WHISPERED TEMPTATIONS

Sorority Party - Part 3

「 ✦ Hero's POV ✦ 」

Carter's voice cuts through the fog of my memories.

"You good, Ro? You look like you were in another world."

My phone vibrates against my thigh for the fifth time in as many minutes, but I ignore it.

I blink up at my cousin's face, those trademark James-family eyes—cornflower blue with flecks of silver near the pupils—studying me with the careful scrutiny he's perfected since we were kids.

The bass from someone's forgotten speaker thumps faintly from another room.

I drain the last of my drink, ice cubes clinking against my teeth, and set the sweating glass on the mahogany side table.

The leather chair creaks beneath me as I shift in the chair.

Through the bay window, I can see the porch lights of fraternity row blinking on as dusk settles.

The house has emptied out, red Solo cups and discarded jackets the only evidence of the crowd that's migrated to Alpha Chi's annual end-of-summer party.

I notice the concerned faces of Ashton Martins and Dawson Wright, two other childhood friends standing behind Carter. Ashton's thick eyebrows furrow together, his usual easy smile nowhere to be found, while Dawson's piercing blue eyes narrow slightly, the way they always do when he's trying to read someone.

"I'm good, just thinking about my flight tomorrow night to see my mom and grandma,"

I say with a nonchalant shrug, rolling my shoulders back as if I could physically shake off their scrutiny.

"Ready for a bit of a break before the rat race of running my dad's company."

My words sound convincing enough, but my stomach clenches into a tight knot, the same feeling I get anytime this subject comes up.

My cousin nods slowly, his jaw tightening beneath the shadow of stubble. His blue eyes narrow, scanning my face like he's trying to decipher a foreign language. The harsh buzz of my phone cuts through the tension between us, vibrating against my thigh.

"I'm assuming that's Lesley?"

he asks, his upper lip curling slightly as his eyes meet mine again, disgust clear in his face.

Ashton's muscular arms fold tightly across his chest as he shakes his head, jaw clenched in frustration.

"That b***h doesn't know when to stop. What part of, we're over, did she not understand?"

He spits the words out, glaring at my vibrating phone as its ringtone fills the tense silence between us.

"The real question though, Ro'," Dawson interjects, his voice quiet, eyes searching mine, "is why haven't you blocked her yet?"

I feel their gazes burning into me as I slowly pulled the phone from my pocket.

The screen illuminates with her call, framing the background photo of us—sun-kissed and laughing in Belize, her red hair whipping across my cheek as turquoise waters sparkled behind us two summers ago.

I shrug, watching the screen illuminate with another incoming call, the vibration humming against my palm like an angry wasp.

“I guess I’m more sentimental than I thought.” I shrugged.

“I can’t say I miss her, because we all know what a nightmare she was. Her only real appeal was she could f**k like a pornstar and she knew who my family was and kept Crystelle in check for the most part. So it always felt safe with her.”

I say softly as the call fades to black as it goes to voicemail.

I press my thumb against the cool power button, holding it until the screen flashes white, then dims to nothing.

The weight of the dead phone feels heavier somehow as I slide it into my front pocket again.

“But there’s nothing left. Especially after seeing first-hand the way, she let Kyle raw dog her.”

I shake my head, trying to get the image of her taking his load, only to watch it drip down her legs and thighs like some kind of sick trophy when she tried to chase after me, after I caught them in my apartment. In MY f*****g bed.

A private apartment she knew I didn’t use often, but kept, just to get away from the noise of the frat house sometimes.

I shake my head as I stand, and stretch, before smiling slightly.

“I’m over reminiscing about what a dumbass I’ve been. Its over, and I will get over it. I’m mostly there, but its hard to move on from what was comfortable. Even if I couldn’t actually stand the bitch.”

I say, shaking my head as I fish my car keys from the back pocket of my jeans, the metal warm from being pressed against my body all evening.

"I can still hear Niko's dulcet voice echoing through the house, sounds like they haven't fully left yet. Let's head out before they leave us behind for real.”

I turn and stride through the hallway, past the empty red cups and abandoned jackets, out to the front yard where everyone is laughing under the amber porch lights, and hanging out of car windows.

"BOUT f*****g TIME JAMES. WE'RE GETTING OLD OUT HERE!"

Niko yells from the driver's side of his lifted truck, his voice cutting through the night as he revs the engine, sending a rumble across the quiet suburban street.

I smile as I head towards my sleek black Audi Q5, its polished surface reflecting the moonlight. A graduation gift from my mom, who knew I needed something sturdy to get me up the mountain for snowboarding season. I slide into the supple leather driver's seat, inhaling that new car smell I still haven't gotten tired of, while Carter, Dawson, and Ashton pile in behind me, bringing with them the scent of cologne and warm summer nights.

“I don’t think Niko knows how not to yell.”

Ashton snickers as he pulls his seat belt on.

We all laugh while agreeing, as I turn the car on and follow behind Nikos truck as he speeds down the street.

"Which is probably what makes him a beast of a defenseman. You've seen how he crushes guys into the boards."

Carter laughs as his sips from the bottle he brought along.

