Holding

by Jillian Quinn

  A few girls are trying out there hand at giving lap dances to a few of my brothers, while others are pounding shots like it’s New Year's Eve and the ball is about to drop. Most of the guys brought along a random chick, same as I would have done if I had even bothered to show at all. Being here with Ella and having a girl who I love and who loves me back is far more important to me than getting drunk and hooking up.

  I lean over to whisper into Ella’s ear and slip my hand behind her back. “Do you want to go to the club or is this too much for you?”

  She bites down on her bottom lip, thinking it over. If this is too much for her, then the club isn’t going to get any better and neither are the ragers we throw in our rooms until morning. Fraternities have traditions, and Spring Formal is one of them. The off-campus events tend to get even more out of hand than the normal weekend parties we throw.

  “I guess we should go,” she says in a hushed tone. “I’m supposed to be experiencing life and all, right?”

  “I’ve done this a million times with these guys. No pressure if you’re not feeling up to it.”

  She pats my thigh and rests her hand on my knee. “No, we should go. This is your last year with your brothers and a new experience for me. The whole point of us coming here is to have fun and for me to break out of my shell.”

  I graze my lips along her ear. “Then let down your hair down, Princess. If you wanna party like a rock star, then you’ve come to the right place. Nobody throws a better party than Delta Sig.”

  She laughs and tilts her head to the side, brushing her cheek against mine. “Teach me your ways, Jedi Party Master.”

  “Enough of that nerdy stuff, tutor girl. You’re losing cool points by the minute.”

  “You haven’t called me tutor girl since the first time I yelled at you.”

  I shrug. “If the name fits.”

  Commotion to my left and the sound of metal dragging along the tile interrupts our conversation.

  “Listen up, assholes,” Luca says, standing at the head of our table. He brings his fingers to his mouth and whistles when the deep rumble of his voice isn’t enough to catch their attention.

  As the son of a Mafia boss, Luca never has a problem getting anyone to listen. It was only natural when he wanted the role of president that he filled the position. No one objected or challenged him. He’s a natural leader, with connections that have kept our degenerate asses out of jail more times than I can count.

  Luca holds the mile long check in his hand, looking around the room at all of us, with a beer in the other. “Since this is my last formal as your president, I picked up the tab.”

  Interrupting Luca’s speech, the room erupts into a cacophony of clapping, cheering, and animalistic noises. Even a few drinks spill onto the table in the process. Like most students at Strickland University, Luca comes from a wealthy family, except they make their money the old fashioned way.

  “All right would you guys shut the fuck up for a minute?” Luca says, irritated.

  “Let the man speak,” someone yells.

  Luca tips his long neck in gratitude and continues, but a second later, the group starts up again and chants, “Speech, speech, speech!”

  “Are they always this bad?” Ella asks, keeping her voice low, though it’s not like anyone can hear her over all the noise.

  “They are just getting started. Wait until you see them by the end of the night. That’s why I asked if you were up for it.”

  She rolls her eyes and shoots a goofy smile in my direction. “Oh, I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

  Ella wasn’t kidding about being ready. Three hours after dinner, Ella is drunk off her ass and rubbing her pussy on my leg. Not that I mind, but she’s making it hard for me to think straight with all the friction between us.

  She runs a hand through her sweat-matted strands and stares up at me, her eyes finding mine. I haven’t stopped looking at her since the second we got onto the dance floor. Watching Ella come undone in other ways has me grinning like an idiot. This is our last hurrah before graduation, and the only time Ella has completely let go. She thought too much about this weekend, allowing herself to become nervous about spending time with my brothers. But everyone has welcomed her, as I knew they would. As usual, she was nervous for nothing.

  My sweet Ella always overthinks everything. At least she’s having fun and dancing on me like a drunken sorostitute. And I’m okay with that because it’s nice to see Ella let loose for a change. I could not let her graduate without having one normal night out with people her age for once.

