Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
I hadn’t realized how big Drake was until I was standing down step from him, his looming figure clad in literally almost the same thing his brother is wearing—coincidence?
Navy blue tee.
Dark jeans.
Tan arms, neck, face.
I do a brief assessment before passing by; brushing his bicep on my way up the stairs. No accident. Give him a glance over my shoulder I hadn’t meant to be coy but becomes so. Arch an eyebrow I hadn’t intended to arch.
Who are you? I whisper to myself, a smile forming on my face as my eyes scan the perimeter for the nearest bathroom, that same smile sinking when I see the line forming in front of it.
“Shit,” I mutter.
“You looking for the bathroom?” some guy with the word PLEDGE written across his forehead in black ink asks.
“Yes.”
“You with the Colter brothers?”
“Um. Yes?”
“Follow me.”
Follow him?
I have no idea who this guy is or where he’s leading me, but the tingling between my legs cannot wait for me to give him the third degree.
So.
I follow him.
The pledge weaves with me through the crowded living room, through what appears to be a library, then past an old butler’s pantry. He opens an unassuming door that looks like a closet at first glance but is a hidden staircase.
Nice!
The pledge leads me to a second level, checking every few feet to make sure I’m still following. We enter a long quiet hallway, passing dorm-style doors.
A study lounge.
Built-in bookcases.
Then at the end of this hall, he stops in front of a door, pulls a key out of his back pocket, and proceeds to open the master lock on the door, pushing it open to reveal a giant bathroom.
“There you go.”
I stare inside. “Just like that, I get my own bathroom?”
Wow.
Don’t I feel special?! “A girl could get used to this!”
He does nothing but nod.
I squint at him, hand on the bathroom doorknob. “Are you allowed to talk? Is this a rush thing?” I’ve heard that sometimes during rush week, pledges are made to do a lot of stupid shit.
His face turns bright red. “Of course I’m allowed to talk.”
Hmm. “Are you going to stand out here while I do my business?”
Another nod. “I have to. I have the only key.”
“Gotcha.” I shoot a finger gun in his direction. “I’ll try not to take too long.”
His hands go up. “Take all the time you need. It’ll spare me from spending the night as everyone’s little bitch.”
“Well then. If you insist, I’ll take my time.” I laugh.
“I’m Benny, by the way.” He pauses. “Freshman.”
“Daisy,” I tell him, slowly closing the gap in the door. “Junior.”
When I’m alone, I sigh.
Set the beer down on the window ledge.
Blow out a puff of air as I unzip my jeans, pull them down over my hips, and squat over the toilet, doing my best not to pee anywhere but inside the toilet.
My eyes stray to the tile bathtub.
The shampoo on the ledge.
I pee for what feels like forever, thighs burning a little by the time I’m done.
“Oh my god, what all did I drink?” I mutter as I wipe.
Flush.
The noise from the house party is muffled, and I’m grateful for the reprieve, despite the fact that Drew and I have only been here for a half hour. I make short work of washing my hands and drying them, pelvis pressed against the counter to study my makeup.
Not that it matters—I didn’t bring any eyeliner to fix the smudge under my right eye.
I text Stella.
Text Gabby.
Slide the phone into the back pocket of my jeans, sighing again as I pull the bathroom door open, assuming I’ll see Benny leaning against the wall, waiting the way he said he would be.
He’s not.
I blink, sticking my head out the door. “Where’d Benny go?”
“He got busy.” The low voice is distinctly not my date’s.
My brows raise. “He has the key.”
Drake lifts his arm, dangling the key between his index and forefinger like a carrot.
“Oh! Was I hogging the bathroom?” I babble. “I’ll get out of your way so you can—”
But he ignores me, waltzing inside as if he has an invitation, leaving a trail of cologne in his wake. My nose tips up to give the air a whiff before he reclines against the counter with his arms folded and regards me.
I have no desire to kick him out of the room.
So.
I do the opposite, closing the door to close us in, then press my back against it, watching him.
He smells so good.
Looks great, too, his firm muscles straining the fabric of his navy tee shirt—the one so similar to his brother’s a person would easily mistake them if they didn’t know what to look for.
The gap between his teeth, for one.
The scar.
I don't have to ask Drake what he's doing in this bathroom with me I already know. He's either in here because he has something to say, or is in here for another reason entirely. I shiver despite myself. His proximity has all my senses tingling.