Page 13

Chapter Thirteen

Jemma

L ike most events, my sisters stuck to a theme. We’re dressed in bras and panties like Victoria’s Secret fashion models. We parade out of the chapter house and down Greek Row, our bodies on full display and our heads held high.

Once we reach the Delta Sig house, we’re greeted by droves of people who pour out from the massive Victorian.

Every home on the block has high pillars and a long, covered porch.

Except the lawn is littered with trash. Plastic cups, empty beer bottles, a condom wrapper, and a red bra are on the grass.

This is standard for Greek Row. Weekends around here are insane. The street is thrown into complete chaos and always looks like a rundown nightmare where the next street over is pristine.

In front of the house, five girls wearing white bathing suits stand in front of a row of Delta Sig brothers, squirting them with a hose. A few guys are on the roof dressed in bright bathing suits, some with Hawaiian flowers on them and leis around their necks.

None of them are wearing shirts, though they have Greek letters written across their chests in ink. They’re pounding beers and screaming at girls across the street. It’s like a scene from Animal House , complete with the animals.

“Why would they throw trash on their lawn when they have to pick it up in the morning?” I ask Jordan.

Jordan glances over at the house and chuckles. “That’s what pledges are for, silly. Those guys aren’t cleaning shit tomorrow.”

I shake my head because I’m still a pledge.

Everyone partied at my previous college, and we had a handful of fraternities and sororities, but it was nothing compared to Strickland University’s Greek life.

The entire campus comes alive on weekends, the parties spanning city blocks.

It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.

And I love it despite being overwhelmed and terrified by the madness surrounding me.

We walk past a group of drunk girls in sexy nurse costumes. They clasp cups of beer, hanging onto the arms of the men dressed in blue scrubs. The sheer amount of people at this party amazes me. The Kappa Delta chapter house is enormous, but I couldn’t imagine fitting these people inside.

Music thumps out the doors and windows, a rap beat pounding in my ears as we approach the long line before us.

“I thought they invited us,” I say to Jordan, wondering why we must wait in line.

“There’s always a wait to get in. But it’s worth it.”

“You bet your ass it is.” Shannon beams with excitement. “Everyone who’s anyone will be here tonight. It’s all anyone has talked about this week.”

I try not to laugh or roll my eyes. It’s just a party. They’re acting like celebrities will attend tonight. I mean, seriously, they need to get a grip.

Zoe checks her cell phone and leans into me. “Did you see Dethroned ?”

“Who hasn’t?”

“She ripped Tucker Kane a new one,” Riley says with laughter. “I can’t wait to see which hockey players she dethrones next.”

For Trent’s sake, I hope he never lands on that blog. Our relationship could easily be exposed to the entire campus.

“There’s an app,” Riley says. “You can send in tips to The Queen if you download it onto your phone.”

“I’m good,” I say.

Zoe looks down at her phone. “Is she only going after the hockey team? It seems like she has a hard-on for them.”

“You’re talking to Trent, right?” Riley asks me.

I smile. “We’ve kissed a few times.”

“Girl, what if you end up on this blog? You might want to keep your distance until The Queen backs away from the hockey team.”

“I’m not walking away from Trent, regardless of what some girl writes about them on her blog.”

Zoe nods. “You like him, huh?”

“Who wouldn’t?” Riley chimes. “The Kane twins are set your panties on fire hot.”

I giggle at her comment but don’t add my two cents. They eventually move onto another topic, to my relief.

The line inches along the pavement until almost twenty minutes pass, and we climb the stairs.

We halt in front of a good-looking guy dressed as a pimp with a cane and top hat, money shoved in the pockets of his black jacket.

Lipstick is on his collar, spreading up his neck where he has lip marks in different shades.

He’s hunched over on a stool on the porch, shuffling money in his hands. Ignoring us, he stuffs some of it in a box next to him and then leans back against the house, his eyes fixed on us. Scanning every inch of our bodies, he takes us in for a few seconds too long.

“Give me your hand,” he says.