  While Ella would rather spend her weekends reading and drinking tea with Mrs. F, this is good for her. This is good for us. My chances of going pro this year are high. The draft takes place the weekend of graduation in Philadelphia. I’m not expecting first or even fifth round, but I have a good feeling about it. We are about to start a new path that Ella and I will walk together.

  “I need another drink,” Ella says, cupping her hands around her mouth. She stops dancing for a few seconds, still holding onto me.

  I acknowledge her with a nod. Then, I hook my arm around her back and pull her into me, gripping her tight, as we sift through the crowd to get to the bar. The bar is just as crowded as the dancefloor, with only a few bartenders mixing drinks. For a resort that had come highly recommended, the hotel could use more staff for such a big event.

  I stand out in a crowd, catching the attention of the bartender I flag down.

  She leans forward and sinks her elbows into the bar. “What can I get you, big guy?”

  “Two Miller Lights and—”

  “I want another martini,” Ella says, tugging on my sleeve.

  “I know, babe. The beers are for me.”

  She snorts. “Isn’t it a little early to start double fisting beers?”

  I laugh. “It’s never too early. Just be lucky you know Shawn and not Finch.”

  “I hope he comes out to play tonight,” she coos with a seductive look in her eyes.

  “And an apple martini,” I say to the bar tender, before turning back to Ella to take her ear in my mouth to suck on it. “Be careful what you wish for,” I say against the shell of her ear. “Because you might not like what you get.”

  “It’s impossible not to love every side of you, Shawn.” She reaches up to brush her fingers along my jaw, gazing into my eyes. “You were always too hard for me to resist.”

  “Right back at ya, babe,” I say, too buzzed to come up with something clever.

  After we get our drinks, we’re about to head back to the dance floor when someone unexpected stops Ella in her tracks, bringing us both to a halt. I have a hard time telling Ella’s stepsisters apart, but judging by the extra bitchy scowl on her face, I think this one is Natasha.

  What is she even doing here? While she’s in our sister sorority, no one invited her or any of the girls from Kappa. She wasn’t on the bus when we left the city on Friday, and she wasn’t with a date at dinner.

  Where the hell did she come from?

  “You have some nerve,” Natasha says, digging her finger into Ella’s bare arm, causing her to wince in pain. “Who do you think you are, Little Orphan Ella? This weekend is for the Greeks, not some nerd like you. No matter how hard you fight my mom to steal her money, you will always be nothing and no one to anyone who matters, and you will never fit in with people like us.” She says the last part while looking up at me and licks her lips.

  My mouth twists in anger from her words. How dare she come here uninvited and talk to my girl like that.

  Startled, Ella mutters something under her breath that I can’t make out and clutches my hand tighter. Ella must get some liquid courage because she peels her hand from mine and steps in front of Natasha.

  Inches from her face, Ella stares her down and yells over the music. “No, Natasha, you are the one who is nothing. I put up with your shit for years, all because I thought I had to be nice to you. But I am done being nice. We are not related. I don�
�t give a shit about you. Never did. I don’t live under the same roof as you anymore. You are the one who has no right.”

  Ella digs her finger into Natasha’s arm, using her move against her, and pushes her back in the process. “You are the one who has some nerve, and when my lawyers are through with your mother, all of you will be out on your ass. So, enjoy my house while you can because it’s mine. It’s all mine. It was always mine. Expect me to show the same mercy on your stank ass that you showed me when the time comes to take out the trash, and by trash, I mean you.”

  I’m so excited for Ella that I almost want to cheer her on. After all the years of torture from her stepsisters, she’s getting her revenge. Finally, some justice after everything they have done to her. This show of force is a good start for Ella, even if the alcohol is doing most of the talking.

  Natasha shoves Ella, causing her to stumble backward and into my chest. Ella regains her balance and stalks toward Natasha with her drink in her hand, the liquid coating her skin as it sloshes in the glass. In one fluid motion, Ella throws the martini in Natasha’s face. Natasha counters back by doing the same. Her drink splashes down the front of Ella’s dress, some of it hitting me in the process.

