by Sarina Bowen
Judd leans closer to me and murmurs, “You got this in the bag, bro. This dinner’s lame.”
And yet at the head of the table, Luke Bailey is completely unbothered, or maybe he’s just oblivious to our reactions. Not just mine and Judd’s, but everyone’s. Even his own campaign manager, Jako, sports a look of bewilderment, as if he can’t understand why Luke chose a fancy boys-only dinner for the Dance-off.
The hot waitresses clear away our apps, refill our wine glasses, and the next course comes out: a peach and avocado salad that is damn tasty. After that is the entrée, filet mignon au poivre, with scalloped potatoes and French beans. There’s even a vegetable plate for Munsen, who doesn’t eat meat. I don’t miss the way the brothers devour everything.
For the first time all evening, a sliver of worry pierces my gut. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach… Fuck, that phrase is a phrase for a reason. Men like food. Men like being fed. Men especially like being fed by hot, big-breasted women.
There isn’t a cup size lower than C in the room. And the servers seem to have no qualms about waving their boobs in our faces.
“Let me top that off for you,” one of them coos as she practically drapes herself over Paxton Grier’s broad shoulder.
Her left tit is legit pressing against his cheek as she pours the sparkling liquid into his wineglass. His tongue practically rolls out of his mouth and falls onto his half-eaten steak.
Narrowing my eyes, I glance at Luke again. He’s deep in conversation with Tanner. Which isn’t a sight I like to see. Tanner is solidly in my corner. He’s my closest friend in the house after Judd. There’s no way in hell he’s allowed to vote for Bailey.
I mentally will their conversation to end, but I fail. Tanner throws his head back and laughs at something Luke just said. Goddammit. I’m losing Tanner. And then one of those hot temptresses rests a hand on Judd’s shoulder and leans down to whisper something in his ear, and suddenly I fear for Judd’s soul as well.
By the time our entrée dishes are carted off to the kitchen, the back of my neck feels real hot, and my dinner jacket feels too tight. I’m genuinely concerned that Bailey is winning everyone over. Dinner was amazing, I can’t deny that. And I certainly can’t deny that all the eye candy in the room is a stroke of genius.
I need this evening to be over before Bailey scores any more points. We just finished the main dish, so I’m assuming there’ll be dessert now, and then I’ll be done with this shit.
Except Luke Bailey has other ideas.
After the last dish is whisked away, he clears his throat to get everyone’s attention.
“Gentlemen,” he says when the room goes quiet. “If you’ll please indulge me and pick up your glasses.”
Judd rolls his eyes at me. I roll mine in return. Guess it’s time for the big speech nobody gives a shit to hear?
But we humor the guy. Everyone takes a glass in hand, waiting.
The toast I’m expecting doesn’t come.
“Um, you gonna say something?” Judd mocks.
“Nah,” drawls Luke.
“You’re not making a toast?” grumbles Owen.
“Nope.”
“Then why the fuck are we all holding our glasses?” Tim demands.
“Oh, I wasn’t clear about that, sorry. I just wanted you to pick up your wine glasses so there’s room on the table.” His gaze shifts briefly to a point behind Tim’s head.
“Room for what?” Ahmad asks in confusion.
I glance over my shoulder to follow Luke’s gaze. One of the waitresses, a tall redhead, is bending over a laptop near the entertainment center. Suspicion surges in my blood at the same moment a blast of music rocks the house.
“The entertainment,” Luke shouts to Ahmad. His cocky gaze sweeps over the rest of us. “Time for the fun part, boys. You can look, but you can’t touch.”
That sneaky motherfucker—
Before I can blink, three of the women have hopped up onto the tables, strutting on the white tablecloth in their high heels. A sultry beat thumps in the room, shaking the walls, vibrating in the floor. When the song offers a sharp crash of cymbal, one of the chicks rips open her white dress shirt, revealing the sexy red bra underneath. It barely contains her tits, which are spilling over the lacy cups.
“Oh my God,” Judd moans happily.
