Page 31 of Slick & Spooky

“The front room of the fraternity I’m pledging…” I glance around. “Yeah, seems like a likely place for me to be.”

He scoffs and collapses into a folding chair. Legs spread wide, arms flung lazily over the backrest. A picture of overcompensated masculinity.

“You think because Knox is fighting your fights now, you’ve earned a little attitude?”

I blink slowly. Not in confusion. In disbelief. At how boring he is. At how small he feels now.

“Knox doesn’t fight my fights,” I say, stepping forward. “He taught me I was worth the fight.”

That wipes the smug off his face. I step closer and crouch to his eye level, close enough to watch his jaw twitch.

“You know, Tripp… Power doesn’t have to be loud to be felt. That control can look like a whisper or a smile or a boy on his knees deciding that even if he likes the view from down there he can still walk away with your pride between his teeth.”

Tripp shifts, his shoulders going rigid.

“I’m not scared of you,” I continue. “I’m not scared of your rules. I’m not scared of what it says about me that I let the president of this frat breed me and then I walked down here wearing his clothes with his load dripping down my thighs.”

Before he can even shift in that flimsy little chair, I hook my foot underneath it and kick. The metal legs screech, then buckle. Tripp hits the floor with a thud that echoes across the foyer.

The silence afterward is thick. A beat of stunned stillness.

Joey spits his drink across the room. Someone else whistles. I don’t look down. I don’t offer a hand. I straighten, towering over him, and I offer only a smile. A small, dangerous thing.

“I’m every bit the fucking Finley you think I am.”

I step over him.

“Stay out of my fucking way.”

Tripp scrambles upright, a mess of limbs and ego, dignity slipping through his fingers like beer-soaked confetti. Again.

A throat clears behind me.I turn already knowing who it is because the air shifts before he speaks. That’s what Knox Everett does. He fills a room simply by existing in it.

He’s halfway down the stairs, sweatpants slung criminally low on his hips, hair damp and messy from a quick rinse that’s scrubbed away any trace of my filth.

He towels the back of his neck as he levels me with a look. “Is there a problem here, Finley?”

I don’t hesitate. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

His gaze flicks to Tripp. Half a glare, half a dismissal. Then right back to me. He crosses the room, eyes never leaving mine, something like shock giving way to pride.

Every pledge brother in the room is watching, but I don’t care. I hold my head high as Knox stops in front of me.

“Telling the entire room I bred you wasn’t in our contract,” he says, low and measured.

“You gave me power so I’m using it.”

He studies me again, like he’s seeing something he didn’t realize he wanted until it stood up and made demands.

“If you want me, then act like it,” I add, “You don’t get to own me in private and leave me exposed in public. That’s not how this works.”

Past him, Joey and every single one of my pledge brothers are frozen in place. Wide eyes, open mouths, half-finished drinks hovering mid-air like they forgot how to swallow.

I don’t look at them, but I don’t need to because I already know what they’re seeing. Not a Finley or the guy who took a wooden paddle to the ass and came back for seconds. They’re seeing what Knox already saw. What I’d buried under charm and smirks and careful, palatable versions of myself.

I step forward until I can feel his minty breath on my face. My voice drops to a whisper.

“You’re the president of this house,” I murmur. “And I’m me. Figure it out.”