  I am so glad this is not how men resolve arguments. If I had an issue with a friend, we would roll up our sleeves and beat the shit out of each other until one of us gave up and called a truce. That happens a lot when you live in a house with sixty dudes. In some ways, what is about to happen is no different, and this time, I intervene.

  Ella lunges at Natasha and grabs a chunk of her hair in the process. I shouldn’t have let her drink this much. If she were only slightly buzzed, like me, she wouldn’t have turned into a chick from a reality show, ready to throw down. Realizing I need to stop this fight, I throw my arms around Ella’s middle, pick her up, and pull her into my chest until she stops kicking. I flip her around so that we’re facing, and then, carry her over my shoulder through the crowd.

  “Shawn, put me down,” she yells, beating her fists against my back in anger. “I wasn’t done with her.”

  “No, you are done for the night. I’m taking you back to the room.”

  “No,” she whines, giving up her fight to wiggle free from my grasp. “I had more to say to Natasha.”

  “You weren’t talking, and I wasn’t about to let the two of you claw each other’s eyes out.” Once we get out of the club and into the bustling hallway, I set her on the floor.

  She reaches for the door behind me, but I block her view. “Listen to me, Ella.” I raise her chin with my finger until our eyes meet. “You said enough back there, and I wasn’t about to let you get hurt on my watch.”

  “I could have fought her. Instead, you made me look weak and stupid,” she hisses.

  Annoyed, I let out a puff of air. “Do you even know how to fight?”

  “Yes,” she counters, rolling her eyes at me. “I’m not completely helpless.”

  “Put up your hands then. Make a fist for me, show me what you got,” I challenge.

  “Shawn, be serious. This is dumb.”

  “Just do it. Humor me.”

  She raises her hands up to her face with her thumbs folded over her fingers. I shake my head and laugh to myself.

  “What’s so amusing?”

  “You could break your hand if you tried to hit her with your thumbs tucked like that. Thanks for helping me make my case.”

  She lowers her fists down to her sides and sighs. “I acted like an idiot back there, huh?”

  “I get it, trust me I do. I would have done worse than what you did if it were me and I was in your position. But you are my number one concern and so is your safety. Imagine how I would feel if something were to happen to you.”

  “Nothing would have happened, Shawn. You worry too much about me.”

  “Because I have to worry. For someone so smart, you are all books and no street smarts. Anyone can act like a tough guy and throw a punch, but knowing how to land and duck one is a different story. And who knows if someone else would have gotten between you. I have seen it happen plenty of times. Some random stranger is drunk and hanging out at the bar and decides they want in on the action.”

  “Oh,” she mutters, “I guess I didn’t think about that. All of this is so new to me.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m here to prevent you from doing stupid things.”

  “I love you, Shawn.” Ella drags her nails along my skin until our fingers meet, her speech somewhat slurred. “Thank you. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “I love you, too. How about we go upstairs, so I can show you how much I love you in the shower? I need to get this drink off me and you out of these wet clothes.”

  With our hands interlocked, I guide her toward the elevator bank and go up to our room. I keep my promise and show her how much I love her until the sun comes up. When Ella falls asleep, naked and with her head on my chest, I shut my eyes and remind myself how lucky I am to have found my Cinderella.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ella

  Graduation, the day we had both waited for, came in the blink of an eye. One hundred days was all it had taken for me to fall head over heels in love with Shawn Finch. All I’d ever wanted was one kiss.

  How did I get this lucky? I had never considered myself someone who had any luck. But in those days, I found the inner strength I’d always known was inside me, found the love of my life, the love of a lost relative, and now, I’m so close to reclaiming my family fortune.

