: Chapter 3

“WHY DON’T YOU COME WITH me and find out?”

It sounded good in my head, but now that I’ve said it out loud I can’t help but internally cringe. This woman is far too hot to be talking to me and I have no idea how I’ve managed to land myself in this situation.

JJ caught me watching her snoop around the kitchen and gave me a “success with women” pep talk worthy of an Oscar before pushing me in her direction with the instruction to offer her a drink.

While I’m not totally useless with women, I’m far from the best, which I proved when my first conversation with the attractive stranger in my house was about burglary. I usually need a bit of time to relax before I feel comfortable, which isn’t ideal at college parties. Alcohol sometimes bridges the gap long enough for me to ask for someone’s number, but I don’t drink often, which is why I’m chronically single.

Even though I’m buzzed from my drink, Aurora is just too fucking pretty, which is my excuse for why my brain is scrambling for some engaging conversation. I couldn’t even see her face when I approached her, just long legs and curves covered by a tiny skirt and top. Then her head popped out from behind the door, blond waves framing her face, cheeks flushed pink, emerald-green eyes glaring up at me innocently, like someone who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. And then she smiled, something she’s probably done a million times in her life, but I forgot about my lack of skill with women. I forgot about everything.

I promised myself earlier I would talk to someone if I thought they were hot and, technically, I am doing that even if she’s about to politely reject me. I’m trying hard to channel the artificial confidence my beer is giving me and not crumble beneath her inquisitive gaze as she considers my offer.

She holds out her hand and I have to stop my eyebrows from shooting into my hairline from the surprise. “Lead the way.”

Threading my fingers with hers, I navigate us toward the den, silently repeating fake it till you make it and you’re a hot hockey player and the only person who knows you’re not confident is you in my head like JJ told me to.

I never expected his advice to work, but he looks totally unsurprised as I walk toward the Jenga setup hand in hand with Aurora. He looks a little smug, in fact. I keep her body close to mine, careful to stop drunk people from bumping into her until we reach the crowd around the dining room table.

“You ready for this?” I say, although I’m not sure if I’m talking to myself or to her.

As she looks up at me, her eyes soften and her hand squeezes mine gently. “How much trouble can one game of Jenga cause?”

“My friend Joe is heading to Yale Law School and they asked him what’s considered a felony in California.” Joe didn’t even look surprised. After he read out a list from his cell phone, Robbie and JJ wouldn’t let anyone else see what they were writing on the blocks, giggling to each other like schoolkids.

“Nothing says college spirit like posting bail. I’m sure we’ve both done worse. Come on.”

She doesn’t let go of my hand as she moves confidently through the crowd, head held high, hair dancing across her bare shoulders with every step. I’m not sure how I ended up as the one being guided, but I follow her toward the gap between Stassie and Emilia.

Stassie waves at me enthusiastically as I come into her view, patting the table beside her. “I saved you a spot, muffin.”

It’s clear she’s already drunk by the fact she pats so hard the Jenga blocks and shot glasses wobble.

“Okay, Godzilla,” Lola snaps from across the table. “Let’s not take down the tower before everyone’s naked. Jeez.”

Stassie mouths an oops and gives me a dopey, drunk smile as she cuddles into Nate’s side. Her eyes flick down to my hand joined with Aurora’s before flicking up to Aurora, her jaw slacking slightly before giving me an awkward thumbs-up.

How am I supposed to fake being confident with women in these conditions?

“Muffin?” Aurora asks as we slot into the space between our friends, letting go of my hand to rummage through her purse for her cell phone. I want to do something with my hands instead of standing awkwardly beside her, but checking my phone is my least favorite thing to do, so I settle for pushing my hands into my pants pockets instead. I watch as she swipes across at her notifications, huffing slightly before pushing it back into her purse and looking up at me.

“It’s a really, really long story.” My hour-long fake relationship with Stassie feels like a million years ago now, and I’m not even sure I could describe the weird but wholesome bond we now share. Even though she says my poor communication skills give her a headache.

Say something interesting, Callaghan.

Aurora doesn’t say anything further to my nonanswer, instead turning to talk to Emilia on her other side. Blowing out a sigh, I turn my attention to my friends. The guys are hammering Robbie with questions and I can see him getting more and more irritated. “Where’s Hen?” Robbie asks, eyeing each of my teammates. “This was his fucking idea.”

“I’m here!” Henry shouts, pushing his way through the crowd, a woman with mussed hair following him closely. “Sorry, I’m here.”

If this was hockey and Henry was late because he was getting laid, Robbie would tear into him. Robbie takes party games as seriously as he takes hockey, but he’s desperately trying to prove he’s not as uptight as Faulkner after being compared to him all day.

Becky, Henry’s latest fling, whispers something into his ear, kisses him on the cheek, then disappears back into the party. Henry’s smirk is annoying Robbie more, which is great for every player on a secret countdown, waiting for him to go off.

