by Amy L. Gale
Dean pulls open the door. I rush outside like a horde of zombies are on my tail. The crisp, cool, winter air blankets my skin, quickly extinguishing the fire flowing through my body. I stomp forward, crunching the frozen snow along the edge of the porch. I sit on the concrete step and set my drink beside me. My clammy skin meets with the few snow flurries, floating through the air. Goose bumps erupt on my bare forearms.
Dean wraps his arms around me. “Have enough of the frozen tundra yet?”
I run my fingertips along his forearms, lightly touching his skin in a pattern of waves. Why can’t I keep my hands off him? I slither down, interlocking our fingers. Pulling his arms closer, I shift until they surround me. Musky cologne fills the air. I loosen my grip and nuzzle his shoulder. This frat boy just became my forbidden fruit. How can I resist him? I slide my hands at a snail’s pace along the peaks and valleys of his muscular torso. His breath comes quickly the longer I trace the planes of his chest. Small puffs of white vapor escape into the frigid air. I run my hands up to his neck and pull him into an embrace. Ah, hugging him forever would be divine. I squeeze tighter. My heart mimics a galloping racehorse.
I moisten my lips with my tongue but my mouth is full of sand. I glide a finger down Dean’s chest and lean back to grab my cup from the porch. I need to keep his body against mine. I scoot closer to him and chug the blue concoction.
A grimace forms. “Yuck, where’s the non-alcoholic stuff I was drinking before? This tastes like battery acid.” I set the cup down and rub my hands across Dean’s chest.
He holds my wrists, pulling my hands away from him. “What are you talking about?”
I sway and gaze at him through my half-opened eyelids. “The Hell Fire punch just about did me in so I switched to the virgin drink.”
He loosens the grip on my hands. “Tell me you didn’t drink from the pitcher that said virgins on it.”
I trace my fingertips along his lips, down his chin, and slide my hand along his shoulder, scooting closer until no space exists between our bodies. “Guilty.” I chuckle.
He slides a hand between us and pushes away. I blink, focusing on my surroundings. He takes my hands and pulls me up. “Come on, let’s go.” His teeth chatter.
I rise to my feet, wobbling. My knees buckle and I collapse onto the cool concrete, laughing like a hyena.
Dean bends down and slides his hand under my knees. He hoists me up in one swoop. My head bobs as he walks into the foyer and up the steps. I hold him tighter and look over his shoulder on my journey through the unauthorized portions of the frat house.
Dean walks through a door and sets me down on a bed. “Here, drink this.” He hands me a bottle of water from the compact fridge near the wall and sits beside me.
I take a slug and let the bottle drop to the floor. My heart pounds, ready to rip out of my chest and fly around the room. Might as well get the full frat party experience. I push Dean down onto the bed. Let’s see the rest of this hot body. I grip the hem of his shirt, sliding it up and over his muscles. That’s what I call a washboard stomach. His eight-pack abs glisten against the dim light. I dance my fingers along the peaks and valleys, up to his torso. He takes my hand and holds my palm against his heart. What’s he doing, I’m not even close to done with him yet. I struggle to break free but all the energy leaves my body in a matter of seconds. I blink. Everything darkens. Then again, my eyelids barely hold open. What’s happening? Panic mode kicks in. I fight with everything I’ve got to open my eyes. Darkness surrounds me. Everything goes black.
CHAPTER 2—THE NEXT DAY
My heartbeat pounds in my head, pulsating throughout the depths of my brain. I rub my eyes and sit up. Oh god, bad idea. Sitting up just makes it worse. My body orients itself. A wave of nausea flows through me. I cover my head with my hands. An army of giants all trying to squeeze my head at the same time can’t feel this bad. Bright rays of sunlight shine through the window. I squint, slowly opening my eyes. Everything comes into focus.
Blood rushes through my veins, thrashing against my skull. My heart beats a million miles a minute. I slide my hands down from my head to my mouth. A dark green Beta Omega shirt outlining an array of muscles lies in the middle of a soft red and blue plaid comforter. The room suddenly closes in. Please tell me I didn’t break my cardinal rule and hook up with a frat boy.
