Uncomfortable

Chapter 4

An hour later, we’re standing outside the Phi Delta house looking like the most unlikely group of friends. Miranda is elegant and lovely in a blue floral maxi dress and sandals, speaking to her home in Florida. Abby is wearing something remarkably, and unsurprisingly, close to lingerie—a tiny, strapless red dress with mesh cutouts at the stomach and along the hips. And I’m in tight jeans, a hoodie, and a pair of sneakers— covered from wrist to neck to toe. I may dress like this whenever I leave the dorms from now on.

Miranda did not, in fact, make me look like a drag queen. My makeup is understated and natural. The complete opposite of her gold eyeshadow, slight bronzer, and a coral lip. She looks like she just stepped off a beach photo shoot. And Abby’s makeup is a mood all its own with smokey cat eyes and heavy red lipstick.

“Okay, girls. Let’s do this,” Miranda announces and links arms with me and Abby. Then she practically drags me into the party. Inside, the house is crowded but not oppressively so. The rooms are big enough to accommodate a number of people gathered at one time. Despite the crowd of people here, I don’t recognize any faces, and I’m not surprised. I don’t know any members of Phi Delta. In fact, other than Ryan, I’m not really acquainted with anyone on Greek Row. That whole scene isn’t really my thing.

Not that I have anything against it. I know the statistics: 20 percent higher graduation rate, higher GPAs, yada yada. I’m just not much for large groups.

As soon as Miranda lets go of my arm, I break off from our little group in search of the kitchen. I hope they have bottled beer here because I could use a drink, but I’m smart enough not to take a cup of anything from some rando at a college party.

“Meet back here at ten!” Miranda calls, and I wave over my shoulder in acknowledgement. We probably won’t be leaving at ten, but that’s our routine when we go to parties, we meet up every hour on the hour to make sure we’re all safe, and if any one of us is too drunk, we all go home. Together. Here’s hoping I’m the lucky drunky tonight.

After several wrong turns and false alarms, I find the kitchen, complete with keg and a counter full of liquor. The kitchen sink is full of ice and heavily populated with bottles. I grab one without bothering to check what it is. I don’t really care. As long as it has alcohol, it will do. I try to screw the top off, but just my luck, it won’t budge. Not a screw top. I search the countertops for a bottle opener, and when I come up empty, I move on to the drawers. Nothing.

“Need a hand?” A male voice sounds from behind me.

I plaster on a fake smile and turn. And come face-to-face with the guy from Zeta. The one who refused to let me into the house to talk to—okay yell at—Ryan.

“You.” My voice is colder than the beer in my hand.

“Me.” He nods gravely as if confirming some dire fact. But his eyes twinkle. He’s laughing at me. He motions to my beer. “I can open that for you if you want.”

I consider telling him no, but I’d only be punishing myself. Reluctantly, I hand my bottle over and watch as he uses a bottle-opener ring on his middle finger to pop the top off. He hands the beer back and drops the cap into the nearby trash can.

“You drink so much you wear a bottle-opener ring?”

“Never know when I might need it.” He shrugs.

“Classy,” I mutter and brush by him on my way out of the kitchen.

“What, no thank you?” He says to my back.

“Byeee,” I answer without turning. Like I’m going to thank him for opening my beer. As far as I’m concerned, he’s as big a douche as Ryan for not letting me into the frat house the other day.

“What a sweet girl.” I hear him mumble behind me, and it makes my spine itch with the desire to react.

“Woman,” I snap, turning to face him. He raises his eyebrows in question but doesn’t say anything. “I’m a woman, not a girl, and the fact that I possess a v****a does not require me to be sweet to you or anyone else.”

His lips quirk. I’m amusing him. And somehow that makes me even more annoyed. “Ugh!” I grumble as I spin on my heel and continue out of the kitchen toward the dining room. Or what would have been the dining room. Instead of a dining table, the Phi Delts have a pool table. It’s currently in use, two guys playing and a blonde girl watching from a pub table on the far wall.

I approach her, even though I don’t know her. She looks nice enough. And I’m not here to be social. I just need to look like I’m trying so my friends will get off my back and let me go back to hiding in my bed. “Mind if I sit here?” I ask her even as I slide onto the empty chair on the opposite side of the table from her.

“Go for it,” she answers cheerfully. “I’m Aubrey.”

“Krystal.” I take a long, hard pull from my beer.

Aubrey points to the guy closest to her, a halfway-decent-looking guy whose dark skin glows enough to make me jealous of whatever skincare routine he uses. “That’s Justin.” Then she points to the blond guy across the table. “That’s Pete.”