Robbie stops staring everyone down and his arms lift slightly, like he’s about to clap, and everyone holds their breath, but one arm lowers and the other wraps around Lola’s hips. “Oka—”

“Do I have time to go to the bathroom?” Kris asks.

“No, you fucking don’t,” Robbie snaps. “Just fucking stand there and listen to the rules of the game before I lose my goddamn mind!”

There’s an echo of sighs as everyone besides me and Henry reaches for their wallets and piles bills into Kris’s outstretched palm. Robbie waits with his arms folded tightly across his chest, and when all the money has changed hands, he starts again. “The next person to piss me off isn’t playing next season.” Everyone waits silently, biting their lips trying not to laugh. “You pull out a Jenga block: if it’s blank, the turn moves to the next person, then you stack it on the top of the tower.”

“So like regular Jenga then.” JJ grins.

Robbie ignores him, probably because he can’t bench JJ anymore. “If you get a dare, you either do it, do the forfeit on the back, or drink the two shots. If you’re not a two-hundred-pound hockey player, you only need to do one shot to make things fair. Whoever knocks the tower over has to streak down Maple Ave. Lola, you go first.”

“Wait,” Joe interrupts. “Why are there shots if there are forfeits on the back of the blocks?”

Robbie pins him with a look that sends a chill down my spine. “Because I made the rules and I say there are shots and forfeits.”

The game starts, and in typical Titans fashion it’s chaos. Mattie has to send the last photo on his camera roll to his family group chat—he won’t tell us what it is, but he does step away from the table to take a call from his grandmother. Henry and Bobby have to switch clothes. Joe pulls a block that reads “Give your underwear to the person opposite you,” and Aurora’s friend Emilia argues with Kris that she’s definitely not opposite Joe; he is. By the time the game reaches our side of the table, Kris is wearing Joe’s boxers over his clothes and he takes two shots instead of making out with Emilia, who has a girlfriend and threatens to punch him if he even tries. Emilia pulls a blank block, followed by Aurora doing the same. It’s hard to miss the disappointment.

I’m distracted by her cute pout when I hear a “Hurry the fuck up, muffin” from one of the guys. I push the block through the center carefully.

I try not to drop the block as my hands start to sweat, flipping it over because whatever my forfeit is won’t be as bad as that.

Wrong.

People are asking me what it says, but my mind is running, working out how to get out of this without explaining why I need to. Aside from having no desire to get on Coach’s bad side again, my last-received text message was from my dad asking me to send him money. My stomach sinks with the weight of the ugly truth that he finds a way to snake his way into every situation and spoil it. I didn’t even read it fully before closing the conversation; it’s always the same shitty excuse anyway.

I’ll pay you back. I’ll pay you double back. I know a guy who knows the trainer and the race is a sure thing.

Or, once he’s had a drink: You have everything because of me. You’ve turned your back on this family. Won’t even help your own flesh and blood, you’re not my son. You think you’re better than us because you go to a fancy school, you’ll just fuck it up anyway.

Impatient for a response, Stassie plucks the block from my hand and reads it out to the group, who understandably laughs. I’d laugh, too, if the message was from anyone else. I take a shot in each hand, downing them in quick succession.

“Wow, you really didn’t want me to see those nudes,” Aurora says as I wipe a stray droplet with the back of my hand. “I’m kidding, don’t look so serious. It’s nice.”

“Nice?”

She nods. “That you’re not flashing around your private stuff. Private is nice.”

Private. Something I’m good at. Shame it’s for all the wrong reasons.

The game continues, around and around, shots are taken, dares done, insults flung in the direction of Robbie and JJ. Nate ends up having to send his sister money for not kissing the person to his left: Robbie. Bobby sends an “I miss you” text to Faulkner, Henry has to shotgun a beer, and I end up shirtless for not kissing the nearest redhead, who happens to be Lola. Kissing the girlfriend of my roommate and coach doesn’t feel like the best way to make it through the rest of my college career.

Emilia leans across to the tower, which is looking significantly more unstable than earlier. A grin spreads across her face as she reads from the block. “Nominate two people to kiss. You guys are so childish,” she mumbles, turning the block around to face us, lips tugging into a mischievous grin. “Well, since they’re the only people I know… I suppose… I’ll just have to choose Aurora and Russ.”

“What am I? A ghost?” JJ shouts from the other side of the table, throwing his arms up dramatically. “Our friendship is clearly a joke to you.”

I hear her say something, but it doesn’t immediately register that she’s said my name until I sense Aurora looking up at me. She really is gorgeous, Jesus.

The only person who knows you’re not confident is you.

Her cheeks are more flushed than earlier, eyes glossy. “Are you sober enough to be okay with this?”

She nods, grinning. “Are you?” I gently slip my hand beneath her hair to cup the back of her neck, rubbing my thumb beneath her jaw as her pulse hammers against my palm.

