Living at the Frat House - A College Romance
2
Juno
The second story of Granite House is a little more peaceful than downstairs. There are still people, but I can breathe. It’s actually a pretty nice house, and I think the rooms are pretty large, though I can’t see since the doors are all closed.
I take my time exploring and peek into a couple rooms that have the doors ajar. But I stop after I get an eyeful of a little too much of everything of a couple having sloppy, drunken sex.
Another reason I don’t drink or waste my time with parties. It’s entirely possible that neither of them will remember that in the morning. So what’s the point? I like to remember my pleasure.
I’m on the third floor when I see what I’m looking for. There’s a shelf at the end of one hallway. Some books, but also some things that are just…displayed. A small version of the statue of David. A jar full of marbles. Photos of guys in the house and family or friends or girlfriends.
It almost seems like this is a thing for everyone in the house to show something off. Definitely personal, and definitely not something that they would let me borrow. Seems like it fits exactly the criteria of what I need.
On the top shelf, I spot what I want. It’s an urn. Small and unassuming. It almost looks homemade. It’s certainly not the flashiest thing on the shelf, but I don’t want the flashiest thing. I want something that no one is going to notice is gone until I bring it back and leave it anonymously in the mailbox.
Quickly, I reach up and grab it. It’s a little bigger than I thought at first glance, but it’ll still work. I slip it into my purse that’s small and dainty to match the dress. The vase almost doesn’t fit inside it and now the bag is bulging as it holds my prize and the absolute essentials for overnight. It’ll work. People never ask to see what’s in a girl’s purse, right?
I make my way back down the stairs, determined to find somewhere to sit and wait it out until the meeting. But I don’t quite make it that far.
“Hey, baby. You said you’d come back for a drink.” It’s the guy who let me in to the house in the first place. Great.
“Umm…I’m not thirsty.”
“It’s a party,” he says, leaning way too close. I can smell the beer all over him. “Everyone is thirsty.”
“I’m really not.”
He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Whatever.”
I slip into the living room where the music is loud and intense and it’s a mass of bodies moving and dancing. Easy enough to stay away from that guy, but hard to avoid all the other guys that I’m now faced with.
But I make it across the room to a large dining room with chairs and an actual drink set-up. I serve myself a cup of water in a red plastic cup so that they at least think that I have something to drink.
“So you’re the girl who wants to join.” A cute blond guy comes up to me where I’ve found a chair in the corner. “I’m on the list too.”
“Good for you.”
“You’ve got balls,” the next guy says. “We heard you just walked up to Malcolm and asked him.”
“Something wrong with that?”
“I guess not,” blondie says, getting closer. “You’ll never be let in to a house full of guys, but I appreciate your spirit.”
“Thanks.” I stand and walk away, but he follows me.
“I mean, if you’re not going to get in, I still might be able to help you out.”
I duck through the doorway and into the kitchen. “I didn’t ask for your help.”
“That doesn’t mean you don’t need it,” he says, grinning and backing me into a corner. He smells like cheap beer too. It’s gross. And I’m really tired of being backed into corners tonight.
“You could have a place to stay in Granite House any time, even if you don’t live here.”
“Thanks but no thanks,” I say, scowling and trying to stand taller, to make him back off.
He’s crowding my space, but unlike when Malcolm did it, I feel hot and uncomfortable and cramped.
“Come on.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “You know that this is the best way.”
“The best way is for you to leave me the hell alone.”
“I don’t think so.” He yanks me against his body, and leans in to kiss me and I shove him back. But I don’t have to force him, because he’s suddenly ripped away from me and shoved into the nearby doorframe by large forearms that I recognize. And that I don’t have a chance to recognize for long because suddenly Malcolm’s standing in front of me, bending toward me, a question in his eyes.
I only have a split second to glance from him to the furious, drunk guy who’d been on me a second before, and back. He lifts one eyebrow, a silent question, although what he’s asking, I’m not entirely sure. Do you need my help, maybe? Or he’s asking to kiss me, judging by the way his gaze drops to my mouth, but either way, I nod.