His reaction is shared by every other guy in the room, Dan included. Our only gay brother literally hops to his feet and starts bumping his hips against one of the girls who’s still on land. Granted, he seems more into the song than the chick, but still. I feel betrayed, and Dan and I aren’t even close.
Chaos erupts all around me. The seductive trio on the table shake their hips, dancing in sexy, sinuous moves that summon cheers and catcalls from the twenty-three other guys in the room. And—fuck me—they can really move. It’s sexy, with hips swinging and asses shaking near my guys’ overjoyed faces. But it’s a real show, too.
Unfuckingbelievable.
I’m too stunned by this unexpected turn of events to fully appreciate the gorgeous, half-naked creatures dancing expertly for us.
I glower at Bailey, who just grins at me. “Who needs change for a twenty?” he calls as he circles the table. “It’s polite to tip our entertainers.” He’s making the rounds, offering stacks of small bills to our frat brothers, who all dive for their wallets.
That fucking evil genius. Food and strippers. He really does know the way to a man’s heart.
“Who’s ready for strip poker?” Jako shouts from the kitchen doorway. He’d disappeared right after dinner ended, and now I know why—beyond his broad shoulders, I glimpse the three green-felt game tables he set up in our dining room.
So much for him being “confused” by Bailey. Obviously Jako was in on it the entire time.
“Fuck yeah!” Judd shouts back.
Ah hell. Everyone knows how much Judd loves poker. And now we’re talking naked poker?
Evil fucking genius.
Judd lumbers forward, one beefy arm slung around the shoulders of a curvy dancer with big green eyes. On his way to the kitchen, my traitorous best friend stops to slap Luke Bailey’s shoulder. “Epic,” he tells Bailey. “This is fucking epic.”
Et tu, Judd? Et fucking tu?
As I inwardly bristle, I feel someone’s gaze on me. I stiffly turn my head and find Bailey grinning at me again. His big hand lifts, long fingers fluttering in a fuck-you wave. His brown eyes convey a very clear sentiment.
Game. Set. Match.
Too Bad I Hate Sharing
Luke
On Monday, we have our chapter meeting, where we go over the calendar, the budget, and any issues that may arise. These are just as dreadfully boring as they sound, although I understand why they’re necessary.
If you don’t arrive early for these meetings, you don’t get a seat, but even though I’m five minutes ahead of schedule, I’m still relegated to a standing spot against the wall.
Until Tanner, of all people, says, “Bailey, sit here. Anthony, move your ass.”
I try not to raise my eyebrows. I’ve been receiving a helluva lot of praise from the guys since last night’s home run, but Tanner is Team Keaton. Since when do Keaton’s friends ask me to sit with them? And kicking Anthony off the couch, to boot? Is this an alternate dimension?
Still, I’m not about to look a gift frat horse in the mouth.
I settle on the sofa next to Tanner, while lowly sophomore Anthony scampers toward the wall.
“Yo,” Tanner says. “Guess who texted me this morning.”
“Who?”
“Cassidy,” he answers, and there’s a red tinge to his cheeks. “I’m taking her to dinner on Friday.”
I nod in approval. “Well done. She’s a sweet girl.” In fact, Cassidy is of my favorite dancers at Jack’s. I get along with all the women, but I have a soft spot for Cassidy. Not only because she’s sweet as pie, but because we both grew up in Darby. The locals have to look out for each other.
&n
bsp; “Can’t believe you’re friends with all those strippers,” Paxton says from Tanner’s other side. He sounds envious. “That’s so fucking cool, bro.”
I just shrug. But inside, I give a mental fist pump. I knocked my Dance-off party out of the park yesterday. Even Hayworth knows it—his face was darker than a thundercloud as he watched all his friends dance and flirt with my girls until the wee hours of the morning.
Cassidy and company aren’t complaining, either. I paid them an hourly wage for serving the dinner, but then the brothers put a lot more cash in their hands. And nobody took things too far, thank God. I only had to remind one drunken sophomore that he wasn’t allowed to touch the dancers.
“Are we starting or what?” Judd grumbles from the other couch. “I got shit to do.”