I’m not sure which one of us he’s talking to.

Jordan grabs my hand and pushes me toward the dark-haired boy. “This is my sister, Jemma,” she tells him. “It’s her first time. Be nice to her.”

A strange look crosses his face, and then he cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “Fresh meat.”

The boys on the roof howl, and this time, I can’t stop laughing at how stupid this is. A group of guys on the porch also howl in unison, so I assume they all belong to the fraternity.

He grabs my hand, and I tug it away from him. “What are you doing? Is this some weird initiation thing?”

He laughs, a smile on his lips, and then he looks at Jordan. “You sure she’s cool?”

Not the least bit wounded by his comment, I snicker.

Jordan steps forward, her hands on her hips, and his eyes follow. She cups his knee with her hand and smiles. “Give her a break, Romeo.”

Romeo? I try so damn hard not to laugh. A guy who calls himself Romeo just insulted me. Tonight is becoming priceless by the second. From the looks of Romeo, he’s not all that charming. More like a dick. But a cute one.

Romeo nods and takes Jordan’s hand, placing a green stamp on her skin. I strain to get a better look, but he commands me to give him my hand and marks my skin with three Greek letters before I can.

After Romeo stamps each of our hands, he calls over four of his fraternity brothers, who lead us into the house.

The music is even louder inside, a classic rock beat mixed with a new rap song cranking through the speakers.

A large bass in the corner pounds, the vibration from the music sending a tremor up my legs.

In the massive living room, people are grinding on each other. Girls in string bikinis with their asses on full display practically hump a few guys in the middle of the floor.

Once we reach the kitchen, the guys who helped us through the crowd stop in front of a long bar spanning the room’s right side.

A tall guy with dark brown hair and a thick chest commands the bartender’s attention.

He nods and then retrieves a stack of red Solo cups from beneath the bar, placing them on top of the wood.

The bartender fills our cups with beer, passing them around, and I watch his every move.

I’ve heard rumors about fraternity parties. I’m not taking any chances.

“You okay?”

A cute guy with shaggy brown hair appears at my side. I look up at him, stunned by his question.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You look ready to jump out of your skin,” he mutters.

I shrug, unsure of what gave him the impression. Am I acting that weird? “I’m fine.”

They pass beers to us. I take a sip from the cup as if I’m desperate for a drink—anything to avoid making conversation with this guy about my apparent awkwardness.

“What’s your name?” he asks me. I tell him, and then he offers his. “Professor.”

I stare up at him, perplexed by his strange nickname. “Why do people call you Professor?”

“Just a name my brothers gave me when I pledged.”

“Because he’s smart,” one guy says from behind us.

“More like a smartass,” another says, laughing.

I chuckle at their comments. Fraternity guys are… different. Less than ten minutes into this party, I’ve already met Romeo and Professor. Who’s next? I laugh on the inside, making a private joke about how silly all of this is.

Jordan and her friends are talking to three guys, which leaves me with Professor, who hasn’t left my side. I still want to laugh but somehow keep a straight face.

“I’ve never seen you around,” Professor says, speaking over the loud music.

“I’m a transfer student.”

He nods. “Is this your first frat party?”

“Yes,” I say between sips.

He tilts his head toward the living room. “Wanna dance?”

I glance over at Jordan, who’s in a full-blown conversation with the guys and girls behind us. Zoe and Riley are equally busy with two guys. I am not leaving this room with some random dude I’ve just met.

“No, I’m okay right here.” He gives me a weird look, and I add, “For now.”

He’s cute, sure, but I didn’t come to this party to hook up with a guy who goes by the ridiculous name of Professor. I came here for a kiss from Trent.

I drink half of my beer, consuming it in small sips that allow me to avoid talking to Professor.

A few seconds pass, and Professor turns to the side to speak to someone else, and I’m relieved I no longer have to continue this charade.

I lower my guard for a few seconds until he walks into the kitchen.