I take a deep breath and slowly exhale, dropping my hands. Ok, maybe I can sneak out of here unnoticed. I search for my best escape route. The light gray walls of the small room boast Yankees and rock posters. Plaid curtains hang above the small window, perfectly matching the comforter. Can’t crawl out of there. Maybe I’m secretly stealthy. Guess we’ll see.
Dean lays still on top of a heap of messy sheets. His faded jeans, frayed at the knee, hug every muscle. That dark green Beta Omega shirt couldn’t fit him better if it was custom tailored. God, girls would kill for that perfect skin. Not a trace of any blemish or scar. His long eyelashes sway as his eyes move beneath his lids. Good, maybe he’s a deep sleeper.
I toss my legs off the bed, trying to make my escape. A loud thump resonates. Dammit. I look down at the wooden floor and stare at the heel of my boot, which just made contact. Wait a minute; I’m fully dressed, shoes and all.
The dark blue cotton sheets tousle and the comforter moves. I freeze, keeping every muscle still, except for my eyes. I stare at the other side of the bed, willing Dean to stay asleep. No such luck. He stretches, his muscles dancing underneath his shirt. A slight moan escapes. Tingles encompass my body.
He turns toward me and props himself up on his elbow. “Hey. You making a run for it or did you fall out of bed?”
He runs a hand through his perfectly messy mop of light brown hair. Those clear blue eyes sparkle against the rays of sunlight illuminating his face. Not fair, no one should look this good rolling out of bed after an extreme night of drinking.
I fold my arms across my chest. “Running for the hills.”
He grimaces. “Ouch.”
I stand up and move my hands down to my hips. The change in position makes my head bang against my skull. “Could you blame me?” I drop my hands to my sides and wrinkle my forehead. “What the hell happened last night?”
He sits up and leans his back against the wooden headboard. “Maybe I should frisk you for weapons first.” He flashes a smile and pats the mattress next to him.
I tilt my head and raise my eyebrows. Do I even want to know what went down? Ignorance is bliss. I hold up my hands. “Weapon free.” I crawl back onto the bed, sitting down next to him.
His bright baby blues turn on me, intensely. “What I’m about to tell you might save your life.” He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head. “The rules of a frat party.”
Why’s he so concerned about my safety? My eyes roll in their sockets. “Yeah, I’m done with frat parties.”
“Understandable, but just in case.” He holds up his pointer finger. “Rule number one, nothing is nonalcoholic….ever.”
I lower my eyebrows. “Then why have a pitcher that says virgin?”
He bites at his lip. “It said virgins—big difference.” He holds up his pointer and middle finger. “Rule number two, if something sounds cute and sweet, it’s most definitely pure evil.”
My chest tightens and my stomach hardens. “Like you?”
He smiles, his tongue darting out along his lips. He holds three fingers in the air. “Rule number three, if you wake up in a frat boy’s bedroom he’s required to take you to breakfast.”
I swallow hard, trying to push down the putrid taste in my mouth. Breakfast is the worst idea I’ve ever heard. No sense in adding vomiting on a guy to my list of great accomplishments.
I run my hands through my hair and tuck the loose strands behind my ears. “Not sure I can keep breakfast down.”
He hops off the bed and heads over to the small refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of water. “Rules are rules.” He hands the bottle of water to me and sits on the edge of the bed. “Trust me, hydration is t
he key.”
I twist off the cap and take a sip. The cool liquid perks up my senses as it flows along my tongue. “I guess a cup of coffee won’t kill me.” Then it’s back to my apartment and away from this evil place, and the temptations it holds.
My black high-heeled boots crunch against the patches of ice along the sidewalk on the two-block walk to May’s Diner. A soft breeze blows through my slightly disheveled dark brown locks. I fold my arms around my chest, securing my coat close to my body. Only four more months and these streets lined with dirty snow will contain green leaves and a multitude of colorful flowers. Winter always seems to last forever.
Dean walks along the left of me, near the part of the sidewalk that lines the street. His rosy cheeks almost match the dull red of his coat. He slides his hands out of his pockets and grabs the silver handle of the door to May’s Diner. Guess gentlemen do exist.
