by Laura Ward
Taren barked out a laugh. “Nothing. You look great. I wear clothes like that to school every day. You,”—she pointed at me— “do not. No makeup, no jewelry, your hair is flat, and my God—” Taren stopped and gestured to my shoes. “I had no idea you even owned sneakers.”
She had a point. I dressed to the nines. Always. “I’m in a bad mood. I didn’t feel like making the effort this morning.”
Taren frowned and placed one hand on top of my knee. “Want to talk about it?”
I shook my head, pressing my lips together. The last thing I wanted was to tell my best friend—a girl who was in love with her dream guy, her high school crush, the guy she gave her virginity to—that I felt slut-shamed. She wouldn’t understand.
Taren chewed on her lip for a minute. “You all set for tonight?”
Fuck. I had almost forgotten about tonight. Leaning forward, I banged my forehead on the top of the table.
“Jules!” Taren pulled me back, her face a confused state of amusement and concern.
“I’m good.” I rubbed my palm over my forehead. “I just forgot about the Pike party for like five seconds.” Pi Kappa Mu was hosting a fraternity party tonight and had invited the Tri-Gams to join them. As social chair for Tri-Gam, I organized and attended all the parties. I also planned formals, date parties, and all Homecoming and Greek Week events. No one was better suited to handle parties than moi. I always wanted to attend a weekend of parties or club hopping. Always.
And I never forgot about a party. Not even for a second.
This moody funk was wrecking my mojo.
I straightened my shoulders and remembered what my mom would have said regarding my behavior: Nothing turns a mood around like a cocktail and a hot man. The only choice was to woman-up and pull myself together.
I stood and kissed Taren on the top of her head. “Sorry to worry you. Low blood sugar. I’m skipping class, grabbing a nap, and doing some online shopping. I’ll be in full form by party time.” With a wave, I left the kitchen before the inquisition began. Running up to the third floor, I thanked my lucky stars that Taren, Lex, and I had been given singles this year. Privacy was mandatory to sleep in peace and avoid sweet, well-meaning friends.
I pulled off my shoes, shirt, and jeans, slipping under the covers wearing only my bra and panties. Head on my pillow, my eyes closed, I willed the words from the night before to stop playing in my mind.
Groupie.
Sloppy seconds.
Tears burned behind my lashes and with a vicious swipe of my fingers, I wiped them away. No more. No more thoughts about bass boy or what he said. Musicians were bad news. Time to channel my mom. I would stay tough until I met the one to open up and be myself with. Until then, party girl Julie was all this town was going to get.
***
Stepping back, I looked in the mirror that hung on the back of my bedroom door.
Perfect.
Sexy.
Hot.
Not a hair was out of place—my blowout was perfection. My makeup was heavy, full red lips and smoky eyes. My jeans were skintight and the red top I chose showcased my flat belly and perky breasts. Signature stilettos gave me an extra four inches, which I needed with my petite five-foot-three frame.
I was ready to rock my Friday night.
Standing in the front room of the Tri-Gam house, I called out to gather the groups. “Girls! We’re leaving in five minutes to walk to the Pike house. Let’s review the rules for the pledges, and anyone who needs a refresher.”
Twenty girls waited around me for the Friday night social. Sisters with a steady boyfriend like Taren and Lex usually opted out of these parties. But for all of the single girls who were eager to mingle, the social events were what we waited for all week.
“Remember, sisters first.” I scanned the faces of the girls around me to ensure the words were clear. “No one walks home alone. No one leaves with a guy unless they’ve checked in with our sober sister.” Marleigh waved to the crowd when I pointed to her. We each took a turn as the sober sister. That person could safely drive a car if needed and attended the party of the night to make sure no other sisters were put in a situation that was potentially harmful. “Let’s move out.”
I led the way down College Avenue to the Pike house. Tonight, Tri Gam was the only sorority partying with the Pikes, so it would be a more intimate way to meet one another. As we approached our destination, colorful lights flashed inside windows and music boomed, delivering the vibration straight to my bones.
