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Tim groans. “Great. You think they talk about me?”

In his fucking dreams they talk about him.

“They definitely talk about you. I’m sure Elise told her everything that happened between us today too.” Oh that guy now sounds incredibly smug.

“What happened?”

“You know what happened.” I get the sense that they’re both watching me, looking for some kind of reaction, but I keep my gaze focused on the book that is currently sitting open in my lap. The very book that I’m not reading and have no idea what it’s about. I just pulled it straight off the bookcase and cracked it open.

“Oh right.” Tim drawls the two words out. “You fucked her.”

His voice dropped about ten octaves when he said that last sentence, but I could still make it out because it’s quiet this afternoon in the frat house. I’d guarantee about ninety percent of the guys who stay here are still sleeping right now because they all got shit-faced last night, and I’m jealous.

But I’m too curious to leave. What if they say something about Sinclair and I miss it?

Fuck, I’m pathetic. Almost as bad as these two imbeciles.

“Was she any good?” Tim asks.

“Does she need to be any good? As long as they’ve got a tight pussy, that’s all that counts, right?” They both laugh and even high-five each other, and while I would normally agree with his assessment, I sort of feel bad for the girl they’re talking about. Elise? I have no idea who she is, but what they’re saying about her is pretty fucking awful.

Again, I’ve lost my mind. Since when do I care about some unknown woman’s feelings? Never. Until now.

Wait. I do know who she is because they just said it only moments ago. She’s Sinclair’s roommate. At least, that’s who I assume they’re talking about because who else is Tim going to the game with tonight? God, like we’re still in high school and holding hands while watching a football game and shit. Talk about boring.

I abhor football. It’s a ridiculous sport. I don’t care that my cousin used to play it once upon a time and that his sister is going to marry some big quarterback star who comes from a football legacy family. It still bores me. I can respect the hustleand the determination it takes to get there, but do I want to watch a bunch of men run into each other on a field while throwing a ball?

No.

“Think I’ve got a chance getting into Sinclair’s panties?” Tim asks his friend.

I see red. Burning, flaming hot red.

“At the rate you’re going?” I’m hanging on his friend’s every word, unable to breathe as I wait for him to finish his response. “No.”

I exhale, pressing my head against the back of the chair.

“We’ll see.” Tim sounds abnormally confident. Who knew he had it in him? “I got her begging me to take her to the game tonight. I think she wants me.”

Imagining Sinclair wanting this fool is laughable.

“In your dreams, bro.” His friend laughs, though it’s more of a braying sound and reminds me of a donkey.

“I bet I’ll be able to get her on her knees in front of me by the end of the night,” Tim starts, and I can’t take it anymore.

Slamming my book shut, I leap to my feet and turn to face them. “Are you taking them to the suite?”

They both go deadly silent, sharing a look before Tim speaks first. “What suite?”

“The box suite that the frat has.” I keep my voice calm. Measured. Inside, I’m raging. Furious. Ready to pull this guy apart. But I refuse to react. “Best seats in the stadium.”

They share another look, his friend shrugging before Tim turns to me once again. “We didn’t know about it. And we already bought tickets.”

“In the student section for ten dollars?” When they both nod, I wonder how these two got into our frat in the first place. We do have certain criteria. Meaning we don’t let just any dickhead into our club. “Those are terrible seats.”

“It’s where all the action is,” his friend protests.

“What’s your name?” I ask him.