Page 28 of Lovesick (The Minnesota Mustangs #1)

ANYTHING BUT CLOTHES

MERIT

“ H old still,” Irelyn grumbles, poking her tongue against the inside of her cheek as she pulls the caution tape tighter on my body.

“Why couldn’t I wear a sheet or something?” I grouse, suddenly very self-conscious about how snug this electric-yellow tape is.

Irelyn, fashioning a very sophisticated dress made of playing cards—a project she spent all week slaving over and, in the process, became an unfortunate cautionary tale about the misuse of hot glue—glares at me from beneath feathery lashes.

“Because this is Sig Chi’s notorious ABC party.

And Crew Calloway practically asked you to be his plus-one. The whole school is going to be there.”

Ah, yes. An ABC party, short for an Anything but Clothes party.

The one time when it’s socially acceptable for guys to go slinging their dicks around.

When I initially agreed to go with Crew, he failed to mention Sig Chi’s strict theme adherence.

If I’d known that I would be parading around in flimsy plastic the whole night, I would’ve politely declined and scheduled a one-on-one date with me, my couch, and a tub of Ben & Jerry’s .

I narrow my eyes at my well-intentioned—though entirely misled—best friend, trying to ignore the way that my chest sets aflame from the unsubstantiated insinuation. Or maybe it’s just heartburn.

“I’m not Crew’s plus-one. We’re just going as friends.”

Irelyn snorts. “Yeah, friends with benefits.”

“No. No benefits. Friends. F-R-I-E-N-D-S,” I say, not above drilling the message into her head as many times as I have to. I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince at this point.

Why does Crew have to be so… him ? Why does he have to have such irresistible hair and unlimited charisma and a body carved from pure marble? God, and the fact that he’s going to most likely be half-naked when I see him? It’s like the world is setting me up for failure.

Speaking of failure, I might as well be dead to my parents if they ever find out I was imitating a poor man’s Lady Gaga.

While Irelyn has made sure to cover the needed areas, she still left plenty of skin showing on my midriff.

Not to mention that the hem of this so-called “dress” doesn’t pass below the curve of my butt, and she’s created some kind of tube top contraption that pushes my boobs up a whole cup size.

My movie night with Crew was perfect. Even though we weren’t actively conversing with one another, I still felt closer to him than ever. And the way he held me? I never wanted to leave the drive-in.

“Says the woman who went on a movie date with him,” Irelyn points out.

She’s got you there.

“It was hardly a date!”

“Keep telling yourself that, Mer. But trust me, Crew Calloway has got it bad for you. He took you to the drive-in, for crying out loud. That’s the most romantic place in all of Maple Grove, and rumor has it that he doesn’t date.

Some of the Alpha Phi girls in my ethics class said that Becky from Kappa said that Michelle on the cheerleading team said that Crew has never been with the same girl twice.

At least, not at his old school. You somehow domesticated the biggest man whore at MU. ”

Crew isn’t a man whore—he’s just protective of his heart.

I slide my ring up and down the crease of my finger joint.

I wish I didn’t have to wear it tonight, but if my parents get any sneaking suspicion that I’m up to no good, it’s lights out for me.

They were already suspicious about my midnight movie rendezvous, which resulted in yet another lie that has become increasingly easier for me to tell.

My tone is laced with dubiety—maybe a hint of disillusion. “He just wants what he can’t have.”

“Or maybe—stick with me here—he actually likes you,” she offers with a beguiling twinkle in her mossy eyes, shaking the crimson ringlets that rest pliantly on her shoulders.

Crew Calloway has already tilted my axis a full one-eighty.

Entertaining the possibility that he like likes me is catastrophic for the little shred of sanity I’m still clinging on to.

My perfectly composed seams—the ones I pride myself on—are slowly but surely being ripped apart by a fine-point needle.

If Crew views me as anything but his intelligent, hilarious, and drop-dead gorgeous acquaintance, it’s going to deconstruct our dynamic completely. And how am I supposed to live in a world where I can’t insult him whenever I feel like it?

When my best friend goes to tidy up the edge of the tape, I grab her by the shoulders, stare deeply into her eyes, and shake her like a Shake Weight. “He can’t, Irelyn, okay? He just can’t!”

Fear dances in her irises. “Jeez, okay.”

And, just on time, the anxiety rears its ugly head, simmering something mean in my stomach and consequently making me regret the chicken teriyaki wrap I had an hour ago.

