After He Cheated, I Kissed His Football Star Brother

The bass from the massive speakers rattled my ribs, vibrating through the sticky floorboards of the Delta Sigma frat house. It was April Fool’s Day, a night notoriously dedicated to terrible decisions, cheap beer, and campus-wide chaos. For me, the joke had already been played. I was the punchline. Just forty-eight hours ago, I had walked into my freshman boyfriend’s dorm room with a box of his favorite pizza, only to find him intensely occupied. Chase Hayes, the arrogant freshman backup quarterback who thought he was the undisputed king of the campus, was tangled up in his bedsheets with a blonde varsity cheerleader. The image was seared into my brain like a bad tattoo. I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I had just dropped the pizza box—which hit the floor with a pathetic, greasy thud—and walked out while he scrambled to pull up his shorts, spewing a string of pathetic excuses. "Stop thinking about him, Lily," my best friend, Maya, yelled over the deafening roar of a remixed hip-hop track. She shoved a red plastic cup into my hand, the lukewarm liquid sloshing over the rim. "You are not going to spend tonight moping over a guy who wears his baseball cap backwards and uses a 3-in-1 body wash. You are a gorgeous, intelligent college woman, and tonight, you are going to forget Chase ever existed." I took a sip of the mysterious punch and immediately regretted it. It tasted like blue raspberry syrup and rubbing alcohol. "I'm not moping," I lied, leaning against the chipped paint of the hallway wall. "I'm just plotting my revenge in silence. Or contemplating transferring to a different time zone. Whichever comes first." "Neither," Maya declared, grabbing my wrist and pulling me toward the center of the living room. "What you need is a distraction. And look! The distraction gods have answered our prayers." A large group of students had formed an uneven circle in the middle of the room. In the center stood a battered coffee table with an empty tequila bottle spinning violently on its surface. It was a chaotic, alcohol-fueled version of Truth or Dare, a game I usually avoided like the plague. "Maya, no," I protested, digging my heels into the sticky floor. "I am not doing this. I don't want to play." "You don't have a choice," she said, practically tossing me into an empty spot in the circle. "You need a system reboot. A palate cleanser. A distraction." Before I could argue further, the crowd erupted into cheers. The guy who had just spun the bottle—a beefy lineman whose name I didn't know—pointed directly at me. The bottle had stopped, its glass neck aimed squarely at my scuffed white sneakers. "Fresh meat!" someone yelled, and the crowd laughed. "Truth or dare?" the lineman bellowed, grinning mischievously. I wanted to pick truth. Truth was safe. Truth was boring. But the alcohol warming my blood and the lingering sting of Chase's betrayal made me reckless. If I picked truth, they'd probably ask me about the breakup. The entire campus already knew; gossip spread through this university faster than a wildfire. "Dare," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. The crowd went wild. Maya patted my back enthusiastically. The lineman rubbed his chin, looking around the room before his eyes lit up with a wicked gleam. "Alright, heartbreak girl. Since it's April Fool's, we're doing the blindfold dare. You put on the blindfold, we spin you around, and you kiss the very first guy you bump into. No backing out. A real kiss, not a peck on the cheek." My stomach did a nervous flip. "Are you serious?" "Dead serious. Rules are rules," he said, pulling a dark bandana from his back pocket and tossing it to Maya. Maya caught it and gave me an apologetic, yet thrilled, look. "Sorry, babe. House rules." I sighed, setting my cup down on the floor. I closed my eyes as Maya tied the bandana securely around my head, plunging me into complete darkness. The loss of sight heightened all my other senses. The smell of cheap cologne, stale beer, and sweat overwhelmed me. The bass of the music seemed louder, thumping against my eardrums. "Okay, spin her!" someone shouted. Hands grabbed my shoulders, spinning me around once, twice, three times. I lost my bearings completely, stumbling slightly in my sneakers. The crowd chanted, their voices a blur of noise. "Go! Walk!" Maya yelled from somewhere to my left. I took a hesitant step forward, my hands outstretched like a zombie. I took another step. The crowd was hooting and hollering. I braced myself to run into some sweaty frat boy reeking of cheap vodka and bad decisions. Instead, I crashed into a solid wall. It didn't feel like a drunken college boy. It felt like walking into a statue carved from warm granite. Two massive, strong hands instinctively gripped my waist to steady me, the fingers pressing firmly through the thin fabric of my dress. A shiver shot straight down my spine. The scent that enveloped me was entirely out of place in this dingy frat house. There was no cheap beer or axe body spray here. He smelled like expensive cedar, crisp mint, and worn leather. It was an intoxicating, intensely masculine scent that made my breath hitch in my throat. "Well?" someone yelled from the crowd. "Kiss him!" I hesitated, my heart hammering furiously against my ribs. The hands on my waist didn't move to push me away; if anything, their grip tightened slightly, pulling me an inch closer. Taking a deep, shaky breath, I tilted my head up and leaned in. The moment my lips brushed his, a jolt of electricity surged through my veins. I expected a sloppy, inexperienced collision of teeth, but this was entirely different. His lips were firm, warm, and commanding. For a split second, he was completely still, likely surprised by the blindfolded girl crashing into him. But then, to my absolute shock, he took control. One of his large hands slid from my waist to the nape of my neck, his long fingers tangling in my hair as he tilted my head back to deepen the kiss. My gasp was swallowed by his mouth. The kiss was devastating. It was demanding, possessive, and entirely consuming. My knees went weak, and my hands instinctively flew up to grip the broad, muscular expanse of his chest just to keep myself upright. He tasted like mint and pure dominance. It felt like the floor was dropping out from under me. I had completely forgotten about the party, the game, and the ex-boyfriend who had broken my heart. All I knew was the heat radiating from the massive man holding me, and the way his kiss was thoroughly dismantling my sanity. When he finally pulled back, a breathless sound escaped my lips. I was trembling, my chest heaving as I tried to pull oxygen back into my lungs. Slowly, the realization dawned on me. The music was still playing, but the crowd was dead silent. The chanting had stopped. There was no cheering, no laughter. The atmosphere in the room had shifted from rowdy and chaotic to a thick, suffocating tension. You could hear a pin drop. My trembling hands reached up and pulled the bandana down, letting it hang around my neck. I blinked against the harsh lighting, my eyes struggling to adjust. I looked up. And up. Standing before me, staring down with eyes as dark and dangerous as a thundercloud, was Hunter Hayes. My breath caught in my throat, choking me. Hunter Hayes wasn't just any guy. He was the senior star Quarterback. The undisputed, untouchable god of the campus. He was a 6'3" powerhouse of muscle, notorious for his fierce temper, his laser-focus on the upcoming NFL draft, and his absolute refusal to engage in campus drama. But worst of all? He was Chase’s older brother. The very older brother that Chase simultaneously idolized and feared. Hunter was everything Chase pretended to be—actually talented, effortlessly intimidating, and completely out of my league. Hunter never looked twice at the partying crowd. He was known for being brutally protective of his inner circle and fiercely unapproachable. And I had just practically assaulted him in the middle of a frat party. The silence in the room was deafening. Everyone was waiting for the explosion. They were waiting for the terrifying Hunter Hayes to shove me away, to yell, to utterly humiliate me for daring to touch him. I took a panicked step back, my face burning with a fiery blush. I wanted the floorboards to open up and swallow me whole. Hunter didn't yell. He didn't look angry. Instead, a slow, dangerous smirk curved the corner of his mouth. He raised a large hand, his thumb casually wiping a smudge of my lip gloss from his bottom lip. His dark eyes locked onto mine, burning with an intensity that made my stomach flip completely over. He wiped his lip. "Not bad, little Hayes."