8 e i g h t : just a frat party

Friday

My palms are sweaty, and there's only one reason. He's the only reason. Less than a foot away, I can smell his cologne. I knew it when I entered the party. This is far too elegant to be just a "party," which I knew full well. But, to calm my nerves, I referred to it as "just a frat party." It's not like I haven't been to one before.

The first I went to was with Sophie, actually. Maybe I should have realized then that she had a problem. We were 16.

It looked very different than this, though. It smelled like old socks and body odor. Sweaty guys ran around the house, and a thick mist surrounded us. Everyone here is classy, put together, and intimidating.

He's intimidating, and up until now, I hadn't been stumped by his questions.

The first, "Do you normally almost hit people with your death-mobile?" did not shock me in the slightest.

I bit back. "I try not to."

He rubs his chin in response.

"Do you normally walk without looking?"

I knew I was in the wrong. I didn't even look in the mirror. But something inside me didn't want to let him… win?

I would have won if I hit him…

Currently, I'm mulling over the most current one: "Do you have a boyfriend?"

What?

As Nick, the lacrosse boy, and Cas made out in a corner, people gossiped, and some played drinking games, Drake Staple was staring into my eyes, prying me with questions.

"Hey, Staple!" some guy calls. Just like that, he gets an escape.

Earlier that day

"You can't be late to this shit, Gen," Cas reprimands me.

I huff, digging through my walk-in closet for a suitable outfit for tonight's event.

I mumble into the phone. "Didn't you say it was a college party?"

"It's a classy party," she emphasizes. "Champagne, silk, limos… remember?"

"Oh, right. So, what you're saying is that you're a gold digger."

She curses. "Just be ready before the ride gets you."

I slowly place some wrinkled blouses back on the messy floor, staring cautiously at my phone as if she were here. "I just don't want you to—"

"I'll be fine. It's not like I just met the guy, Gen. We've been talking for weeks."

"Okay."

With that, she swiftly hangs the phone up before I can instill more doubt in her. I swear I'm not trying to be negative, but I don't want her to get hurt.

Suddenly, I get an idea: time to take a trip to mom's closet.

This room has to be my favorite in the house. The smell of spices and the cool temperature have always been welcoming to me. It helps me think… until mom kicks me out. Luckily, my parents are not here.

I lightly brush each silk hanger with the tips of my fingers. Of course, I washed my hands first. Mom gets OCD about her closet. It seems like she's materialistic, but she values each garment just as much as she values the event tied to them.

Like this dark blue satin pull over. She said that I was made with it. I didn't intend to hear the rest of that story…

Anyway, the point is that tonight will mark a new memory: my opportunity to drill the guy who probably THINKS he bagged Cas… little does he know, he's just one of the guys on the roster.

I stop strolling once I spot a bright red fabric. Pulling it out, I see that it's a beautiful, one-shouldered, ruched dress. Perfect.

As I'm standing under the hot stream of water in my shower, my phone rings.

"I can't enjoy one thing," I snap, shutting the faucet off.

"What?"

"Calm down, woman."

I sigh. "I'm trying to take a shower and get ready like you—"

"I'm just making sure. You tend to take forever to—"

I hang up on her mid-sentence.

Returning to the shower, I get mentally prepared for tonight. It's not my first college party, but something tells me this one will be different from the usual.

Soon, the limo arrives. I've paired the red dress with silver metallic pumps, done my makeup, and I'm ready to go.

The ride isn't awkward at all. I expected a silent ride with the driver and I glancing expectantly at each other. However, he just played some surprisingly tasteful music and drove. Again, I'm anxious about nothing. I hope Cass's rich boy toy paid for the round trip.

Shortly, we get to Pemdas Hall.

"Finally, you're here, bitch!"

I roll my eyes after my door has been yanked open and my boisterous best friend has stood before me.

"Ugh, Cas. Don't curse in front of the limo driver," I whisper yell.

She rolls her eyes and yanks me out of the vehicle.

Beside her is Nick, I assume.

She introduces me to him, and he seems nice. At least he greeted me respectfully: check.

"Yeah, we met in person at a Starbucks—" Ah, the perfect venue for a quick getaway plan "—Once I saw her yell at the barista for not putting enough caramel in her Frappuccino, I knew she was the one," he beams.

Personally, the corniness would be it for me. But, Cas seems happy with him. She's smiling brighter than I've seen in a while.

He's not her usual type. Cas goes for unavailable guys who want her for one thing.

Nick seems like the bid of the frat. He's the nice guy who values women. He won't participate in the asshole-y games that those guys usually play. He's reliable. I can already see Cas sabotaging this for the rollercoaster of passion and heartbreak that she's used to.

"Awww," I coo. Cas knows right away that I'm teasing them. I'm happy that she's happy. I'm afraid for him.

He shows us inside, past the desert tables, groups chattering amongst themselves, the bar, and finally to a VIP section.

They retained one annoying flaw consistent with fraternities.

It all looks so… expensive.

Satin curtains line the walls. Dim lights hang from the ceilings, creating a soft and warm ambience.

As we enter the VIP section, a low neon light envelopes us.

About a dozen guys and girls are seated on plush lavender couches, sipping on champagne.

On a glass stool, about 5 or more lines of a white, powdery substance sit, ready for sniffing.

Wow, I wonder what that is…

The picture of chivalry, Nick gently holds Cas's head over the crystal straw that the rest had used for the recreational drug.

I shift uncomfortably because this isn't really my scene. Crossing my arms and scooting back into my seat, I accidentally nudge a broad-shouldered figure next to me.

"Sorry," I apologize.

And in an all too familiar voice, he says, "It's fine."

I snap my head around to the figure, who I recognize as Drake Staple, aka. My supervisor, aka. The heir of Staple Oil… aka. A fraternity member?

My face freezes immediately. He's involved in all this.

His gaze shifts from me to the recreational table, and back again.

Before he can speak, I regain my composure. "Nice party favors you got here."

He runs a hand through his hair. "Not my idea."

Hmm.

"I wouldn't have guessed that you were a part of a fraternity," I strain the last word.

"I go to Columbia. Parents donate or pay for a building, we join secret societies, we inherit our parents' assets—it's all part of the deal. That comes with the charity work as well," he takes a swig of his drink.

That's right—I forgot he was only 20.

He seems much more laid back and a little sardonic outside of his workplace. Well, what did I expect?

I didn't expect him to be here.

When Claire implied that I was "hot" for him, my immediate reaction was disgust. I thought he was pushing 30 or something. It's not like I'm obsessed with the guy, like every other female from age 16-20. But it would be a lie to deny his objective attractiveness.

Suddenly, he looks straight into my eyes. "Do you normally hit people with your death-mobile?"

I counter, "I try not to. Do you normally walk without looking?"

He doesn't falter and continues to ply me with incessant queries.

I'm playing into his questions, some normal and some bold. Then he blurts, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

That takes me by surprise. As I'm forming an answer, stumbling on the realm of "that's unprofessional of a supervisor to ask" and "none of your business," he gets called away.

"Hey, Staple!" some guy calls.