The Pike’s social chair, Jeff, met me at the front door. His hired bouncer for the night checked ID’s, marking hands as everyone entered the house. Jeff dispersed beer tickets to the girls as we chatted. In an attempt to curtail underage and abusive drinking, many colleges and universities required a bouncer at Greek events and a ticket system for alcohol. In theory, it was a great idea, but anytime a group of rowdy girls and guys gathered on weekends, rules were bound to be broken. That was why I was in favor of having a sober sister at parties. Tri-Gams had each other’s backs, and that made us a stronger sorority.
I moved inside and cracked open a light beer, swallowing a large amount on the first tilt. I’d been careful with my calories all day so that I could relax and have a few drinks tonight. A Pike brother played music from a cheap deejay system in the corner of the room, and sisters were huddled in groups, checking out the available guys and sipping beer.
“Juuullliieee!”
My shoulders tightened as I cringed. I had never heard my name stretched in such an annoying way before. I turned to see who had called out to me and froze. Phil Mancini. Ew. We’d hooked up last year.
Why had I dumped him? Oh, right. He’d informed me I needed a wax. Arrogant motherfucker. My patch was well-cared for and in need of nothing but a big dick. One that Phil didn’t have. I’d run out of his place like my snatch was on fire.
“Phil,” I sneered, looking away and draining my beer.
He leaned in, his nose too damn close to my neck. Was he… sniffing me? I pushed him back, and he startled.
“You smell good,” he slurred. “Want to find a room upstairs?” His eyes were dazed, and he wobbled in place. Fuck, he was already wasted.
“No thanks. I’m good.” A pledge walked by with an armful of beers. I snagged one, winking my thanks.
Phil moved in front of me, blocking my view of the room. Instinctively, I stepped back.
“C’mon. You know you like to play with the big boys. Everybody knows you’re a party girl. You like F…U…”
I kneed him in his tiny junk before he could finish. “Back off, asshole.” His drunk and horny routine was the last thing I needed tonight. I didn’t want some tool reminding me what the band guys had said. I’d repeated those words to myself enough. No more.
Phil bent over, legs crossed. “I was going to say fun. Jesus…” He coughed and waddled away.
My stomach sank, and I blew out a long breath. Fuck. I chugged my new beer and tossed the empty one into a trash can. I needed a breather. To get away for a few minutes. I was jumping to conclusions, anticipating the worst from every guy here, and that wasn’t like me. Phil was right. I was fun. I was the party girl. Not moody. Never moody.
I caught Marleigh’s eye and mouthed “bathroom” to her. She gave me a thumbs up and I headed up the stairs. While there was certainly a bathroom up there, I was hoping to get access to the balcony I saw from the outside when we approached the house earlier. Fresh air would calm me down and help me find my carefree attitude again.
Turning left, I walked down a long hallway, peeking into open doorways for balcony access.
My feet stopped as my brain registered a strange sound. Deep, soft music was coming from one of the rooms. The piece was complicated and soulful, the notes tumbling into and over each other. Definitely not the kind of music you’d expect to hear at a party.
I walked forward slowly. The sound was coming from the right. As I moved, the music got louder. The melody was beautifu
l. A soulful guitar solo. I stopped outside a door nearest to me, pressed my ear to the cool wood, and the notes became clearer.
Bingo.
I listened for another minute before knocking. The music stopped.
“Yeah?”
I cleared my throat. “May I…may I come in?” My voice was raspy, and my stomach was inexplicably tied in knots.
There was a long, unpleasant silence. Finally, I heard a shuffle. “Okay.”
I opened the door and walked into a small single, much like the room I lived in at my sorority house. A twin bed with white sheets and a blue comforter was pushed against the wall. A wooden dresser and a desk were on the opposite side. My eyes were drawn to the walls, which were bare. Empty.
Weird.
In the middle of the room, a guy sat on a chair holding a guitar. I looked him over, my heart lodging in my throat as I recognized him.
It was him. Bass boy, Ben.
