s just yours, Lamb.” It was true. I liked her hands. Everything about her screamed innocence. I almost felt bad for corrupting her, for wanting her. Almost being the key word.
“And there’s the nickname.”
”There it is,” I agreed, then squeezed her hand more. We walked across the lawn and down to the sidewalk in silence. As we passed a few cars, the silence stretched out even further, then finally, beneath the second street lamp, she stopped, tugging her hand back.
“Look…” She shifted nervously from foot to foot, her innocent eyes darted from the ground to my face. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do here. I appreciate your help and stuff today, but…”
Amused, I raised my eyebrows. “But?”
“I’m not like that,” she whispered.
“Like what?”
“That.” Her cheeks were stained pink. “I don’t hook up with guys.”
“Oh, that.” I grinned at her embarrassment. “I don’t either.”
“Huh?”
“Hook up with guys. I’m not like that. So now that we’ve had that particular conversation, we can be friends.” I reached for her hand again.
“I, uh—” She wasn’t able to finish her sentence, because one of my teammates had the worst timing in the universe and just happened to drive by.
“Michels!” he shouted out his window. “Party at Kappa tonight!” He honked his horn and peeled out.
“Friends?” she asked.
“Worse.” I chuckled. “Teammates.” I stopped walking and touched her arm lightly. “You want to go to a different party?”
“I should probably get back—”
“Come.” I pulled her closer to me. “Just for a few minutes. I’ll introduce you to some upperclassmen, get you some milk, and have you tucked into your bed safely by midnight.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Fine, I’ll have you tucked in alone. As in, without me.”
Kiersten looked down the street. “Fine. Thirty minutes and don’t think I won’t use the rape whistle!”
“Please,” I whispered. “Then when you return it I’ll know exactly what it feels to have your lips blowing across mine.”
She flinched. “You can’t say things like that to me.”
“Why?” I tilted her chin toward my face. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Fine.” I sighed.“I’ll just think them and look longingly in your direction every few minutes, sound good?”
She laughed. “Whatever makes you happy.”
“Whistles.” I nodded. “And redheads.” I reached for her hand again. “Virgins.” Interesting, her blush deepened as her hand clenched mine tighter. I was good at reading people and I’d bet my entire fortune she’d never even been kissed. It was why it made her uncomfortable. “Virgin lamb…” I sighed. “I may just sacrifice you on the altar.”
“I’d rather not be sacrificed.”
“You never know.” I gave her a cocky grin, “You may like it.”
“You never know.” She sighed dreamily. “I may stab you.”
“Fair.” I chuckled. “Now, let’s go. People to see, milk to drink, freshmen to corrupt.”
Chapter Eight
Things are never as they seem — ever.
Kiersten
I’d never been to a frat house. My only experience in even knowing what they looked like could be traced to the movies. You know, guys partying, people drinking, cups littering the lawn.
What I didn’t expect was actual order.
The music was loud, but the spread was insane.
Alcohol was everywhere, food was everywhere, people were dressed like movie stars, and every single guy looked like he’d just stepped from a magazine.
“Guys,” Weston put his hands on my shoulders and urged me forward, “This is Kiersten.”
“Hey,” a few of them mumbled in greeting and smiled. They didn’t look like your typical jocks. In fact, most of them were sipping their drinks and discussing football, while the girls around them were happily chatting about classes.
“Oh…” Weston tugged my hand. “And those guys over there who just walked in…” He pointed in the direction of two pretty big guys. One had black-rimmed glasses and a goatee, the other was at least six-foot-seven and lanky. Both appeared to be in their mid-thirties. “They work for me. Or my dad. However you look at it. You have any issues? Anyone bothers you here? You run towards them with the whistle, got it?”
“Uh, sure, but why would anyone bother me?”
Someone chuckled behind me. “Fresh meat.”
“Need I say more?” Weston groaned. “Meet Drake.”
“Hi, Drake.” I swallowed, trying really hard to not meet his predatory gaze. He had dark brown eyes and sandy blond hair.
He nodded. “‘Sup.”
And that was the end of the conversation.
Weston introduced me to tons of people, none of whom really cared who or what I was. Mainly they were polite, but that was it. After a few more introductions, he took me into the kitchen. “Lets’ get you a drink.”
“Oh, I’ve never drank before.” I held up my hands.
“I know.” Weston chuckled. “Which is why you and I are on a mission of sorts. First frat party, first drink, first time with a senior—”
“I’m good.” I shook my head at the cup he held out to me.
“Not yet you’re not. One sip, and then I can die happy.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes, as he held out the cup and waited.
“Ugh, peer pressure. You know, you’re the worst RA I’ve ever met, right?”
He shrugged.
The liquid sloshed in the cup. It was dark and smelled like rotten bananas. “What is this?”
“Beer. One sip. Go.”
I plugged my nose. He laughed, but I didn’t care. It tasted like bitter bananas and mold, and after one sip, I was done. I coughed and gave him back the cup.
“See?” His smile was contagious. “Was that so hard?”
“It was awful!” I smacked him on the arm.
“What did I tell you? No whistle! See, I’m safe, promise.” He laughed and then stumbled a bit on his feet. With a curse he grabbed the counter.
“Are you okay?” I rushed to Weston’s side.
He jerked away from me and blinked a few times. “Yeah, fine. I just… I need to go grab something from James. I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t follow anyone upstairs and no drinking anything, not even water.”