Wild Kisses (3:AM Kisses #7)

by Addison Moore

  Cassidy knocks me in the ribs. “Are you going to pad this with some green and land us both a bed in that princess ponytail wearing palace?” Her eyes light up as if the prospect were alluring enough to consider, especially since it’s not her green I’ll be padding it with.

  “No.” I wince. I have no intention on actually becoming my father. “Maybe.” I cringe again because on some level it feels inevitable. It’s not my fault his DNA is the questionable matrix holding me together.

  The Alpha Chi bots continue to intermingle with the girls in the crowd, doing their best to dig their talons into our young, juicy, non-sorority flesh. They’re just waiting to anoint us with their red lipstick and oyster pellets. You can see it in their eyes.

  “Of course, we have strict rules to abide by at Alpha Chi!” Jules and Lucille linger in front. Cassidy and I are all ears, but I can’t help but note that Daisy and Scarlett are quickly becoming the dissidents. I can tell they’re just a hair from rolling their eyes, their mouths smacking with disapproval at whatever springs forth from our future fearless leader’s pouty little lips. “No casual drug use. No throwing yourself at undesirable men for the fun of it. We at Alpha Chi are big believers in monogamy. In fact, Lucille and I have a magnificent track record when it comes to matchmaking!” Jules’ lips widen as if this stupid cupid move were about to erect itself. “I think you’ll find that in life there is nothing as important as who you surround yourselves with and who you fall in love with.”

  Lucille nods like an obedient child. “It’s telling of so many things. Good friends and good lovers are next to godliness!” She chortles at the ridiculously contorted cliché, as does the growing crowd of potential new members—PNMs as per the handbook I was given.

  “It’s time for a little getting to know you game!” Jules claps, and the masses flock to her like refugees begging for Greek asylum, me being one of them.

  Here it is. My chance to verbally vomit that speech I hand hewn with a little help from my big bro. Speaking of Cade, I’m so thankful he’s nowhere to be seen. He’s already warned me to stay away from the Greeks, citing it’s a faulty system that churns out nothing but frat brats and sorority sluts—which I pointed out, made him sound like a narcissistic ass who didn’t mind painting society with the broad stroke of his egotistical brush. Besides, the last thing I want is Cade lumping me in with people he looks unfavorably on. Once I make it into Alpha Chi, I’ll introduce him to the Greek system my way. He’ll see he was wrong about labeling the ponytail swinging masses without getting to know them first. God knows we hate it when people do it to us. Having unimaginable wealth sort of puts an inadvertent target on your back, especially when it comes to people assuming the worst in you.

  The room grows increasingly congested, and we’re encouraged to break off into groups of ten or so. We stand in a tight circle, and Jules gets the games going for our small crowd.

  “Okay, ladies, how about we start with something simple? A drinking game?” She lifts her red Solo as if saluting us. She introduces herself, and we go around in a circle spouting off our names and where we’re from with a firm shout to edge over the music, which gives this whole getting-to-know-you process an intense military feel.

  Lucille downs the rest of her Solo contents and gives a happily sloshed grin. “Let’s kick this mixer up a notch and get down and dirty! Stay with the theme! Never have I ever…in my parents’ house.”

  The crowd titters as most of us are spared from sipping from our watered down beers.

  Jules goes next. “Never have I ever been walked in on by my parents!”

  The circle explodes into a fit of laughter at the coital implications.

  My face fills with heat as the girls each regale us with their slightly veiled innuendos as my turn quickly approaches.

  The truth is, never have I ever done anything to qualify me to even make up an innuendo, so I quickly excuse myself from the sexual shenanigans. For whatever reason, I have an inability to lie, and also quite thankfully, I have a bladder the size of a thimble so my bathroom excuse is always valid. And really, never have I ever? What’s next, pillow fights and make-out sessions?

  I thread through the darkened room as the music pulsates right along with my blooming headache. I ditch my beer on a nearby table as I maneuver through the wall of human limbs. Is this really what I want? Endless Friday and Saturday nights playing slumber party games while sipping from Solo cups? And what exactly did I think the sorority was going to be about anyway? Study groups? One big day spa where we sit around painting each other’s toenails?