“He better get us season passes, especially since Hero here, made sure he passed his final 3 classes and could make it to practice and the games.” Dawson says chuckling, taking the bottle from carter who passed it back to him.

“Without Hero, he’d probably never would have been drafted. Would have been benched all year.”

Everyone nods, as Dawsons passes the bottle to Ashton.

“He already guaranteed good seats for any game I want, his dues have been paid”

I say smiling as we turn onto sorority row. Cars lined the street and the faint bass of music pulsing down the street.

I find parking a few houses down from the party, where neon-clothed bodies writhe across the front lawn under strings of Christmas lights, red cups scattered like confetti.

The bass thumps through my windshield as I kill the engine.

I twist toward the backseat, fingers closing around the neck of our half-empty Jack Daniel's. The whiskey burns a path down my throat, warming my chest before settling into a pleasant buzz in my stomach.

“Condoms fellas, and please don’t f**k in my car. I don’t want to have to make you pay for my car to be detailed again, right Ashton?”

I arch one eyebrow at him, watching his face split into that familiar cocky smirk.

Ashton runs a hand through his gelled hair "No guarantees, asshole," he drawls "What can I say? Something about this leather interior makes panties drop."

We erupt in laughter that fogs the windows. I pass the bottle back, watching amber liquid slosh against glass, then shoulder my door open into the cool night air.

I stretch my stiff limbs as the car doors slam in rapid succession, the metallic thuds punctuating the distant thrum of bass from the house.

Niko is already halfway up the driveway, his muscular arms cradling boxes of beer, his booming laugh ricocheting off the surrounding houses as he high-fives and shoulder-bumps everyone in his path.

I smirk and shake my head as my other three friends trail behind me, their excited chatter creating a bubble of anticipation around us.

The front lawn is a patchwork of shifting shadows and golden porch light, dotted with red Solo cups and swaying bodies.

"THE PARTY HAS NOW ARRIVED, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!"

Niko's voice explodes through the night air, bouncing back across the dewy grass. A wave of cheers crashes from the lawn to the house and back again, like an auditory Mexican wave.

I chuckle under my breath.

Nothing—not one single mundane moment—is boring with Niko around.

His voice fades as he disappears into the house, swallowed by the pulsing music that spills out like liquid energy.

I step onto the front porch and make my way inside.

The house is dimly lit by strings of fairy lights that cast everything in a hazy amber glow, bodies pressed together in every corner, the bass of early 2000's Hip-Hop vibrating through the floorboards beneath my feet.

Sweat and perfume mingle in the air.

Through the shifting crowd, I spot Niko, his broad shoulders hunched as he leans down, whispering something that makes a woman in a skintight bubble gum pink dress throw her head back and laugh.

Her matching pink stilettos catch the light as she shifts her weight, and his fingers splay possessively across the small of her back, drawing her closer until their hips align.

Her cascade of black hair swings like a pendulum as she tilts her face up to his, and the hunger in his expression softens into something tender before he captures her parted lips with his own. I feel myself smile, a quiet realization dawning—this must be Halo, the earthside angel he's been waxing poetic about for months.

I look away, feeling like an intruder.

But as I go to turn, my eyes clash with eyes so intensely green they remind me of sea glass polished by waves—the kind that catches sunlight on a beach and holds it captive like a jealous collector.

Flecks of gold dance near the pupils, creating an illusion of depth that seems to stretch beyond what human eyes should contain.

Even in this dim lighting, those irises seem to glow with an otherworldly luminescence, ringed by thick dark lashes that curl upward at the tips, casting feathery shadows across high cheekbones.

My breath catches in my throat, lungs suddenly forgetting their purpose. My muscles lock in place, tendons pulled taut like violin strings, feet suddenly weighted to the floor as if gravity has doubled its hold on me alone.

Unable to look away, unable even to blink, I feel my pulse drumming against my eardrums as the world goes silent, all ambient noise sucked away as I stay trapped in those unending green pools that seem to both question and answer simultaneously.

My eyes finally move from her beautiful eyes to her face, but relief is short lived as I look into the most exquisitely beautiful face I’d ever seen.

Perfectly heart shaped with a tiny, pointed chin like a delicate porcelain doll, her nose—straight and refined as if sculpted by a Renaissance master—led down to lips so full and rounded they formed another perfect heart, colored the deep crimson red of freshly squeezed strawberries

Her face holds a gentle softness framed by high cheekbones that catch the light like polished amber. When she speaks or smiles—even the slightest twitch at the corner of her mouth—two deep dimples appear in her warm cinnamon-brown cheeks. These delicate crescents deepen with each movement, carving shadows that appear and vanish like the first hesitant stars piercing the lavender veil of dusk, making constellations of her expressions.

Fuck, when did I turn into a poet?

Her long brown hair flowed in curled waves to her waist, each strand seeming to capture light differently—gleaming gold where the lamp caught it directly, rich bronze in the half-shadows, and burnished copper where darkness nearly claimed it in the dimly lit house, creating a living halo around her face.

She was my absolute wet dream—all honey-gold skin and curves that could make a saint blaspheme.

As our eyes clashed across the crowded room, blue meeting green, my first and only thought kept running through my head, pounding with each heartbeat like a primal drum.

Mine.