by McKinley May
But instead of walking this way, both of them head in the opposite direction, disappearing into the back parking lot without looking back.
And now I’m thinking he actually did forget about this.
The same anger I felt two nights ago comes back, prickling on the tip of my skin like an irritating rash. I grip the railing, attempting to squeeze out the animosity pulsing through my veins.
Another planned interview, another sketchy Vaughn.
I grab my phone and furiously type out a text, pressing send with a firm jab of my finger.
Me: Strike Two.
Just as I’m contemplating jumping the railing and sprinting across the turf to hunt him down and give him a piece of my mind, my phone rings.
Incoming Call: Vaughn Steel
I’m not usually an angry person. Uptight and anxious? Sure, I’ll give you that, but angry? No.
But this guy gets on my nerves like nobody ever has before, and my blood is freaking boiling.
I press answer and give it to him.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Where did you go?” I hiss.
I hear him laughing on the other side of the phone.
Laughing.
Oh, hell no.
“Does this amuse you, Steel? Is this funny to you? You have absolutely no sense of the socially acceptable way to interact with other people, no sense of manners, responsibility, or—”
“Whoa, Hurricane Rayne. Chill. You’re like a damn thunderstorm right now. Slow down. Take a deep breath. Relax.”
His stupid commands do nothing to calm me, and I continue my tirade.
“I need you to cooperate with me! This is getting ridiculous. You can’t just forget our plans.” I let out a deep exhale before uttering my next sentence. “You are making this so much harder than it needs to be, and I’m starting to get really frustrated with you.”
His tone immediately changes when he hears the seriousness in my voice. “I didn’t forget about you, I swear. I don’t want you to be upset with me.” He actually sounds sincere for the first time ever, so I give him the benefit of the doubt and hear him out. “I want you to meet me at the Treehouse in fifteen minutes.”
And now I’m confused.
“The Treehouse? Am I supposed to know what that is?” I frown as I think of a possibility. “Oh God. It’s not a strip club, is it?”
He snickers. “Jesus, Rayne. It’s my house. You think I’d do an interview with you while I’m getting a lap dance?”
“Well, you did coax me to a grimy bar for the first one, so you can’t blame me for assuming you’d think exotic dancers and interviews go hand in hand.”
“I mean, I’m not opposed to it if you aren’t,” he quips, but I choose to ignore the remark.
“Where’s this Treehouse place?” I question.
“Right next door to Sigma Pi. You know where that is?”
“Yeah, I think so. But which side? The right or the left? I thought they owned all that land around them.”
He lets out a sharp laugh. “Uh, they fucking wish. It’s on the far right side.”
“What does it look like?”
“Believe me, when you see it, you’ll know.”
7
The Treehouse is spectacular.
When Lexie’d dragged me to Sigma Pi a few times in the past, I’d noticed the massive Maple and Juniper trees on either side of the property, but I always assumed it was their untouched land. To be totally honest, I figured it was where they hazed their new pledges.
I never would’ve guessed that hidden amongst the dense forest beyond the frat house was something as extraordinary as this place.
I’m standing on the inner side of the property gate, staring ahead in astonishment. A stone pathway leads to a huge oval-shaped pool twenty feet in front of me. It’s filled with sparkling, blue-green water and surrounded by gorgeous rock fixtures and hydrangea bushes. It’s so natural looking, like some type of fairy tale pond you’d come across in a meadow. The only things convincing me it’s man-made are a diving board on one end of the pool and a bubbling hot tub on the other.
Straight ahead is a giant house, but instead of looking like one of the dingy off-campus homes with peeling paint and cracked windows, this home looks well-maintained with a pine-colored wood finish and beautiful glass-paned windows.
The best part?
It’s actually lifted above the ground, centered within four thick oaks and supported by a few strong beams. A curved, wooden staircase leads from the ground up to the front door, the entirety of it lined with dimly lit lanterns that bathe the steps in a magical, golden glow.
The name isn’t just referring to the jungle-like style of the home; this place seriously is a freakin’ treehouse.
On opposite sides of the pool are two more homes that look similar in style and color to the main house, but about half the size and low enough to the ground that no staircases are necessary. The only difference between these two houses is the color of their front doors; the one on the left is painted a rich burgundy and the one on the right a deep olive green.
Luscious, towering trees are everywhere, framing the homes and reaching into the starry night sky.
I’m getting major Swiss Family Robinson vibes, and it’s completely awesome.
I’m so mesmerized by the place I don’t even hear the gate squeak open behind me. I finally snap out of my fascination when someone bumps into me from behind, sending me stumbling forward.
“Crap. I didn’t see you there. Sorry.”
As I turn around, I recognize Cameron Collins from the bar the other night. This time he doesn’t look blasted out of his mind.