“Hi.” I give a soft wave to both and take another sip from my beer.

Justin nods a greeting before going back to the game and taking his shot. Pete pays me considerably more attention, though. Sidling up next to me and crossing one leg over the other, leaning on his pool cue. “You look familiar. Have we met?” He asks with a smile.

Shit. I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t know very many people yet.” But I’m pretty sure I know exactly where he recognizes me from.

“Are you a freshman?”

“Yep, this is my first semester.” And it was supposed to go completely different.

He studies my face as if looking for clues. Then his eyes widen.

Double s**t. He’s figured it out. I can almost see the gears turning in his brain as he pulls up the mental image of me on my ex-boyfriend’s bed, clothed in nothing but emojis. He rakes his gaze down my body, lingering first on my breasts, then at the juncture of my crossed thighs as if he’s picturing those heart-eyed faces at this very moment. His smile turns into more of a leer, and I take another hard pull from my beer and stand. “It was nice to meet you,” I say insincerely and move to go around him.

He grabs my upper arm, not tight enough to hurt, but it gets my attention. “Now, hold on. What’s the rush? You should stay and chat for a bit. We can get to know each other.”

“Actually, I’m supposed to meet up with a couple friends in a few minutes. I don’t want them to worry about me.” I look back at Aubrey, hoping she notices how pushy her friend is being, but she and Justin are heavily engaged in close conversation, and he’s leaning in for a kiss. I’m not sure they’re even aware other people are around right now.

Pete looks skeptical. He’s not buying my excuse one bit. “You just got here.”

“And now I’m leaving.” I stare pointedly at his hand still wrapped around my bicep.

“Maybe we can meet up later, then. I’d like to see you again.” I don’t miss the double meaning in his words.

I bet you would.

“Or better yet, why don’t I come with you to meet your friends. I bet they’re a lot of fun.”

Ew. I mentally run through my options for getting away from this guy. I take a step away, hoping he’ll let me go if I pull, but his fingers tighten slightly on my arm. The situation is shaping up to look like I’m only going to be able to make a quick escape if I make a scene.

“You’re hurting me.” It’s a lie, but he doesn’t know that.

Pete looks down at his hand and then back up at my face as if trying to gauge the truth in my words. Finally, he releases me, but before I can move away, he wraps an arm around my shoulder. His hand dangles offensively close to my breast, and I instinctively hunch my shoulders to protect myself from an impromptu groping.

I try again to step away from him, but he moves forward with me now. I keep walking. Maybe I’ll get lucky and Miranda or Abby will be nearby. “What about your game?” I ask in a last-ditch effort to deter him from trying come with me.

“Eh, I was losing anyway.” He turns and calls over his shoulder to Justin, “I’ll catch you later man.” Justin just nods and moves closer to Aubrey, if that’s even possible. Neither one of them is remotely interested in what’s happening here, and I feel a little sick about how easily a guy can force his attention on a girl, even with other people around.

My options are to go back through the doorway I came through into the kitchen, which was completely empty except for Ryan’s frat buddy, or through the other opening into a hallway. The idea of being in the tight quarters of the hall with this guy makes me a little queasy and has me immediately aiming away from the hallway in favor of the kitchen. I down the rest of my beer and raise it up before saying. “I’m going to get another drink.” I try again to duck out of his hold, but his arm is stuck around my shoulders, like he’s trying for some weird conjoined-twin role-play.

“Awesome, I could use another myself,” he says.

Why won’t this guy take a hint?

As we step back into the kitchen, relief floods my body at the sight of not just Ryan’s fraternity brother, whose name I still don’t know, but another guy in there talking to him. They’re leaning against opposite counters, each with a beer in hand, and both turn to look our way as Pete and I enter.

Fraternity guy’s gaze narrows first at me, then at Pete, and I try to convey with my eyes alone that I could really use some assistance right now. Five minutes ago, I’d been hoping to never see this guy again. Now I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have come across. He’s big, both tall and muscular, and if I can get his help, I have no doubt Pete will give up and go away.

“Hey, Krystal,” Frat guy says slowly, a question in his voice and his gaze. “How’s it going?”

He’s asking me if I’m alright. I don’t know how I know—he’s certainly not the easiest guy to read—but I know that’s what he’s doing.

“Heeey, honey!” I say in an overly cheerful voice and try again to duck out of Pete’s hold. This time, he lets me go, and I waste no time sidling up next to Frat Guy, wrapping my arm around his waist. The muscles in his back tighten with tension at my touch, but to his credit, he doesn’t push me away, just looks down at me with an unreadable expression. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I’m so glad you made it to the party. I thought you had a lot of homework.”