  A brick wall of a body slams into me. I jump back just as a generous amount of beer heaves over the side of his cup and splatters onto the floor.

  “You missed,” I say, looking up and gasping at the familiar shock of black hair, those blue light bulbs he calls eyes that siren out at me. It’s the unwanted superhero from Founder’s Square. “It’s you!” Gah! He’s like a curse that’s fallen on me—literally—and now, we’ll be inadvertently doing the bump and grind at the most inopportune moments for the next four years. “My God, were you aiming at me?” My hands clutch over my chest in the event he decides he likes me better with the wet T-shirt look.

  He’s cuttingly handsome even in this dim light. He has that evil villain thing happening with his eyebrows as they waggle over those demanding eyes. A smile ticks on his lips as if his sole purpose in life were to gain pleasure by annoying me with liquids.

  He smirks as if I would be so lucky to have him dunk his skunk juice over my head twice in one day. “Never have I ever fooled around in a frat house.” He bleeds a devilish smile. “Care to change that?”

  “Oh my God.” I try to sidestep around him, but he’s quick to block my path with that sheet of flint he calls a chest. My eyes graze down to his tattoos, but they look blurred and as dirty as his soul in this strained light. “Go away!”

  I try a zigzag maneuver, but he’s zigging and zagging right alongside me.

  An exasperated cry escapes my throat. “Shouldn’t you be scouting for someone to sit on your dude piston?” I try to make a break for it, but he’s right there with me.

  “My what?” His forehead creases, and it’s unsettling how aggressively cute he is with his doltish confusion.

  “Your whoopee stick. Your slut hammer.”

  His mouth rounds out before he gives a dark laugh. “You up for filling any of those positions?” He relaxes his hand against the wall just over my head, effectively pinning me in. “Of course, I’m open to all kinds of positions. I’m flexible, if you know what I mean.”

  My eyes round out in horror. “Are you stalking me? Should I be alerting the authorities? You’re a pig, by the way, if you think that lame never have I ever in a frat house pick-up line is actually going to work.”

  “Relax, princess, I was just teasing. I happen to be an expert at fooling around in a frat house.” Alpha Chi continues with their never have I ever sexual misconduct stories that elicit a riotous laugh every ten seconds as if on cue, and he nods in their direction. “Never have I ever seen such a group of fake people. You sure you want to dive into that silicone swimming pool?”

  I suck in a sharp breath at the audacity. “Never have I ever met such a dick!” I try to sidestep him once again, but he’s right there with me, entrapping me with his refrigerator build, holding me hostage with those ever-lucent sky-blue eyes.

  “I’m sorry.” He winces as if it pained him to say the words. “In fact, I’m sorry about everything. I don’t like getting off on the wrong foot with anyone. You’re sweet”—he makes a face—“okay, maybe that’s laying it on a little thick, but, nevertheless, there’s something about you that reminds me of my little sister, and I don’t want to see you get mixed up with those girls.”

  A breath gets caught in my throat. “Let me get this straight. First, you ask to get it on with me to fulfill your frat house fantasies, and now you’re likening me to your little sister? Do you even realize how perverted t
hat leap is?” I retch a little at the thought. “Look, I’m not making your twisted wet dreams come true anytime soon, and I just so happen to have enough big brothers to look out for my best interests, thank you very much. By the way, you’re still holding strong in the biggest dick department.”

  His grin widens.

  “Ugh. Not like that. You’re sick.” I try to push him out of the way, but he proves immovable as a boulder.

  He grabs ahold of my hand and pulls it gently to his chest. His features soften, and there’s an earnestness in his face that feels genuine. “My name is Owen, and if you never want to speak with me again, I’m okay with it.” He lands my hand carefully by my side. “Just know that those girls are serious trouble. I should know. My older sister used to be their ringleader. She was dangerous, and so are they. They’re nothing but a bunch of manipulative lowlifes. Consider yourself warned.” His eyes burn into mine a moment too long, and my insides sear with heat.