He studies my face for a second before recognition passes through his eyes and he grins.
“Sportscaster Girl! Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
I decide not to correct him this time, letting him enjoy his lame, not-even-accurate nickname for me. I look down and notice he’s carrying three ginormous cases of beer. Before I know what’s happening, he's shoveling one of the cases into my arms.
“Hey, do me a favor? Can you take one of these up with you? I’ve got about six more in the car, and the less I have to go up that damn staircase the better.”
I balance the case in my arms and gesture for the others. “I can get all three if you want.”
He looks taken aback, but cautiously sets the second and third cases on top of the other one in my arms. He studies me for a second, as if he’s expecting my knees to buckle from the weight. When they don’t, he flashes an impressed smile in my direction.
“Damn, girl. Thanks.”
“No problem. Is Vaughn here?”
“He should be. His room’s upstairs and down the right hallway.” He points up at the main house and heads back to his car.
I make my way up the stairs and open the unlocked front door, careful not to lose my balance and go toppling over the railing with all the beer.
The inside is as beautiful as the outside with tall ceilings and a grand staircase leading to the second floor. Brown leather couches sit in front of a sleek, stone fireplace, and an antique grandfather clock chimes softly in the entryway.
Seriously, this place deserves some sort of recognition on HGTV or something. It’s beyond gorgeous, appearing as if it was plucked straight out of a magazine spread. The high-tech gaming and speaker system along with the massive flat screen TV are the only hints that this place is inhabited by college boys.
I make my way through the living room and into the kitchen, setting the beer cases down carefully on the counter.
The spotless counter.
Not only am I in shock at how beautiful everything is, I'm also borderline astonished at how freaking clean it is, too. It could easily pass a white glove test, and there’s not even one item out of place.
Can guys be this clean? My experiences with my little brothers would tell me it’s not humanly possible.
Suddenly, I hear the front door open, and moments later Weston
appears in the kitchen. A boy with reddish-blonde hair follows behind him—also wearing a Warriors Uniform—but I don’t remember seeing him at the bar. A modelesque girl with long, chestnut hair and bright red lips holds onto Mystery Boy’s arm as they enter.
I awkwardly wave at them, ready to explain why I’m randomly standing in their kitchen like a total weirdo, but Weston speaks before I can.
“‘Sup, Rayne?” He starts ripping open the boxes. “Still haven’t convinced some other sucker to take over the article yet? Nobody would blame you if you did. Vaughn’s a handful.” He flashes a boyish grin in my direction as he begins shoving the beer cans in the few empty spots in the refrigerator. The thing is already filled to the brim with alcohol.
He grabs a few bottles of cold beer and tosses one to Mystery Boy. “That’s Liam.”
Liam extends his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
I’m surprised when he speaks with a strong British accent, and he must see it in my face because he lets out an amused chuckle. “No, you’re not hearing things. I’m as English as they come. Originally from London.”
Weston tosses the other beer to the girl. “And this is Ellie. She claims she’s Liam’s girlfriend, but I’m pretty sure she’s my worst nightmare come to life.” He gives her a teasing grin and her eyes roll to the ceiling.
I smile warmly at her. “How are you?”
She immediately runs over, engulfing me in a giant hug. “It’s so good to meet you, Rayne!” My eyes widen when I hear her sweet-as-pie southern drawl.
Weston laughs as he takes in my expression. “A British boy and a Georgia girl. Crazy, right? Their kids are gonna sound so fucking weird.”
“Screw you, Paine,” Liam says as Ellie gives Weston a small shove.
“Don’t be rude, Weston. Our kids will sound absolutely adorable; you wait and see.”
Weston offers me a beer, but I thank him and decline. “I should probably go find Vaughn.”
I'm walking towards the staircase when he calls out to me.
“Be careful, babe. You don’t want to walk in on one of his sexcapades. I don’t want your innocent eyes getting scarred for life.”
Um, ew?
I shudder as I walk up the steps.
I hear Ellie gasp. “Weston, you’ve got to be kidding me! Out of all of the boys who live here, you’re the one I’d be most worried about catching in the act. In fact, I have caught you. Multiple times. And I am forever scarred.”
I turn right when I get to the top, listening to the fading voices of Ellie and Weston arguing below.
As I’m walking down the long and narrow hallway, I notice the dozens of framed photos hung up on both sides. When I look closer, I realize they’re the men’s soccer team photos from the past fifty years.
The first ones I pass by are obviously old, and not just based on the yellow tints and peeling edges. I giggle to myself at the itty bitty shorts and unfortunate seventies’ hairstyles.
I wander down the hall, studying the images and watching the team change over the years. In between the framed photos are tournament trophies in shadowboxes and shiny plaques highlighting the Most Valuable Players of the season.