He wore faded, ripped jeans, black biker boots, and a thin white t-shirt. His short hair was sexy as hell and his tattoos stood out like fireworks against the plain white backdrop of the room.
Part of me wanted to turn around and leave, but I straightened my spine and reminded myself to stay tough. I would prove to both of us I was more than a sloppy second’s groupie. That those words he’d said didn’t bother me.
Besides, I’d come looking for relief from the party and if I was honest with myself, I wanted to hear him play more.
“Hi,” I managed. My face was burning with shame I didn’t want to feel. “I’m sorry I bothered you. I heard the music and was curious.”
He looked down, his fingers lightly touching the guitar strings, stroking them again so that the deep notes filled the room once more. “No bother.”
“Can I stay and listen?” I bit my lip, wondering if he would think I was acting desperate and if he’d actually call me names to my face this time.
He shrugged. “Make yourself comfortable.” He gestured to the bed and I crossed the room. He still wouldn’t look at me, but when I sat down, and the bed creaked, his head cocked slightly in my direction.
When I didn’t move, he started playing again. And it was nothing like what he played at The Shell. The guitar was cradled against his body, and his fingers danced across the strings like that’s what they were meant to do. Like they were home.
The music was tender and expressive, tugging at my heart and forcing it to rise and fall with the tempo. Even though it was a song I’d heard before, I felt like I was hearing it for the first time with a brand new soul.
I had no idea he could play like this. The bass guitar was supposed to be the foundation of a song—the background and pulse for the lead guitar and vocalist. But listening to him play alone, I realized he didn’t need any of that. He was the heart of the music. I could feel every ounce of his passion with each flick of his fingers—as if he was touching me himself.
My skin prickled at the thought.
When the song ended, and the last note faded into silence, I was sad. “Please don’t stop playing.” The words were out before I could stop them.
Jesus. He probably thought I was flirting. And normally, I would be. Except he’d made it clear the other night he wasn’t interested in me. Fine, I could handle that. I’d left enough discarded dates in my wake to know turnaround was only fair play. I was strong enough to accept he wasn’t interested. The problem was, I couldn’t bear for the music to stop just yet.
He tapped his fingertips on the shiny wood of his guitar, his other hand mindlessly moving along the fretboard as if his body couldn’t stand to stay still. “You want to hear something else?”
I nodded. “Or you could just play that one again. It sounded familiar. What was it?”
“Shape of My Heart,” he answered.
Of course it was. “Perfect name for that song.”
“Sting did the original. I...embellished a little.” A few notes trickled out under the touch of his fingers.
“I liked your version. Will you play it again?”
“You don’t feel like going back to the party?” he asked, his fingers picking out the tune as easily as if he was breathing.
I cleared my throat, unnerved that he had yet to look up from his guitar. “I’m not really in the mood to party tonight. Why aren’t you downstairs hanging out?”
Ben still wouldn’t meet my gaze and his fingers sped up, a blur across the strings. “Parties aren’t my scene. Too crowded.”
I nodded, a small smile creeping across my face. “I get that.” I paused, waiting to see if he had more to say. He didn’t. “You’re in Honor Bound, right? Bass player?” My voice was shaky, and my knees trembled. I had never been this nervous around a guy before.
Ben glanced up but stared through me like he was looking at the wall behind me. His face was blank. Brown eyes expressionless. “Yeah, you’ve heard of us?”
“Honor Bound is my favorite band.” I grinned and watched the corner of his mouth tilt up in a smile. “But I’m sure you knew that. You’ve seen me at The Shell before.”
Ben’s expression fell, and he shook his head, looking down at his guitar again, his fingers carefully picking out notes. “Nope. I’ve never seen you before. I think I would have remembered that.” He wasn’t rude. In fact, he was acting almost shy.
“Are you sure you haven’t seen me at The Shell? I watch you guys play all the time. I think you and your drummer friend were actually talking about me last night?” I hedged.