  He stalks off, and I can’t help but follow him with my gaze. Who calls their own sister dangerous? What is she, a viper?

  As soon as he hits the other side of the room, an entire harem amasses around him. I make a face at the sight. Typical. He’s just your run-of-the-mill dick jockey looking for fresh meat to sink his lap rocket into. And judging by the way those girls are pawing all over him, nibbling on him as if he were a decadent dessert, you can tell his lap rocket will have plenty of places to land later this evening. My stomach explodes into a ball of acid at the thought.

  “Here you are!” Jules pops up with her glued-on smile, her eyes sparkling potent as dynamite. “I have someone I think you should meet.” She pulls forth a body, and I’m met with the chiseled-faced winker who looks much more sculpted to perfection up close than he did from far away.

  “Why don’t you two introduce yourselves?” Jules rounds her eyes out at me, and even though I’m sure she’s just being encouraging, there seems to be a veiled threat layered just beneath.

  “I’m Piper James. So nice to meet you.” I extend my hand, and he takes it.

  “Winston Stanford of the New York Stanfords.” He gives a baritone laugh as if he were in on the joke.

  “I’m from New York, too. Manhattan,” I offer, a little too giddy, bouncing when I say it, and I hate myself for it because I know my eagerness to please is aimed straight for Jules and not so much Winston Stanford of the New York Stanfords.

  “See there?” Jules gives a little hop and sends her ponytail counterclockwise full swing. “You two have oodles in common already!” She leans in and whispers hot into my ear, “I’m batting a thousand. Don’t you ruin my streak!” She leans back and gives a deadly serious wink that both creeps me out and sends my blood running cold. Something tells me my grandfather would really like this place.

  She starts to walk away, and I pull her back by the elbow. Her eyes drift to my bodily malfeasance, and I’m quick to let go.

  “I just want to let you know that I’d do anything to get my friends and me into Alpha Chi,” I assure.

  She sizes me up a moment before inserting that perky grin right back onto her face, Potato Head style. “It’s every girl for herself, but”—she tilts toward Winston a moment—“I think this is something we can discuss.” She offers me another wink before dissolving into the crowd.

  I glance up at Winston whose name and heavily chiseled features hold a soap opera appeal.

  “So, tell me about yourself.” I take a step into him, and his heavy cologne walls me in like a membrane. Hopefully, both Jules and Lucille have their eyes peeled in this direction. Jules made it clear she’d like nothing more than for her matchmaking batting average to maintain its status quo.

  Winston leans in and leers at me with an open look of lust. Something tells me I’d better get used to it. I’d better get used to the paint thinner he’s doused himself with. I’d better get used to his daytime-ready name and features, because if I want to play nice with the Alpha Chi drones, I might just be staring at my very first college boyfriend.

  Winston starts in on a long and tedious speech that begins with his goals to work in finance with his father. He talks of his days in boarding school (a crosstown rival to my own scholastic home), and then proceeds to tell me that his sister also roams the WB campus, and, despite the fact our lives seem to be traveling parallel to one another, my eyes can’t seem to stop flitting to the annoying moron who had the nerve to warn me about anything this evening. My stomach still feels the searing heat that bit through it when Owen and I touched, and yet, I shook hands with Winston here, my own social doppelganger—a blue blood no less, and felt absolutely nothing.

  I catch a glimpse of a tall blonde wrapping herself around Owen, the dispenser of harbingers. She whispers into his ear and elicits a lewd grin from him.

  My stomach churns without warning.

  He glances my way, and our eyes snag a moment too long. He says something to the leggy blonde, and she simply walks away. Owen nods over at me before heading to the door. His body passes right next to mine, and it feels electric as a swell of invisible waves pulsates through me in quick thrusting jags.

  Owen ducks out into the thick of night, and my eyes watch the mouth of the door long after it swallows him whole.

  I bet his big ego thinks I’ll be following him. A silent laugh ripples through my chest. He wishes.

  I turn my full attention back to Winston as he prattles on about finance and politics—the national trade deficit even manages to make a debut in our first conversation.