It’s like a miniature history museum, and I love it.
I finally reach the team picture from last year which has been blown up larger than the rest. I notice Vaughn right away, and it’s not because he’s dead center and has a soccer ball perched on his knee.
Nope, it’s because he looks like a freaking model. His dark hair is swept to the left side and his hauntingly blue eyes are striking, even in a photo taken so far away.
Steel Blue, indeed.
I come to the end of the hall and stand in front of a slightly ajar door, the words “CO-CAPTAIN” engraved above the frame. I knock softly.
“Steel? It’s Rayne.”
No answer, but I hear the hum of soft music coming from the room, so I’m assuming he’s in there.
I knock again, louder this time.
Still no answer.
Maybe he crashed after his game? I know after my volleyball games in high school I’d pass out for hours afterwards, completely exhausted.
Or maybe he’s in the middle of a “sexcapade”, and I really don’t want to burst in on that. I lean my ear against the door, listening for any evidence of a girl inside the room.
Luckily, I don’t hear any telltale moaning or giggling, so I decide to take my chances.
“I’m coming in!” I announce as I push the door open and walk cautiously into the room.
I don’t see Vaughn anywhere, but I admire his room which is simple, homey, and—much like the rest of the house—impressively clean for a college dude. A pleasant woodsy aroma fills my nose and I breathe in deeply, savoring the scent.
I feel a bit nosy as I examine his room, but hey, it’s not everyday you’re in a star athlete’s bedroom and I have to admit, I’m curious.
It’s pretty much what you would expect: various medals and trophies scattered about, a few posters of famous soccer players hanging on the walls, and a couple of school textbooks tossed on the desk. I walk over to his bookshelf, interested to see what kind of books someone like him would read.
Before I can inspect them, a framed photograph on top of the shelf catches my eye. I lift it up and can’t help but smile when I see a teenage Vaughn blowing a huge pink bubble for the shot. A dark-haired girl who looks about twelve is laughing next to him, her index finger an inch away from popping the pink sphere. Based on similar facial features, it’s pretty easy to tell they’re siblings. It’s sweet he has a picture of them on display.
I set the frame down and raise my head, my gaze falling to his bed in the corner.
Jeez. It’s enormous.
That has to be a California King because I’ve never seen a bed this big in my entire life. I think about my squeaky full-sized bed in my room and feel envious.
Before I can stop myself, I’m sprawled out on top of the dark gray comforter, not even taking up a fourth of it. It’s soft and cozy and feels like I’ve just sunk into a big, bouncy marshmallow.
When I take a breath, I notice his pillowcase is dosed in the musky, alpine scent and—holy moly—it smells heavenly. I could definitely sleep in this bed. Hell, I could live in this bed.
Andddd now I’m officially feeling like a creeper.
Just as I’m about to hop off, a door in the back corner of the room opens and out steps Vaughn in a cloud of shower steam.
For a second, I’m convinced he’s naked. His hair is damp and dark. Droplets of water are sprinkled across his firm, tan chest, glistening in the dim light of his table lamp. He reaches up and runs both of his hands roughly through his hair, the movement causing his muscles to bulge and flex and my cheeks to flush in response.
As my eyes wander down, I finally spot his towel. It’s lying so low on his hips it’s bordering on falling off. I try to keep my eyes on his face, but I’m struggling to tear my gaze away from his defined core. His abs are taut and toned, the water from his shower highlighting the freakin’ perfection I’m observing right now. He definitely has that lean and cut type of body soccer players have and it’s unreal.
God, he’s even got that magnificent V-cut—my ultimate weakness—and it’s pointing directly towards his—
Stop.
I shake my head, trying to gain my composure and calm my beating heart. I seriously need to get a grip. It’s not like I’ve never seen a half-naked man before.
Not one with a body like this.
I tell the voice in my head to STFU.
Vaughn finally turns and notices me, not even flinching at the fact that I’m lying in his bed waiting for him.
That doesn’t really surprise me, though. I’m sure there’ve been more than a handful of girls lounging on this bed, waiting for him just like this.
Although I’m guessing the girls weren’t wearing a big t-shirt and running shorts like I am. Probably something more along the lines of lingerie and lace. Maybe even nothi
ng at all.
I quickly jump off and frantically smooth out his comforter, not wanting to be grouped into that category.
He must notice how frazzled I look because he arches a brow and grins.
“Enjoying the show?”
The smug look on his face brings me back to reality.
“Not at all.” I cross my arms and shake my head.
He tilts his head, leering at me. I glare at him in response.
“I don’t know, Raynie. Your cheeks are all red and you seem out of breath. I think you’re a little turned on right now.”