A group of hot guys wearing hockey jerseys and tons of face makeup surround Trent. They look like zombies, their faces painted white and black, their clothes stained with blood. It’s not the sexiest of outfits, but Trent makes being a hockey zombie hot.

Flanked by his friends, Trent strolls into the room.

They act like they own the house. The fraternity brothers welcome them with open arms. A natural magnetism draws you to these guys.

All of them are tall, muscular, and insanely hot.

Like, really fucking hot. I’m not surprised he’s with men who look like models.

Their bodies are thick and toned, their muscles flawlessly sculpted to perfection beneath their jerseys. My body hums excitedly when Trent’s blue eyes burn into mine. A tiny smile turns up the corners of his mouth. He has lips I want to kiss, a mouth I want to explore with my tongue.

Trent does something to me that I still can’t explain. I never had this feeling with Corey. It’s like a rush of energy that courses through my veins, making me feel alive. Heat licks my skin, the dangerous flames leaving a brush of fire in their wake.

Shannon warned me about Trent, even though she never gave me a genuine reason to stay away from him. She’s across the room with Abby and my sister, talking to the incoming group of guys.

I want to get Trent alone, so when he moves toward me, I exit the kitchen.

Glancing over my shoulder, I cut down the back hallway, his sights set on me.

He’s right behind me, his pace quickening.

I down the last of my beer, hoping for some liquid courage.

This is what I wanted. I came to this party with a purpose.

Don’t panic. He’s just a guy who looks like Adonis with the body to match.

Corey is cute, but no one would ever say he’s hot. No one stops to check him out the way they would Trent.

I hit a dead end where I find a door that leads to the outside and a set of stairs to the upper floors. When I spin around, Trent is behind me with a wicked smirk on his lips.

He clutches my wrist, and a bolt of electricity shoots up my arm. He looks down for a second as if he feels it, too. Then, his eyes are on mine, his broad smile producing the same reaction from me.

“Jemma with a J,” he says in his smooth, deep voice that pulses through me. “You running away from me, girl?”

Trent closes the distance between us and runs his fingers down my arm.

His touch causes tiny bumps to dot on my skin.

“You look hot.” He stares at my bra, eyes centered on my breasts, and licks his lips.

“I almost didn’t recognize you, so… made up.

” His gaze burns my cheeks. “I like it. You look different, but it suits you.”

I smile so wide my jaw hurts. Compliments from Trent sound so much better than from any other man. I’m all giddy on the inside, feeling like a stupid teenage girl with a crush on the popular boy in school.

Speechless, I stare, allowing his hand to move to my hip and linger there. He gives me a look that says he’s asking for my permission, and when I nod, he slides his hand up my bare stomach. In this outfit, there’s not much clothing between us. He could undress me in seconds.

He explores my body, his fingers wandering dangerously close to the edge of my bra as he leans forward to plant soft kisses along my jaw.

Trent always smells good, but tonight, it’s as if he’s bottled up his delicious scent.

I close my eyes and focus on how he smells, how his body feels pressed against mine.

He’s hard, his growing erection digging into my stomach.

A few more kisses on my jaw and neck cause my toes to curl, and Trent finally reaches my mouth.

Staring into my eyes with a sensual look in his blue irises, he gives me a look as if he’s asking me for more.

I give him the answer he needs as my lips crash into his.

He consumes me, parting my lips with his tongue, taking what he wants from me. Trent lifts me by my ass and hooks my legs around his middle. My back hits the wooden railing hard enough to hurt but not enough to care.

Our last kiss was nothing like this one. This time, Trent twists my hair between his fingers, pinning my mouth to his. There’s so much greed and passion behind each kiss. I’m lost to him, drowning in a sea of ecstasy, sinking so deep I’m crashing and falling.

By the time our lips separate, my head spins from the lack of oxygen. He leans his forehead against mine, somewhat out of breath.

“Damn, Jem, that was some kiss.”

“You’re telling me,” I whisper against his lips.

“Want to get out of here?”

“Yes,” I breathe, and then he leads me out the back door.