I rolled my eyes. I didn’t want to go out. Not when I might bump into Santiago.
“Come on. Eric is going to be there, and I really want to see him again.”
“You’re going to Kappa House again?” I asked.
“Yeah. It’ll be fun! Come on,” she whined.
You promised yourself you weren’t going to let him win. You can’t stay hidden in your room.
I gave it a few moments of thought. Actually, going isn’t such a bad idea. Maybe I could get one of the Kappas to dish something about Santiago. Where he came from. Who he was. Why they all seemed to know him. I could also check to see if he’d lifted the Dakota ban.
You’re lying to yourself, and you know it. You want to see him. Maybe a part of me did, but a stronger part of me wanted to go there to satisfy my urge to show him that I wasn’t afraid.
“Okay,” I said, “I’ll drive. But can we come back early? I don’t want to be burned out tomorrow. Lots of studying to do.”
Bridget rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Okay. But wear something mildly presentable, okay? Our Delta sisters will be there. By the way, Kelly Flores, the president of the sorority, asked about you today.”
“She did? What did she want to know?” I asked.
Bridget crinkled her face into that ugly ball. “Actually, she asked about that guy you were talking to at the party on Monday. She wanted to know if you and he were dating.”
“Why would she want to know that?” I asked.
Bridget made a little shrug. “Um, because he’s quite possibly the hottest man on the planet? So are you seeing him?” she asked.
“No, definitely not.”
“That’s what I told Kelly. I mean, you did make out with that Mike guy right in front of him.”
“Then why does she think we’re dating?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Kelly mentioned that she bumped into him at the café yesterday, and he’d talked about you for ten minutes. Like he was in love with you. But then when she asked if you two were together, he made a weird comment—like, ‘hell would sooner freeze over.’”
I admit I felt a tiny blister appear on my ego. “Nope. Not seeing him. Nor do I ever intend to.”
Bridget released a breath. “Good. Because I think Kelly wants to ask him out or something. Wouldn’t want anything to get in the way of you joining the Tris.”
I hadn’t actually decided I wanted to pledge a sorority, but Bridget seemed to have her heart set on us joining together, and I didn’t want to tell her no. She would never understand the turmoil lurking just below the surface of my life, like a bad rash waiting to erupt.
“I’ll be ready in ten,” I said.
“Yippy!” She clapped. “And don’t forget to put on something smashing, darrrling!”
“But of course, darrrling.” I grabbed my makeup bag and headed for the bathroom. Maybe she was right, I should get dressed up. If Santiago had lifted the ban, then I was fair game now. Nothing like a pretty dress to get the guys talking to you.
I just hoped he’d kept his word. Otherwise, there’d be no talking, only screaming. With my knee. In his groin.
~ ~ ~
At eleven o’clock, Bridget and I arrived at Kappa House. Unlike Monday night, which was fun and only slightly wild, tonight was Animal House on steroids. It was a complete shock that the police weren’t camped outside issuing noise citations or throwing everyone in jail for public drunkenness. “How are all these people getting home?” I asked.
Bridget pointed to a guy wearing a red tie. Yes, T-shirt, shorts, flip-flops, and a red tie. “He’s a pledge. Pledges never drink. They only get to drive people around.”
Oh. Made sense.
I turned to say something to Bridget, but she disappeared instantly, leaving me standing by myself in a loud ocean of students, smushed together, dancing, talking, trying not to spill their plastic cups filled with beer. I sighed and decided to work my way to the kitchen. Maybe I’d find that Mike guy or maybe I’d—
“Miss Dane. It’s nice to see you, as always.”
Santiago had popped out of nowhere, and the moment I turned, his eyes dropped to my chest. Yes, my tight, red, fitted dress was the lowest cut thing I owned. And honestly, I looked pretty good. Santiago’s sweeping eyes confirmed it.
And—kick me hard—but he looked incredible. He wore a fitted, white linen shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders and lean, well-built physique—sleeves rolled up to expose his hard, tanned forearms—and soft, worn jeans that embraced every manly angle of his manly lower half.
“Great,” I said dryly. “My ghost is back. You’re actually becoming pretty predictable.” Even in my dreams he was predictable. He always started out by laying me down on my back and then allowing me to watch him remove his shirt, his thick biceps flexing as he worked his buttons to expose the chiseled mounds of his deeply tanned pectorals—