Might as well get it out in the open. He had zero interest in hooking up with me, and I knew it. Case closed. What I didn’t know was why he hadn’t kicked me out of his room already. Or why I’d decided to stay even though I knew how he felt about me.
So why was I still here? Why was I unable to walk away? Where was my pride?
I had no clue, but I was going to blame my lack of common sense on the music. Ben’s fingers were magic. He was like the fucking Pied Piper, and I couldn’t walk away.
Ben’s eyebrows pinched together, but he still didn’t look up. “No, pretty sure I wasn’t talking about you.”
“Pretty sure you were.” My words reflected my irritation. Own it, bass boy. Don’t act like you’ve never seen me before. “You mentioned something about sloppy seconds? And that you don’t hook up with groupies you meet in bars?”
Ben cringed slightly at my accusation but continued his fixation with his guitar strings. “Nope. Leo and I were talking about Gina. You don’t sound like her.”
He still hadn’t looked directly where I sat and that annoyed the shit out of me. Was that his way of letting me know how worthless he thought I was? Did he find me that repulsive that he couldn’t even look at me? And if that’s the way he felt, why did he let me in his room in the first place?
“Of course I’m not Gina. If you took one look at me, you would see that.” I stood up, arms crossed across my chest.
Ben lifted his head, his gaze fixed in my direction, but his eyes still didn’t meet mine. They were blank, unfocused. His fingers finally stopped moving, and the silence was unnerving. He ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip like he was deciding how to answer. “I can look at you all I want,” he said, his voice tight. “That doesn’t mean I can see you.”
My stomach took a nose dive for my feet. “Are you—” I started. When I waved my hand at him, his eyes still stared blankly as if I hadn’t moved at all. “You can’t see me?” I whispered.
“Nope.” His voice was almost amused. “Been blind my whole life. So tell me, if you’re not Gina the groupie, who are you? ‘Cause you’re acting like a bitch.” Ben chuckled and placed his guitar on the ground, his elbows resting on his knees.
I didn’t even care that he’d called me a bitch. It was his admission that had me struggling to understand what he’d said.
Ben was blind? He couldn’t see? Couldn’t see me? My mind was tumbling over all the memories of my childhood and how Nikki had always said that my looks were the best
thing I had going for me. I looked back and forth across the room. “I-I-I…” I stuttered.
Ben laughed. “We’re quite the pair. I’m blind, and you can’t speak.” He stood up and extended his hand. “Ben Sutherland.”
Reluctantly, I placed my hand in his large warm one and a shudder ran through me. Ben stiffened when he felt the movement.
“I’m Julie. Julie Prescott.”
We shook hands, and he sat back down.
“Julie,” he mused. “You don’t hear that name a whole lot.”
I took a few deep breaths, swallowing against the tightness in my throat, my brain cartwheeling around his revelation. Ben didn’t know who I was. I wasn’t the sloppy second’s groupie. He wasn’t blowing me off last night.
“I’m named after Julie Newmar. My mom is a huge Catwoman fan. She always said that the villains were the most interesting characters.” I twisted my hands together nervously and was relieved when I remembered Ben couldn’t see me fidgeting. “My friends call me Jules though.”
“Jules. That sounds more fitting.” He rubbed the side of his finger along his lower lip as he considered me. “You know you can tell a lot about a person from their voice and the way they speak.”
His voice was deep and sultry, like his music. I imagined that he could say pretty much anything and I’d be a goner, especially if his hands were involved. The way they moved over his guitar—
“For instance,” Ben said, interrupting my thoughts, “when you speak, you choose strong words. But your voice is like wine. It’s smooth and rich.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his words were husky. “I think I could get drunk on your voice.”
My body flushed with heat. Jesus Christ. Did my panties just disintegrate? That was the hottest fucking thing anyone had ever said to me. I tried to think of something witty to say back, but all that came out was an awkward clearing of my throat.
“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head as if erasing the spell he’d put over me and everything he’d just said. “Are you thirsty? I have beer in my fridge.” Ben motioned with his head to a small refrigerator and microwave under the window.