  And suddenly an aching part of me wishes I had followed Owen right out that door.

  Owen

  The sun is covered with a whitewash of clouds as if summer knows its sweltering days are numbered. For all practical purposes, it’s already fall as classes gear up to start next week. But at the moment, I’m seated in a cushy leather chair in the offices of Capwell, Edwards, and James Media Services, listening to Bryson Edwards give a pep talk to the dozens of new hires as the company treads toward the end of its first financial quarter.

  Ryder, my first cousin once removed, if that’s still a thing, was kind enough to offer me this internship. I called him last spring when I got the acceptance to WB. I was pretty amped up to get right into the business program, and I was hoping to score an internship at Capwell, Inc., the company owned by his father, but he generously offered me one at his start-up instead. I would have asked my own father to help me get in at Capwell, but at the moment he’s all about tough love. There will be no nepotism coming from either of my parents—not now, and not in the foreseeable future.

  I try to glance up at Bryson every now and again, but my eyes hang heavy at the sight of him. I know I shouldn’t feel guilty for the sins of my sister, but it’s as if all the terrible things she’s done were somehow stitched to my forehead. I bear her shame. I do. And perhaps the real reason is because I still love her. She’ll always be Aubree, my big sister. Unfortunately, now she also bears a few more titles, such as murderer, and attempted murderer as well. It’s a known fact she’s got more than one screw loose, and I wish I could hate her like the rest of the world. Sometimes I think that would be easiest, perhaps even best, but I can’t. In fact, her major fuck ups in life are exactly what have turned me into a big brother nightmare for my seventeen-year-old sister, Ava.

  That girl from the party Saturday night, the one I happened to dump my drink on that afternoon, flies through my mind. She was a nightmare—that’s for sure—but there was something about her that reminded me of Ava, and that was the reason I was looking at her when that ball nearly nailed her in the head. It was headed straight for her temple whether or not she’s willing to admit it. A temple shot like that would have been fatal. I shake my head at the thought.

  “You don’t think so?” Bryson looks affronted as I come to.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that last part.” Shit. The last thing I need is for anyone to think I’m a slacker. Ryder started this company with his good buddies, Wyat
t and Bryson. Bryson’s girlfriend Baya was one of Aubree’s victims—she was the lucky one. She survived. I still thank God Aubree didn’t kill her. Wyatt James rounds out the trio with his familiar brooding face—that last name that I’ve been trying to place for the last hour.

  Bryson continues, “I was thinking we should send out teams to speak with department heads of the corporations we’re hoping to pull in. Instead of cold calling, we’ll be cold contacting—in person. It’s not a fun job, but it could be since we’ve decided to throw in a thousand dollar bonus for each company we sign a contract with.”

  The room lights up with a warm round of gratitude.

  A thousand dollars. I swallow hard. I can use a thousand dollars. Hell, I can use many thousands of dollars. I didn’t score any big scholarships, and I’m hoofing most of my student loans myself. A part of my father’s don’t-be-a-murdering-fuck-up-like-your-sister campaign involved cutting me off financially and booting me out of the house once I turned eighteen. Another reason I’m keeping a watchful eye on Ava. She’s just nine months away from that legal extradition. I don’t know what the hell my parents are thinking. I’m barely able to make it on my own, and if they knew what lengths I was going through to keep my lights on, they might have second thoughts over their campaign to let life teach me a lesson or two the hard way. Not that I want a handout, but a little mercy would be nice. I’ll be the first to admit I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth, a never-ending supply of cash and credit cards lining my wallet. There was a brand new sports car to drive the second I turned sixteen, which was repossessed by my parents the day I moved out, and instead, I rode my trusty Schwinn to the nearest youth hostel. Life is a bitch, but I wasn’t as angry at the universe as I was with my parents. They figured they screwed up with Aubree and didn’t want to chance any more litigation in their future. But it’s water under the bridge. I hustled, got work where I could, and ended up with an apartment, an old beat-up pickup, and even managed to get two years of community college under my belt. Now I’m at Briggs, with just two years left until I get the golden ticket.