SNAPPED (The Slate Brothers 1)

I nod appreciatively, and wonder if Juliet knows I’m a freshman— that I’m not even old enough to legally drink. Not that this matters in a college town, usually, but still. The bar consists of a handful of enormous coolers in the kitchen, stocked with ice and mid-range beers. I pretend to mull over them, then select one. Juliet disappears to the main room, where I see her talking to Conor and a few other players I recognize from the profiles flashed on the big screen at today’s game. I’ve got no interest in Conor spotting me, so I lurk near the coolers, pretending to furiously text someone on my phone, wondering when Sebastian will show up. Wondering what will happen when Sebastian shows up. The size of the party is a little frightening, and it occurs to me that Sebastian’s strange attraction to me has always been something done in secret, away from his friends. What if he pretends not to know me? I don’t look like the other girls here…

I disaster plan, thinking through all the things I can do to get out of the party with my dignity if Sebastian gives me the cold shoulder when he spots me. Of course, I haven’t seen him yet, so maybe I’m getting way ahead of myself. I collect my thoughts and decide to focus on New Recruits Week instead— the reason I’m ostensibly here to start with. I take a deep breath, lower my phone, and decide to chat with the next person who meets my eye.

“Hey there, you look lost,” the person— a younger guy, clearly a football player, but probably around my age and likely an offensive player, given his size— says. He smiles at me and I get a creepy vibe but try to play it off.

“Not lost, I’m by the beer,” I point out, with a smile.

“I meant, you don’t look like the other girls here,” the guy says, and I have to fight to keep my face screwing up. He laughs. “That’s not a bad thing. You can only see so many cheerleaders before they blend together, you know?”

I take a breath and ignore the urge to tell this guy that his play isn’t working— I’ve seen it before. Casually insult a girl, and watch her try to clamber for your approval.

“I guess you’re on the team then?” I say.

“I’m a receiver. Do you know what position that is?”

“No,” I say, playing a little dumb and hoping he takes the hint that I’m not very interested.

Instead, he slides in closer and begins to explain. The way he tells it, the receiver is basically the hero of the entire game. “So,” I say when he slows down. “Did you play in today’s game?”

I see a flash of indignation in his eyes, and it’s immensely satisfying. He looks away, takes a long swig of beer, and says, “Not today— the coaches are keeping me in their back pocket, basically. I’m a sophomore, so they don’t want people to know about me right out of the gate.”

“So you’re like a secret weapon,” I say, rolling my eyes a little.

“Exactly,” he purrs to me, and slings an arm around my shoulder. It’s a testament to how big Sebastian is that this guy— who is sizable, by anyone’s standards, has arms that feel like toothpicks to me.

“Did you decide to come here because of New Recruits Week?” I ask him. After all, I am here to find out what I can about the football culture at the school.

“Oh, yeah— that’s what got me here. I had basically dozens of schools after me, but Berkfield really felt like a place that respected football, you know? The whole team really shows you a good time that week— shows you what you’ll get to be a part of if you come here.”

“What do they show you?”

“It’s wild,” he says with a spark in his eyes. “Non-stop parties, basically. Girls everywhere.” He looks around briefly, then back to me. “Why don’t we go downstairs for a minute? Get some privacy?”

My face flushes at his brashness. I don’t have a chance to tell him hell no because someone else breaks into our conversation first.

“Daniel, aren’t you supposed to be cleaning up empties?” a voice says. It’s dark, and cold, and furious in a way that makes my blood go icy. My eyes leap to the speaker, and my lips curve into a smile before I can stop myself.

It’s Sebastian.

The guy hitting on me— Daniel— is not smiling. His face, in fact, has gone pale. “There weren’t any, last I checked, Bass.”

“There might be now,” Sebastian says. “I think you ought to go take another look.”

“Yeah,” Daniel says, trying to act casual— trying to save face in front of me. I try to avoid laughing at him as he sidles away, sets his beer on the counter, and begins to trudge off like a kid headed to detention. He turns back to me at the last second, though, and says, “Hey, can I get your number—“