Flashing a quick smile, I walk up the two steps leading into the small diner. Dean follows suit, and walks across the black and white checkered tiles to a table by the window. I slide into the red vinyl booth and slide off my coat. Just as I pull one arm out of the sleeve, the pocket vibrates. Dammit. No one knows where I am. I yank my phone out and read the screen.
Where the hell are you?
Did you hook up with that hot guy? Text me.
It’s two a.m. and you’re not here ☹
So you did hook up with that guy ;)
If you don’t text me back by noon I’m calling the cops!
Crap. Lexie’s going to kill me. I bite at my lip and quickly type a response.
At breakfast, be home soon.
There, now she knows I’m alive. Part of this whole crazy night is her fault anyway. She’s the one who insisted we need to head to a frat party to gain the whole college experience. Hate to be the one to tell her, but it’s overrated. I slip the phone back into my pocket. Thank god the fresh air lessened the pounding of my head to a dull thump. Maybe a little food would do me some good and counteract whatever toxins were put in my body last night.
I narrow my eyes, then rub my forehead, sliding my hands down my cheek to my mouth. “What was in the blue concoction from last night? You know, the pitcher marked virgins.”
Dean fidgets with his fingers. “A few things. Some rum, blue curacao, pineapple juice.” He pulls at his lip. “Ecstasy.”
My jaw drops. “What?” I clench my fists into tight balls. “I was drugged last night!” The barely legible words escape my clenched teeth.
Dean looks down at the table and then back up at me, picking at his fingernails. “It makes you want to constantly hug and cuddle, like a virgin before they give it up.”
The thrashing heat beat in my ears makes my headache return full force. Is he for real?
He runs his hand through his hair. “The pitcher has an E on it so people should know about the ecstasy.”
I wrap my coat around my body, desperately trying to poke my arm through its designated hole. “Guess I’m not up on my code. Thanks for the lesson.”
He stands up and places his hand on my forearm. “Don’t go. By the time I found you again, you’d already downed a glass of the punch. No going back. I would’ve warned you if I was there.” He puts his hand on his chest and then raises it, like he’s taking an oath in a courtroom. “God’s honest truth.”
I sit back down and move my coffee cup toward the end of the table for a refill. Great. Illegal drinking, drugs, waking up in a strange guy’s bed—what the hell else can I add to the list of idiotic things I did last night? I gaze at his soft lips, slightly quivering. Dammit, no matter how badly I should want to punch him in the face I don’t. Guess I’m lucky I didn’t end up with some creep who did god knows what to me. “That was my first and last frat party. Let’s get this breakfast over with so I can go on with my life.”
He lets his head fall back against the vinyl booth and exhales loudly. “Hey, all you need is a wingman and you can still party without any of the downfalls.” He sits up and raises his eyebrows.
“What can I get you two?” The waitress steps to the table and chimes in, tapping her pen against a small pad.
I let my coat slide off my arm onto the seat of the booth. “Coffee and toast.”
Dean slides his cup toward the end of the table. “Coffee and the Hungry Man’s Special.”
The waitress heads into the kitchen and returns holding a coffeepot. She fills our cups and tosses some creamers and sugar packets on the table. “The rest will be right out.”
I dump a packet of sugar and a creamer, into my coffee. I take a sip. Ah, the pounding of my head lessens to a dull thump. The aroma of fresh ground beans instantly perk me up. Wait a minute. I took a drug that makes people want to hug and cuddle. Sure, I woke up fully dressed, as did Dean, but what the hell happened?
Taking another bracing sip, I set my mug down on the table. “Is the wingman willing to share his secrets?”
He slurps his coffee and narrows his eyes. “Maybe.”
I tap my fingers on my cup and look down at the table. “How did I end up in your room?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “The punch kicked in and you were extremely friendly, and hot.”
I lower my eyebrows and shoot him a death glare.
“No, I mean hot. E makes you hot and thirsty. We went outside to cool off and that’s when you heated things up.” He winks.
I cover my mouth with my hand, and then slowly lower it to the table.
