“Fine.” I sighed.“I’ll just think them and look longingly in your direction every few minutes, sound good?”
She laughed. “Whatever makes you happy.”
“Whistles.” I nodded. “And redheads.” I reached for her hand again. “Virgins.” Interesting, her blush deepened as her hand clenched mine tighter. I was good at reading people and I’d bet my entire fortune she’d never even been kissed. It was why it made her uncomfortable. “Virgin lamb…” I sighed. “I may just sacrifice you on the altar.”
“I’d rather not be sacrificed.”
“You never know.” I gave her a cocky grin, “You may like it.”
“You never know.” She sighed dreamily. “I may stab you.”
“Fair.” I chuckled. “Now, let’s go. People to see, milk to drink, freshmen to corrupt.”
r /> Chapter Eight
Things are never as they seem — ever.
Kiersten
I’d never been to a frat house. My only experience in even knowing what they looked like could be traced to the movies. You know, guys partying, people drinking, cups littering the lawn.
What I didn’t expect was actual order.
The music was loud, but the spread was insane.
Alcohol was everywhere, food was everywhere, people were dressed like movie stars, and every single guy looked like he’d just stepped from a magazine.
“Guys,” Weston put his hands on my shoulders and urged me forward, “This is Kiersten.”
“Hey,” a few of them mumbled in greeting and smiled. They didn’t look like your typical jocks. In fact, most of them were sipping their drinks and discussing football, while the girls around them were happily chatting about classes.
“Oh…” Weston tugged my hand. “And those guys over there who just walked in…” He pointed in the direction of two pretty big guys. One had black-rimmed glasses and a goatee, the other was at least six-foot-seven and lanky. Both appeared to be in their mid-thirties. “They work for me. Or my dad. However you look at it. You have any issues? Anyone bothers you here? You run towards them with the whistle, got it?”
“Uh, sure, but why would anyone bother me?”
Someone chuckled behind me. “Fresh meat.”
“Need I say more?” Weston groaned. “Meet Drake.”
“Hi, Drake.” I swallowed, trying really hard to not meet his predatory gaze. He had dark brown eyes and sandy blond hair.
He nodded. “‘Sup.”
And that was the end of the conversation.
Weston introduced me to tons of people, none of whom really cared who or what I was. Mainly they were polite, but that was it. After a few more introductions, he took me into the kitchen. “Lets’ get you a drink.”
“Oh, I’ve never drank before.” I held up my hands.
“I know.” Weston chuckled. “Which is why you and I are on a mission of sorts. First frat party, first drink, first time with a senior—”
“I’m good.” I shook my head at the cup he held out to me.
“Not yet you’re not. One sip, and then I can die happy.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes, as he held out the cup and waited.
“Ugh, peer pressure. You know, you’re the worst RA I’ve ever met, right?”
He shrugged.