Page 4 of Slick & Spooky

I freeze. The air hums. Even he shitty LED strip lights above us flicker like they know something’s about to snap.

Being a Finley poisons everything, but it also means I get what I want. Even if it doesn’t want me back.

In a town like this, my family bleeds into everything. My dad’s the Mayor. My brother runs the paper. My uncle’s the Sheriff. My granddad preaches at the biggest church like he’s got God on speed-dial. So people treat me like I’m special for showing up. Doors swing open. Rules bend. Expectations warp.

It’s this limbo where smiles are stretched too tight and criticism is dulled to whispers if it comes at all, and even if I never asked for any of it, it still gets shoved at me again and again.

It isn’t protection. It’s suffocation.

The frat never would’ve looked at me twice if I wasn’t a legacy. My brother. My father. My grandfather. All Mu Lambda Nu. All golden boys with names that open doors whether people want to let you in or not. I didn’t earn my place here. I inherited it. Branded by blood and expectation.

Part of me didn’t even want to pledge this frat. I knew that it’d come with the kind of brand that sticks whether you want it or not. But resisting Knox Everett was out of the question.

I didn’t even know his name that night. Just the feel and gravity of him.

Lust will make you do reckless things like finding someone, tracking them, and deciding for yourself you need to stay within arm’s reach.

I guess there’s something in the way obsession doesn’t ask permission. It just burrows in and makes itself at home.

At least the Finley name did one nice thing for me. Knox couldn’t boot me the second he saw me. Not after my dad paid for the new theater seating in the TV room. Not after my uncle’s donation bought his name a plaque on the alumni wall. Not when half the guys here owed their spots to favors my family called in.

They all know he name I carry and what that name costs.

Accepting me wasn’t a choice. It was a line item in the budget.

Truthfully, if the whole charade would win me one more look from Knox, maybe I could swallow it.

If I can force my way into this house, what’s stopping me from making him mine?

Probably the fact that I don’t want the pass. I don’t want the polite smiles, the careful handling, the predictable Finley script. I want to be treated like I earned this. Like I carved out space on my own. Like I’m more than the trust fund, more than the mayor’s kid, more than the legacy stamped on me.

I want him to see me, but I don’t trust that he will unless I shove it in his face. Unless I turn up loud enough, slutty enough, undeniable enough to drown out everything he thinks he’s ever known about me.

“Help me paint my abs.” I toss a tube of glow-in-the-dark cream into Joey’s lap.

He sighs. “I dunno, man. Kinda gay.”

“It’s not gay if you don’t get turned on.”

“Joke’s on you, I’m always bricked up.”

“Embarrassing for you and every girl you’ve ever been with if no one can tell.”

“You’ve seen it,” Joey mutters, already grabbing the sponge. “You know that’s not true.”

He smears the cream across my stomach, sketching a ribcage with surprising precision for someone who swore this was a bad idea.

“You’re taking this very seriously for a guy who whined about it,” I tease, sucking in when the sponge drags lower.

He snorts. “It’s called commitment. I don’t half-ass art.”

“Only everything else?”

“Exactly.”

We fall into an easy silence, broken only by the soft pat of the sponge against my skin. Joey’s face is unreadable. Can’t decide if he’s fond or faintly horrified.

He leans back, sponge dangling in his hand, satisfied. “I cannot believe I helped you thirst-trap the president of our fraternity in glow paint.”