“Yep.” She stretches up on tiptoes as my head lowers, her hands finding their place on my neck, and then my mouth meets hers. Soft at first, hesitant, until she moans softly and for a minute, I forget that we have an audience.

The audience doesn’t forget us, though, and when I pull her body closer to mine, they whoop, bringing us both back down to earth with a crash. She takes a step back, hand shooting to her lips as she turns to Emilia and mutters something that makes her grin.

Fake it until you make it.

The game moves on, blank block after blank block around the whole table, making people question if Robbie and JJ just gave up writing dares, to which they’re incredibly insulted. Aurora pulls another blank block and a disappointed groan from the table follows.

“This tower is holding it together better than I can,” Aurora mumbles, putting the block on the top of the wobbling structure.

I pull mine and immediately spot Robbie’s untidy scrawl on the wood.

“Change direction?” I read out loud. “I don’t get it.”

“It means it’s my go again,” Aurora says from beside me, and Robbie nods to confirm.

She picks her block, which—speaking strictly from an engineering standpoint—is one of the worst ones she could’ve chosen if she wants the tower to stay upright. It occurs to me that she might just want to see it fall over, but the thought stops there when she starts to laugh. And it’s fucking magical.

She spins the block to face the group.

“That was the one I wrote!” Lola shouts happily. “You’re welcome, muffin.”

If looks could kill, I’d be dead. Every player is looking at me with pure jealousy after appraising Aurora for a little too long. I clear my throat loudly and they all snap out of it.

Oh, man. I’m going to get a boner in front of all my friends.

Bobby rushes off to find one of the chairs we stored earlier as Anastasia asks Aurora her musical preferences. I know it isn’t a big deal, but it low-key feels like a big deal. I’m pretty sure my face is bright red. How the fuck am I supposed to fake confidence through this?

Bending to her height, I move close to her ear so only she can hear me. “You don’t have to do this. Don’t let them pressure you.”

“It’s a silly dance,” she says, squeezing my arm. “But thank you. If you’re not good with it, I’ll just do the shots.”

“I’m good with it.” I’m so fucking good with it.

“Anything you don’t want me to do?”

“You can do anything.”

There’s something about already being shirtless that makes this whole thing feel more intimate. Thankfully, having multiple people staring right at you while you sit in a dining room chair is enough to wipe that feeling away.

Nice to know this is what I’ll think of next time I sit to eat.

Aurora reaches for her shots, doing two. “I’m not forfeiting,” she confirms quickly. “It’s for courage.”

I feel like I need courage, and all I’ve got to do is sit here and let a woman who is so far out of my league we’re not even playing the same sport dance on me. The music changes from the upbeat chart song that was playing to Zayn’s “Sweat,” and Lola holds up her phone with the timer set.

It’s easy to forget the rest of the room when Aurora walks over, smiling as she positions herself behind me. Both hands start at my shoulders and slowly trail down my chest and abs until she’s bent over enough that her head is level with mine. She pecks my cheek and laughs lightly, and that’s the moment that I know this is about to be the best kind of torture.

Moving in front of me, she starts to sway her hips slowly in time to the music. Nudging my knees a little wider, she steps between them, turning, and lowers herself down onto me.

Thirty seconds of Aurora’s ass rubbing right against my dick pass by in a flash. Her back is flush with my bare chest, the smell of peach wafts under my nose as her hair swishes around. I start reciting dead presidents in my head, but it’s no use. Her hips change rhythm and her body vibrates as she chuckles, looking up at me. Yeah, she can definitely feel my hard dick digging into her ass.

My knuckles are white from gripping the seat of the chair; I don’t even need to be touching her, apparently. She lifts herself from me and I don’t need to panic about everyone spotting my boner for long because she turns and lowers herself back into my lap, straddling me.

This is worse, so, so much worse.

Worse in a better way, that is. Since she’s fucking hot and now I get to watch her face as she grinds into me, looking wholly pleased with herself. “You can touch me,” she whispers, her eyes dark.

George Washington, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson…

My hands grip her hips as she continues to move, my thumbs gently grazing an exposed sliver of skin between the band of her skirt and her top. Her hands sink into my hair, breasts pressing against my chest as her face gets closer to mine.

And then the timer blasts and I want to commit a murder for the first time in my life.

The spell lifts and we’re both instantly aware that we’re not alone. She sits back, breathing heavy as, thankfully, JJ suggests everyone takes a break to get new drinks and use the bathroom, saluting me as the area begins to clear.

My hands are still on her hips, her eyes are still locked on mine, and there’s something there beneath the surface, something uncertain. Like she’s waiting for something, but I don’t know what. “Uh, good job.”

It’s clear she was waiting for some form of praise because her smile increases as she starts to stand, but I tighten my grip, keeping her on my lap. “Can I have a minute?”

Her teeth sink into her lip as she fights a laugh, nodding. “Sure.”

James Madison, James Monroe, John Quincy Adams…