Oh my God. I can’t do this. I wasn’t built for socializing and partying. I was built for lounging on the couch and squealing over fictional men in books. Real men? They’re terrifying. A relationship? HAH.

Panic usurps complete control over the situation. “What if he tries to kiss me tonight?”

Irelyn deadpans, “Um, you let him?”

“But then that can lead to feelings, and what if my father finds out somehow? I think he got me microchipped when I was a baby. Holy shit. What if he shows up to the party?!”

She cautiously removes my death grip from her shoulders, consoling me like one would a cornered, rabid dog.

“Whoa, okay. Calm your spirit. Halt your spiral of self-doom. Your dad isn’t going to show up at a frat party on a Saturday night, and if he does, he’ll be turned away at the door.

You know frat guys don’t let anyone in unless they’re accompanied by a throng of half-naked women. ”

Okay, she makes a fair point.

“Plus, why are you still structuring your life around what your parents want? You moved back to Minnesota because they demanded it. You left your friends and withdrew from one of the most prestigious dance schools in the country. Now you’re giving up the chance at something serious with a guy all because he’s your father’s player?

Don’t you see how you’ll never be happy if you keep prioritizing their feelings over yours? ”

I hate when Irelyn makes sense. She’s right.

I’m indebted to them for…what? For taking care of me and raising me like they were supposed to?

If my parents really had my best interest at heart, wouldn’t they want me to be happy?

Wouldn’t they want me to experience the world instead of keeping me sheltered?

Just because the last frat party that you went to was a total shitshow doesn’t mean this one will be.

As I look in the full-length mirror, taking in my risqué outfit, smoky cat eye, and wavy hair, regret looms over me like a constant raincloud, drenching me in its merciless downpour. “I don’t do anything for myself,” I whisper under my breath.

“No, you don’t,” Irelyn agrees.

I straighten my spine and push my shoulders back. “I need to start.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I’m tired of always playing it safe. I’m tired of always doing what’s expected of me!” I shout to no one in particular, riled up from Irelyn’s “Yes Woman” mentality.

“Yes, you are!” she yells with equal enthusiasm, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she thrusts her fist triumphantly into the air.

“If Crew Calloway kisses me tonight, I’ll let him. Hell, I’ll do him one better—I’ll ride that thang like a cowgirl!”

The shared hysteria falters for a second, and Irelyn blinks in shock.

“You’ll—oh, wow. That’s…”

I cringe. “Is that too far?”

My best friend just pretends to wipe an invisible tear away, a cheek-plumping smile gracing her lips. “Merit, I’ve never been prouder.”

When we pull up to Sig Chi’s frat in Irelyn’s rickety, well-loved Mazda, the nerves are back with a vengeance, my anxiety snowballing into this dense amalgamation that I don’t have the facilities to disperse.

It’s just a party. I’m just meeting Crew.

Maybe nothing happens tonight, you know?

I’m getting myself worked up for no reason.

The frat house is packed. There’s a line of questionably dressed college students wrapping around the block, with the occasional straggler puking their guts up in the juniper bushes.

I can hear the trap remix from outside as it booms into the starless night, and if Sig Chi wasn’t on fraternity row, I’d pity their poor neighbors.

Canary light trickles through the slats of their boarded-up windows, illuminating the front yard and inching into the deserted street. Thick coats of nightshade smear across the sky, the usual, cold chill blustering around warm bodies and mingling with their humid breaths.

I don’t think I thought this whole caution tape thing through, considering I’m sure to contract hypothermia by the time we make it inside.

Irelyn, the wiser of the two of us, made sure to drape herself in a red, silky wrap before braving the hellish temperature. Fashionable and practical.

“Do you think he’s here yet?” she asks, magnetizing to my side and slipping her arm through mine.

Fuck, it’s cold. It feels like my nipples are going to fall off.

I check my phone, watching as the screen blinks to life and broadcasts a message from Crew.

CREW

Here.

I didn’t know four letters could be so foreboding.

I’ve seen Disneyland lines shorter than the one we’re in. Surveying the almost comical length, I suddenly wish I’d taken a few shots of liquid courage beforehand to ward off the chill.

As we start to slowly shuffle toward the overcrowded entrance, Crew comes out of the house with that yummy height of his like he telepathically sensed that we were right outside.

And before me stands the captain of the hockey team—with his hard muscles on display—wearing nothing but a large Christmas bow over his privates.