“Because I’ll invite him,” I said. “And he’ll shit himself before saying he’s in. Probably show up with a bottle of wine as a gift or some shit, too.”
Giana rolled her eyes, but an excited smile spread on her lips, a little bounce in her step as we walked.
And right as we passed Maliyah and Kyle, I reached down, threading Giana’s small hand in mine.
Giana
“Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!”
I ducked out of the way just in time to dodge a beer funnel being lifted up over my head, but didn’t move in enough time to escape the driblets that slopped over the edge of it. Beer spritzed into my hair and on my shoulders, and Clay laughed at my expression of horror before grabbing my shoulders and guiding me off to the side.
The Snake Pit, as Clay had called it, was a large house in a surprisingly nice neighborhood that was currently dark, loud, and crawling with NBU students. A DJ spun popular tracks in the main living room, the old couches with torn cushions pushed off to the sides to make way for a giant dance floor. Lights flared and flashed all colors of the rainbow around the scene, girls dancing and guys trying to find a way to join them.
“I love her outfit!” I yelled over the music to Clay, pointing toward a girl in the middle of the dance floor. She wore a white top that criss-crossed over her slight cleavage, accentuating her toned stomach and paired with shorts that did her already lean legs a favor. Her hair was long and curled down her back, makeup like that of a movie star.
“That’s Olivia Bradford,” Clay yelled back.
“Bradford?” My eyes shot open. “As in the university president?”
“That’s his daughter.”
I assessed her again, even more impressed with her outfit knowing she had a stern father who ran one of the top universities in New England.
My eyes continued scanning the party, taking in the various games of beer pong and flip cup happening all around the house. There were pods of students laughing and talking, drinking and making out, and — to my surprise — even doing drugs. Though none of the football players were in those specific circles. They’d lose their scholarships and position on the team if they were.
“This is kind of overwhelming,” I admitted, but it wasn’t anxiety simmering in my gut. It was… excitement.
I was at a college football team party.
It felt like something that would happen to a character in one of my favorite new-adult books, and I found myself eager to get into trouble, to try something new, to dance or play beer pong or—
My thoughts were interrupted when Shawn Stetson slipped into my view, a calm, confident smile on his face as he weaved through the crowd. He couldn’t make it more than a few steps before a girl was grabbing him by the arm or belt loop. I didn’t have to read lips to know they were telling him how much they loved his music, how much they loved him. It was all written in the fake-blush he wore, and the way he mouthed thank you over and over again.
He wasn’t modest. He didn’t need to be, not with how hot he was or how uniquely velvet his voice was. It was like Caleb Followill from Kings of Leon had a child with Adele, and they bestowed the best of both their voices onto their bouncing baby boy.
Clay cleared his throat, right up next to my ear so I could actually hear it, and I bit my lip against a flush when I turned to find him watching me watching Shawn.
“Ready for the game plan?” he asked with a grin.
And just like a football player tugging on their helmet before hitting the field, I nodded, expression serious. “Ready.”
Clay pulled me under his arm, so close I felt every inch of his body pressed against mine as he spoke low into my ear. “I’m going to ignore you,” he said. “Hang out with my friends, maybe flirt with some other girls. Use that to your advantage. Talk a little shit about me.”
I frowned. “What? To Shawn?”
Clay nodded. “Drop hints that you’re unhappy, that you’re used to being ignored in situations like this.”
“That makes you seem terrible.”
He shrugged. “So? That’s the point. It’ll take Shawn’s piqued interest and turn it into a burning desire to save you and show you what you deserve.”
“That’s cliché,” I said on a snort. “And ridiculous.”
“Have I not proven to you yet that I know what I’m doing?” Clay pulled back enough to hike a brow incredulously. “Just trust me. Oh, and invite him to hang out with you somewhere a little less chaotic. Maybe say you need some air. You can ask about his music, stroke his ego a bit.”