She wasn’t wrong. My classes are filled with kids whose parents are footing the bill for their college gig so they play games, watch porn, or update their socials instead of paying attention. I don’t have a single thing in common with ninety-nine percent of them. But I know them. I know that underneath their white smiles and three-hundred-dollar hoodies, they’re all terrified. The weird thing is that they’re not afraid of the right things. Take Quinn here. She shouldn’t have gotten into a car with a stranger and she shouldn’t be going to frat parties. Bad things happen there and I’m not about to let my girl be exposed to any of that shit. I make up my mind. I’m going to have to kidnap Quinn. The house isn’t ready but that’s beside the point. She can’t go to a frat party.
“So you know they call this place the rape house, right?”
“They what?” she yelps.
“Yeah, sorry to say that.” I don’t know that it’s true but I watched every college set movie that Hollywood put out in the last twenty years in prep for enrollment and it was true in almost all of them.
“My God. I have to text Trin.”
Out of the periphery of my vision, I catch her whipping out her phone and tapping furiously into it.
“Trin says that these guys have a great reputation.”
My car rolls to a stop at the red light. I give a little shrug as if I don’t care. “Your call.”
It’s dark in the interior of the car but I don’t need any illumination to remember what she looks like in that short skirt and the high heels. Her legs looked like they went on forever, a long, creamy expense of skin that begged for my touch. Her tits were completely covered but one look at her chest made my mouth water. She’s more beautiful than any painting and I’m torn between wanting to put her on a pedestal and worship her daily and taking her to the floor and violating her in every way known to man and a few that I’ve been making up in my head in the last few hours. And if I feel this way I know other men do, too. There’s no way she’s going to that party.
“Is it just a party that you want? Because I can host a party.” Other than my neighbor and the cleaning lady, no one else has stepped foot in my apartment. The only time I’ve ever been to parties has been to kill someone. The last one I attended, I strangled the heir to a drug kingdom in Belize while some opera singer from Italy sang “Cortigiani, vil razza dannata” which is appropriate because one line from it goes, “That door, assassins, open it.”
The Italians were really into their murders. Good people, those Europeans. They knew how to get things done. The light turns green and we take off.
“I mean…” She hesitates.
That’s my opening. “I’ve got booze, guys, an empty apartment.”
“No rapes?”
“No. Those aren’t allowed.”
“Let me call Trin. I don’t want her texting and driving.”
“Sounds perfect. I live off of Continental in the Maple Apartments.”
“Hey, Trin, how about we go to a party at Daman’s place? He lives at the Maple…Yeah, the Maple off of Continental. He says that there are a bunch of guys who live around him.”
My fingers curl around the steering wheel as Quinn listens to the other girl talk. I need to bug Quinn’s phone. I don’t like not knowing shit. That’s not how I operate.
“Okay, she’s in.”
I try not to be too obvious about my relief. “Great. Now I don’t have to kidnap you.”
She giggles but the pretty sound shuts off quick. I take my eyes off the road to check out her expression.
“You were kidding, right?”
Oh. I was supposed to laugh with her. I force out a chuckle. “Yeah. Of course,” I lie.
We make a detour to pick up booze. “I need to make a call first. Can you start shopping?”
“What should I get?”
This is the first time I’ve ever held a party. “Buy one of everything.”
“Everything?”
“Whatever you can fit in this cart.” I shake a metal one loose. “Go on. I’ll help in a second.”
“This is going to be expensive,” she worries.
“Can’t have a good time stressing about the cost,” I tell her and give her a small nudge.
I watch her ass sway as she toddles into the liquor store, leaning on the shopping cart. A sudden vision of me bending her over a table and fucking her from behind makes me weak in the knees. I force the image out of my head and call Flip. He answers quickly.
“Wassup?”
“Flip. It’s your neighbor, Daman. How are you and your…” What had he called her? Oh, yeah, honey. “What’s up with your honey?”
“Not much. We’re just chilling. How’d you get my number?”