Brad, our secretary, takes attendance on a clipboard. Along with sending out communications to our email list, this might be his only job. No free room for you, sucker.
“Okay, ladies,” begins Reed, our president. “We have several items of importance to get through before we feast on hot dogs, beer, and the hockey game. Go Bruins. First up! An investigation into an item that’s gone missing. Has anyone seen the toilet plunger that belongs in the second-floor bathroom? If this was some kind of prank, can it end now?”
I settle in as several theories are advanced and rejected. Someone makes a motion to buy a new toilet plunger and the motion is passed.
My mind wanders, as does my gaze. Keaton sits in one of the armchairs across from the couch, dressed in a crisp button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up a couple of times to expose his muscled forearms. I have to wonder if he wore that shirt to look more presidential. Or if sending shirts to the cleaner is just easier for him than doing laundry like a normal person. Maybe he just likes dressing like a Vineyard Vines model.
I fight off a yawn, but at least I’m not the only one. Last night was lit. I don’t think anyone woke up before noon today. Except maybe Keaton, since he left my party early and went upstairs to sulk. Reed is now talking about the signup sheet for kitchen-cleaning duty. “This semester we went in alphabetical order. Next semester we’re reversing it.”
When I’m president, we’re going to have to spice up these meetings. I take the lid off the cup of coffee I brought, and gulp the rest of it down just in time to hear Reed say, “And now, each of our presidential candidates will have ninety seconds to answer the following question. Why do you want to be president next year? We’ll start with Keaton.”
Reed taps the stopwatch on his phone, and the timer begins to race forward.
Still, Keaton takes a thoughtful moment before he opens his mouth. “It’s funny, but I have two different answers to this question. The obvious one is that my father was president of Alpha Delta in 1988, and before that, my grandfather was president in 1962. So this is what my family does. And this gives me a nice perspective on what really matters here—not the missing toilet plunger in the green bathroom, but how to make sure that Alpha Delt is still here for the next hundred graduating classes.”
There’s no way I could ever compete with that kind of legacy. Which is why if he wins, the free room will go to the guy who needs it least.
“But, honestly, my history with this place isn’t my real reason for running.” Keaton’s brow furrows. “Good thing, right? Because it’s not reason enough. I’m really here because you are my people. When I come home every day, there’s always someone to talk to. There’s always a game on TV, and someone to say, ‘What’s up? Grab a seat.’ The real reason I want to be president is because I care about this place and I can’t think of a better use of my…”
“Time,” Reed says.
Keaton cocks a thumb toward Reed. “What he said.” And everybody has a chuckle for our favorite muscled-up blue blood.
So now I’m supposed to top that? The whole “you are my people” thing would never play from me. So my gut suggests that some amount of honesty might be the best course of action.
Too bad I hate sharing.
All eyes are on me as Reed resets his timer. “Okay, Luke. How about you?”
Indeed. I wait for him to tap the timer. And then I give it my best shot.
“My history with this place could not be more different.” Hello, honesty. “I have no family legacy here. I grew up in this town, in the shadow of the college. When I was a kid, I’d watch all the European cars line up outside freshman yard on move-in day. They had stickers on the back from schools that I’d never heard of. I’d ask, ‘where the heck is Choate?’”
“It’s nowhere interesting,” a brother interjects, and wins himself a ripple of laughter.
I ignore the interruption. “They told me, never mind, kid, your school is this one with the bars on the windows and the metal detectors at the front door. But it turns out that if you have a lot of drive, you can still make it to Darby. And I rushed Alpha Delt when I got here, because I wanted the full college experience.” Okay, not entirely honest here. But I can’t exactly say, I rushed the frat because my brother is a hooligan. “I’m running for president today because I believe that this can be a place for everyone.”
I check the faces around the room, and I’m getting some nods. So this is resonating with a few people, at least.
“In other words, let us carry the torch forward—so that wings night and poker and spring bash are the rule of the land!” As I raise an arm grandly, my cynicism is rewarded with laughter. But I barely have any time left on the clock.
