Page 6 of Frat Around and Find Out (Peach State Fratbros #1)

Ty

“G et that set in, come on, really kill it,” Ryan urges as I pump barbell reps. I start to strain, and he encourages me along. “One more, bud.”

I force the final rep before my friend steps in, hoisting the bar up and resting it on the rack.

“Fuck.” I sit up, catching my breath. “I’m just trying to stay fit, not sign up for the team.”

He snickers. “You’re fit, man, but you ain’t this fit.

” He flexes his biceps, his cut-open tank giving me a view of the impressive musculature he’s crafted over his years of training.

When it comes to his body, Ryan doesn’t play around, which is why we work out at a gym a few blocks from campus.

It’s never as busy as the one at Peach State, and it has updated equipment—musts so my linebacker buddy can keep on top of his game.

“You sure you can’t come tonight?” he asks.

“We have a hot party planned, and I think the president deserves to enjoy it.”

“Nah. I’ve got work, and then I have a paper I need to work on, and it’s better I do it this weekend so I don’t have to think about it next weekend during TaskFrat and afters.”

“Fair. We gotta crush Alpha Theta Mu again. Get a good enough lead on them, and they won’t be able to get as close as they did last year. ”

“Two years in a row would be nice.”

“Under your leadership, if it even needs to be said.”

“It definitely does. Especially knowing how much it’ll crawl up Lance Fehn’s ass.”

I remember how satisfying it was seeing the Alpha Theta Mu prez getting all worked up as we reached the final challenges last year—how passionate he was, how hard he tried…and then getting to feel sweet victory when Sigma Alpha still slayed.

Ryan grins. “You two are ridiculous about that stuff.”

“We both enjoy a little competition.”

“A little ?” He angles his head, pumps his brows.

“Okay, maybe more than that,” I admit.

Really, it’s not only about the competition.

I enjoy our verbal sparring, the way Lance takes what I give him and serves it right back.

Even as annoyed as I was when he found a girl at the party last weekend, I had to hand it to him for how he showed me up and stirred enough jealousy to keep me from being able to focus and land my own fun for the night.

Though…I guess that wasn’t just about the girl he found, but about those weird thoughts I had about him being mine because I marked him. Still not sure what that’s all about. Maybe some primal impulse to dominate my rival. Yeah, that must be it.

“And it’s not like you can judge,” I add. “You do the same when you’re on the football field.”

“Don’t start comparing the silly TaskFrat challenges to football because I will throw down. Now I know you’re just stalling, so lie back down and let’s hammer out this last round. I want to see those pecs peccing.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“Down!” he insists, the way I imagine his coaches do when he’s slacking.

“I love it when you take charge like that,” I joke, but I lie back on the bench and pump out the next set.

Once we finish up, we hit the showers, then meet back at the lockers.

I’ve got my towel around my waist, but Ryan is still drying himself off with his, not giving a fuck about having his dick out, wagging about.

He doesn’t really think much about baring it all—here or around the frat—I’m sure because he’s spent plenty of time throughout his life naked in locker rooms.

“Keegan and Jaxon are planning to hit up the gym tomorrow too if you want to meet up,” Ryan says.

Keegan’s our Sigma Alpha bro, a sophomore we took under our wing last year. One of our other frats, Jaxon, has enlisted him to help him put on some more muscle, so they’ve been hitting the gym pretty regularly.

“If you think I’m gonna jump into another day of you drilling me like you did today, you are out of your mind.”

“You can thank me when you’re strutting those gains and landing more girls.”

“No problem in the girl department already, thank you very much.”

“I mean, you’ve seen Lance’s bod now and the way he rushed off with that girl. Careful, or he’s gonna be the one nabbing all the hotties.”

Ryan’s expression is playful, but his words burn at something in me—this threat that has me guarded.

“That is not happening,” I say through my teeth, acknowledging that I’m more worked up by that than I should be.

After we finish up at the gym, I go straight to work to knock out my afternoon shift at Junkie’s Pizza Place. It’s not far from frat row, and being Friday, it’s hectic, but a good day for tips.

I’m in the zone, really hustling for my tables.

I grab two pizzas from the back counter, and as I’m making my way down the hall, the restroom door is flung open and a guy comes storming out, pushing me.

The side of my arm slams against the molding that runs along the opposite wall, and the pizzas I’m carrying tumble to the floor.

Fuuuucckkk…

The guy—older, maybe in his forties, in a button-down and tie—glares at me like it’s my fault he ran out of there like a stampeding rhinoceros.

“Watch where you’re going,” he snaps with the sort of attitude that makes me want to step to him, but I remind myself this is fucking work. I’m a goddamn professional.

“Sorry, sir. It was an accident.”

He checks himself over. “You got sauce all over my shirt.”

There’s like a speck on his button-down.

“What’s going on here?” I hear behind me and turn to see my manager, Cheryl, approaching. “Are you both okay?”

“Why don’t you ask this shitshow over here who just dumped pizza all over me?” the asshole says.

Cheryl takes a breath, then tells him, “I think it’s time for you to go. I can smell the alcohol on your breath, and I know this employee very well, so I have a feeling I already know who was responsible for this.”

He glares between us, before groaning. “Fine. This place is crap anyway.”

He leaves in a huff, and as Cheryl looks me over, she takes my arm. “Are you all right?”

I notice a pink spot where my arm hit the wall. “I’ll be fine.”