  To say that I am proud of Shawn for pulling up his grades to B’s and C’s so that we could graduate together is an understatement. I was beyond thrilled to stare out into the crowded auditorium and wave to Mrs. F, as the Dean handed me my diploma. With our names being so close together—Finch and Fitzgerald—he’d barely made it to the end of the stage before it was my turn to hold up the paper and blow Shawn a kiss, just as he had done to me.

  He even screamed, I love you, Ella Fitzgerald, professing his love to me in front of everyone in Finch fashion. I had expected nothing less from him. His adorable gesture made me blush, my cheeks turning ten shades of red. But I did something uncharacteristic and yelled it back. It felt like we were in an 80’s movie where the guy makes a grand gesture at the end to win back the girl. But he already had me. Shawn had me long before he knew I was his mystery girl.

  Now, we’re sharing another monumental moment together—the NFL draft. Shawn lucked out that the event is in Philly this year, and at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, of all places. I hope they call his name and that he gets to look out into the audience and stare down from the stage placed at the top of the steps that Rocky Balboa had made famous. Shawn was excited about the location since he comes here sometimes to jog up the stairs as part of his workout routine and is a big fan of the movies.

  Sitting at the end of the aisle with Coach Davenport and his mom, Shawn rests his arms on his thighs and looks past Grace to wink at me. I return the gesture with a smile, and his attention falls back to the stage. His coach had practically fought me for the seat next to him. Seeing as how this man had a lot to do with Shawn getting to this point, I had no objections. He earned the right to sit here and cheer him on along with the rest of us.

  Neither of us has much of family, but Mrs. F came to represent the Fitzgerald clan. Grace, Finch’s super sweet mother, is on my other side, biting down on her bottom lip. She has her hands folded in front of her on her lap. Her legs shake my chair from all the nervous energy that runs through her body.

  I’m just as anxious. For most of his life, Finch dreamed of playing professional football. I want this for him so much that my stomach knots when I consider the possibility of this not going as planned. Not that I have any doubt in my man’s abilities, but I’m also a glass half empty kind of girl after everything that has happened to me.

  Shawn’s teammates, Bash and Clay, had their names called on Thursday in the first round. We are three days into this
process, in the seventh round and down to the wire. My stomach turns at the thought of him missing out this year. They just announced the player chosen tenth, lessening Finch’s chances the more we go.

  Stay positive, I tell myself, chewing the inside of my cheek.

  “He’ll make it,” Mrs. F says to me, clutching my wrist. “I have a good feeling this time. Don’t worry, my dear.”

  “How can I not?” I whisper my words so that no one overhears our conversation. “I keep thinking about what will happen if this doesn’t work out for him.”

  “You should listen to Shawn for once and stop overthinking.”

  “Not you, too,” I deadpan with a smile.

  “What can I say? We know what is best for you.”

  Two more picks come and go, and I am sweating bullets. I see the worry on Shawn’s face, even though he’s doing his best to keep calm. He slacked off for most of his junior and senior year. Between his bad grades and less than stellar performances, he wasn’t even sure he had a place with the Senators at one time, let alone the NFL. Luckily, Bash’s dad had some pull with the school, and his Coach helped him get back in shape. And, of course, I helped with his grades.

  When they announce the twelfth pick, my heart pounds out of my chest. We shoot up from our chairs and scream, the sound of my voice sending a tremor down my spine.

  “You did it, baby,” Grace yells to her son, wrestling with Coach Davenport to hug Shawn.

  I can see where Shawn gets some of his better qualities. Grace is funny, loud, full of so much energy and love for her son.

  Tori wasn’t joking about their relationship either. Shawn and his mom together is the cutest thing I have ever seen. Where he’s tall and muscular, she’s skinny and petite. He hooks his arm around each of us, pulling his mom and me into his chest like a bear, sucking the life from my chest in the process. My mom had always said that a man who loves his mother would treat his woman like a queen. Despite my dad going against his family to marry my mom, that love for his mom was always there. I can see the same love in Shawn’s eyes when he looks down at Grace.