“And by the way, I happen to be a finance major. So I like some of the jobs that other people don’t. During my term as president I want to implement a new electronic bookkeeping system to make the house run more smoothly. So there’s more time for everything fun. Thank you for your…” I break off and glance at Reed.
“Time!” he says, tapping his phone. Then he laughs. “See that? You flunkies are in good hands no matter how the vote goes in January. With that, I draw this meeting to a close. Hockey and dogs for all!”
A whoop goes up, and I rise from my chair.
“Nice job, man. Top shelf,” Ahmad says as he slaps me on the back. “Great party, too.”
“Dude, it was sick,” enthuses Owen Rickman, another one of Hayworth’s pals.
“That’s high praise, my man.” I manage to keep a straight face.
“Hey, Bailey? Hayworth? Wait up a second.” Tim Hoffman is waving us over. “I need party receipts from you guys.”
“Oh sure.” I dive into my pocket, happy to be asked. I fronted the money for the party, and I’m counting on the reimbursement to make rent this month. Plus, I blew off Friday night’s shifts, too, so I could witness Keaton’s Dance-off. “Here’s all my receipts, plus a spreadsheet printout with the totals.”
“Thank you kindly,” Hoffman says. “Keaton?”
“Oh, uh…” Keaton frowns. “I’ll run upstairs and see what I can find. What was the budget? I’ll just bring you receipts for that much.”
“Twelve hundred,” Hoffman says. “But dude, that was the whole budget. You weren’t allowed to go over.”
“I’m covering it,” Keaton says.
“No.” Hoffman shakes his head. “The point of the Dance-off is to throw a killer party inside that budget.”
In the silence that follows, I realize what just happened. Keaton broke the campaign rules. Badly, if the color of his face and neck are any indication.
And I might have just won the presidency.
“It’s right there in the chapter handbook,” I say slowly. But I’m suddenly cheering inside.
Our treasurer frowns. “Hey, Reed?” He beckons to our president. “We have ourselves a situation. Hayworth overspent the budget, which is against regulations.”
“Really?” Reed’s attention swings in our direction. “How much over was he?”
All eyes shift toward Hayworth.
Keaton hangs his head. “I easily spent triple that.”
“It’s a blatant violation of the rules,” I say, just in
case that’s not clear.
“I didn’t know!” he snaps. “Jesus. I was just trying to throw a good party.”
“Uh-huh. Nice job.” My laugh is merciless. “We definitely need to elect a president who doesn’t bother to read the handbook.”
His hazel eyes flash, and his big hands open and close again. The dude would like nothing better than to grab me and hurl me across the room.
So of course I smile at him. Because I never did know when to shut up.
“Guys?” Reed puts two fingers in his mouth and lets out a piercing whistle toward the TV room. “Come back here for a second! We’re not done.”
A collective groan rises up among the brothers. I can feel their frustration. So close to freedom.
After Reed explains the situation to the guys, it doesn’t take long for most of them to draw their lines in the sand.
My buddy Jako leaps into the fray. “Obviously Keaton should bow out of the race.”
“Says who?” Keaton demands
“Says common sense,” Jako answers with a smile. “And honesty. Decency. Respectability…”
“Bow out?” Judd snaps, stepping in. “Nobody’s bowing out.”
“Keaton cheated,” I growl.
“Unknowingly,” Keaton says quickly. “You make it sound like a plot to overthrow the government. Chaos reigns! The plunger will never be found!” He rolls his eyes. But his neck is still the color of an embarrassed tomato.
“This is stupid,” Judd declares. “K is as honest as they come.”
“Damn straight,” says someone else, and there are noises of agreement. I feel all my new allies slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
And I now realize this is not so simple. Keaton ought to bow out immediately. But if he doesn’t, and I make a big stink over it, I’m going to look like a tight-ass for pushing him out on a technicality.
Goddamn it.
“I know,” Owen says, brightening up. “Let’s have another round of parties! It’ll be a do-over.”
“No,” both Keaton and I snap in unison. Then we look at each other with identical frowns of irritation. But hey, at least we agree on something.