I’m talking too much. Pete is going to see right through my acting; I’m sure of it. But I still silently beg this near stranger to play along.

He takes a pull from his beer, then returns my embrace, wrapping his arm around my shoulders in a side hug. “Homework can wait,” he says simply.

Still standing at the doorway, Pete gapes at us. “You have a boyfriend?” His tone is so offended, like I’ve somehow betrayed him.

“Yep!” I say cheerily. “This is my boyfriend…” I wish I knew the guy’s name. It would be so much more believable if I could introduce them.

My faux beau must think the same thing because he steps forward and extends his hand. “Jace.”

Pete stares at Jace’s hand like he wants to smack it instead of shake it, but eventually, he places his hand in Jace’s and gives it one solid shake before retracting his arm quickly. Then he turns to me. “You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.” His tone holds a sour note that makes me so glad Jace played along. This guy clearly doesn’t take perceived rejection well.

“You didn’t ask,” I answer, my cheery tone dimming a little in response to his anger.

“That’s the kind of thing you should tell someone.” Now his voice isn’t just sour; it’s downright bitter.

Jace’s hand on my shoulder tightens into a fist, then relaxes. “Well, she’s telling you now,” he says, a warning in his tone.

Pete isn’t heeding the warning. “So… what… you thought your boyfriend wasn’t going to be here, so you were just going to slut it up with me?”

I jerk back in surprise, and anger heats my cheeks. “Hold on. I wasn’t slutting it up with anyone, and I sure as hell wasn’t doing anything with you. You followed me in here.”

Jace drops his arms from around my shoulders and steps in front of me ever so slightly, like he’s preparing to protect me. If I wasn’t so riled with anger and adrenaline, I might have taken a moment to stop and appreciate the sweetness of the gesture.

“You were practically begging for it!” Pete spits the words at me. “What kind of a girl flirts with one guy when she’s with another?”

“Hey, man, I think you need to calm down.” Jace attempts to defuse the situation, even as his friend steps away from the counter and sets down his beer.

“I was not flirting with you. I was trying to get away from you!” I exclaim. So much for avoiding a scene.

“You’re just saying that so your boyfriend doesn’t figure out you’re a whore.”

Holy s**t. This guy is downright delusional.

Before I can tell him as much, Jace takes one step forward, plants his foot and swings a solid fist into Pete’s jaw. The sound of Jace’s punch landing on Pete’s face is a crack of thunder in the otherwise quiet room. Pete’s eyes widen, and he grabs the side of his face as he stumbles backward into the wall and slides down. He is still for a moment, and when he starts to move again, his movements are slow, careful.

The other guy steps between Jace and Pete, looking down at the smaller man. “Stay down.” He orders, his voice deep and menacing.

With Pete sufficiently cowed, Jace turns back to me and holds out a hand. “Let’s go.”

I set my hand in his and let him lead me through the house to the front door and out into the crisp October air.

“Thank you.” I whisper the words as he takes a seat on one of the porch steps and motions for me to join him. I stay on my feet, preferring to stand facing him rather than sit next to him. My body is still tight with energy and frustration, and I’m not interested in sitting right now.

“I take it you didn’t know that guy?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Never met him before tonight.” Then Pete’s words, his accusation that I had been flirting with him, echo through my head. “I didn’t flirt with him.”

“I know.”

“You do?” I shouldn’t be surprised. Jace seems like a fairly perceptive guy.

“If you’d been flirting with him, you wouldn’t have come into the kitchen looking like you were being abducted, and you certainly wouldn’t have pretended I was your boyfriend to get away from him.”

“True.” I turn and pace away from Jace, then back, trying to dispel more of the stress lingering in my muscles from the confrontation a few moments ago. He stays still, motionless through my pacing, and eventually I start to feel less tense, the fight-or-flight feeling lessening with every step I take. Finally, I feel calm enough to sit. I take a seat next to Jace, but I don’t face him. I might be calmer, but I’m still fuming, still absorbing the knowledge that things could have gone so much differently if he hadn’t been there.

He leans back on his hands and stares out at the night, like he has nowhere else he’d rather be. Honestly, I barely know the guy, and he’s anything but warm and fuzzy, but I can’t think of anywhere I might feel safer right now. I lean against the railing next to me and close my eyes, breathe in deep.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“Ah, you do know how to say it.” He chuckles, and just like that, I’m back to being annoyed with him.