“You should probably get some ice on that.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure? You can take the rest of the day off, and I can cover for you.”

I mull it over. “That would give me some more time to work on my essay. Would you mind?”

“Of course not. We’ll get this cleaned up. Then get some ice on that and clock out. I can handle all this.”

I help clean up but don’t put ice on my tender tricep. Just want to get away from the place so I can decompress.

I hop into my car, and without thinking, I pull up a familiar name in my contacts.

Grant.

It’s been three years since my uncle passed.

But he wasn’t just my uncle.

After my dad left my mom, and didn’t want to have fuck all to do with me, Uncle Grant stepped in to help Mom raise me.

Then, seven years ago, he was diagnosed with frontotemporal dementia.

The majority of people don’t struggle with it until their mid-forties, but apparently, people can get it in their thirties too, which we learned the hard way. It progressed rapidly.

He was everything in the world to me.

My fucking hero.

The guy I could call whenever things were going good or bad in my life.

The first person I would want to tell about the crap that guy just pulled in there.

There’s a part of me that wants to hit the Call button, remembering those times shortly after he died when I could at least get his voice mail.

But we’re long past those days.

I could call Ryan, but I don’t want to spoil his night before a party, and it’s kind of late to call Mom, so I stuff it down with all those shitty emotions I’ve gotten so good at packing away. Instead, I tuck my phone back in my pocket and drive to the library.

It’s barely past seven, which gives me a good stretch of quality time, and it’ll be easier to concentrate here than at the frat with a party going down.

As I reach the third floor, I see a familiar face. Lance Fehn keys away on his laptop at a table by himself, the same table I’m used to seeing him at with his best friend, Ash Fuller.

I return to that weird-ass thought I keep having about him. That I marked him, so he’s mine. A strange sensation swirls in my chest, and I do my best to ignore it as I approach him. Could use a little of our banter to cheer me up right about now.

When I reach the table, I sling my backpack around, resting it in the chair beside him. The moment I catch his gaze, his eyes light up, the way Ryan’s or Keeg’s might when they see me somewhere. Like a good friend, not a rival.

“You planning to slight a Sigma Alpha party tonight?” I ask.

“Maybe I lost the invite,” Lance jabs before smiling. “I have a project I need to work on. And I’ve had so much going on lately, I needed a sober night to come and get it in. What’s your excuse? Shouldn’t the president be over there, setting up for his own party?”

“Not like my guys don’t know how to throw a party. And I’m in a similar boat. Taking on a lot this semester. Rush was killer, so need to get some work in before bidding this week.”

His gaze lowers. “Dude,” he says, reaching out and placing his hand on my arm.

His touch catches me off guard, and I notice the dark bruise from banging my arm earlier. I should’ve iced it.

“Oh.” I tell him about the asshole, relieved to have someone to talk to about it.

“That sucks. People are pretty cool with me at the rec center because it’s people from school, but I used to work at the mall, and it’s amazing how shitty people think they can be to customer-service workers. Like we aren’t even human.”

“Right?” I say, the sting of that moment still affecting me, but my eyes are drawn to where Lance still has his hand on my arm.

He must realize it’s weird too because he pulls away.

“So…” I draw out as I sit in the chair adjacent to his. “How was that girl you were with at that party last weekend?”

“Angie?”

“Oh, are there others? Have you just been lining them up since the last time I saw you?”

Tension builds in my chest, which…what the fuck is that about? It’s really not any of my business, but if that’s true, why am I so curious?

He chuckles. “There haven’t been any others,” he says, not answering my first question about Angie.

“You seen her since then?” I press.

“We were supposed to meet up again, but she got sick, so I don’t know when that’ll be.”

“Told you,” I spit out.

“What?”

“All that fuss to prove me wrong, and you only proved me right. You didn’t just hook up with a girl and leave it at that.

You got your little Lance feelings all over it, and now you’re gonna date her, aren’t you?

You know it’s cool if that’s your thing.

You didn’t have to try and prove anything to me. ”

Why do I sound so worked up over this? And why is my heart racing?

Feels like I’m pissed at him, but I don’t really have a right to be.

It’s like there’s something twisted in my brain that thinks because I came on the guy once, that somehow he’s mine and shouldn’t be messing around with anyone.

Which is wild because I’ve never had that feeling about anyone I’ve messed around with except him—

No, wait. What we did wasn’t messing around.

Fuck.

This must just be leftover jitters from that asshole at work upsetting me earlier.

Lance eyes me strangely, as though he can read these wild thoughts, which I know isn’t what’s happening. “Well, maybe you were right about that,” he finally says. “I was trying to get you back for the prank and winning the TaskFrat. And I guess it worked because it got on your nerves, didn’t it?”

He has no idea, and I don’t really either, considering this is a weird thing to be thinking about my Alpha Theta Mu rival.

“Sorry you had a shitty day at work,” he says, again catching me by surprise.

I appreciate that even though the number one person I would have wanted to talk to isn’t around anymore, at least I had someone who could hear me out.

“Thanks, man,” I say, probably the most sincere thing I’ve ever said to Lance Fehn, which makes me feel strange, so I groan. “Anyway, I’m done harassing you for now. Gonna find a spot and actually knock some of this shit out. Good luck with your work. And hope you have a fun date with Agatha.”

I’m already walking away when he calls out, “Angie.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I say, trying to act like I care less than I do.