He sips his coffee and flashes a half smile. “No worries. I carried you up to my room and you passed out on my bed. Good thing you had a wingman.”
My god, he’s right. If I drank that punch and hadn’t met Dean, this morning would be going way different. I guess I should thank him, or beat the crap out of him and his frat brothers for putting drugs in drinks where unsuspecting girls like me end up high on E.
I bite my lip. “Maybe having a wingman isn’t terrible.” Closest thing to a thank you I can give at this point.
“Not all frat boys are assholes… Most of us are, but not all of us.” He winks.
The waitress comes over and sets two slices of perfectly browned toast in front of me and two heaping plates filled with pancakes, bacon, eggs, and home fries in front of Dean. “You kids need anything else?”
I shake my head.
“No thanks.” Dean stabs a pancake with his fork and takes a bite.
I nibble on my toast, trying to ignore the stench of Dean’s breakfast. My stomach churns. Please let me keep this toast down.
“You know, I could use a wingman myself.” He shoves a piece of bacon in his mouth.
I drop the piece of toast back on my plate and tilt my head. “Sorry, my days of partying are over.”
He slugs a sip of coffee. “I doubt that.” He shovels a forkful of eggs in his mouth. “Seriously, I could use a heads-up on which chicks to stay away from on campus.”
I take another bite of toast. “Lesson one: no one anywhere ever likes to be referred to as a chick.”
“See, I need you.” He winks.
A shiver sweeps through my body. I dart my tongue along my lips, catching a few toast crumbs. “Why do I feel like I’m in the middle of a teen movie?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, this would make a great script.” He slugs more coffee. “Want to be each other’s wingman?”
Every brain cell screams no but I can’t seem to get the words out of my mouth. It’s like my body is part of a raging civil war. Really? Wingman? Seems like a creepy way to try and get in my pants. Except for the fact that he could have gotten into them last night and didn’t. My stomach flutters. Guess it would be a good way to keep his idiot frat brothers away from me. Ah, what the hell.
“Okay, deal.” I hold my hand out to shake his.
His eyes widen. “Deal.” He slides his hand into mine for a firm shake.
I squint from the sun reflecting off the thin coating of snow along the roadway and sidewalk. The crisp breeze blows a few stray strands of my
hair around, tickling my frozen cheeks on the three block walk to my apartment. The sidewalks are empty, except for a few people high-tailing it to their cars. Dean slides his hands in his pockets. I glance over at his ruddy cheeks.
“Cold today.” I fold my arms over my chest and pull my coat tight against my body.
He takes a deep breath of winter air. “Nah, I’m used to playing in the early season when it’s still freezing.”
I scrunch my eyebrows and turn toward him. “Playing what, beer pong?” I chuckle.
He raises one eyebrow flashing a glassy stare. “Baseball.”
Ah, that explains the Yankees poster. I shuffle forward, my teeth chattering. “A frat boy and a jock,” I say, nudging him playfully with my shoulder.
He flashes a quick smile. “Sounds like a death sentence when you say it that way. Does my full baseball scholarship redeem me?”
My lips upturn into a smile and I nod my head slightly. “Impressive.”
“Even more impressive than my vast knowledge of awesome movies?” he asks, scrunching his eyebrows, holding back a smile.
I chuckle. “Maybe a close second.”
I rub my fingers against the sleeves of my jacket, trying to generate heat. Note to self: always keep gloves in your pockets. A small gust of frigid air blows against my face. My teeth chatter. It’s like it dropped ten degrees in a few seconds. This walk seems like it’s taking an eternity. I trudge forward, my black heels slip against the ice forming on the sidewalk.
Dean looks over at me. “I bet you’re more of a beach girl.”
I shiver and meet his gaze. “As long as the beach isn’t in Antarctica.”
“You’re freezing.”
Wow, maybe he should change his major to rocket science. Standing here in the middle of the sidewalk won’t make me any warmer.
He takes a step closer and slides his hand over mine. My numb skin tingles, causing goose bumps to erupt along my skin. He takes my hands, one at a time, and warms them between his. My muscles relax and I take a step closer, erasing the distance between us. He opens his hands slightly and blows warm air across them.
