His eyes seek me out, and he glares right at me when he says, “Nothing makes a bad impression like strolling in late.”
He then looks around at the other students and smiles. “It also makes finding a seat a nightmare.”
Laughs ring out, mocking me, and I offer him a tight smile as I get out my laptop and nod.
Understood. First lesson learned. Check.
A light flicks on a white board, then a list appears with titles of books we’re going to need to read for this semester.
He must like the sound of his own voice because he spends the next hour talking about how he ended up a professor here. By the time we’re leaving the classroom, I’ve already made a pact with myself to arrive early to every class I have from here on out.
The day passes without any run-ins with the lovely Chastity or any whispers about The Elite. Not that I expected them to be advertising themselves.
Checking my cell and ignoring all the texts apart from God’s, I dial his number. He answers on the third ring, and by the sound of the bad line, I know he’s driving.
“Where’ve you been?”
“The gym. I’m leaving, though. Meet me at Dad’s.”
He ends the call, giving me no fucking choice.
When I pull up to God’s, the entrance gate is open, which usually means one thing: God’s parents are out of town and he’s planning to throw a party. He lives in town, but likes to throw parties at his parents’ house since it’s so fucking huge. Plus, when it’s all over, he makes the staff clean up.
The long, winding driveway bordered by large, towering oak trees takes at least ten seconds to drive up before the house even comes into view. My parents are wealthy, but God’s are stupid rich—own their own plane rich—and God is their only child. Raised by a money hungry power couple, and because of that, God loved everything in excess.
He has a garage full of cars most people couldn’t even dream of owning in their lifetime, and he’s only eighteen and has yet to even make his mark in the business world.
Their house is a plantation home built in the 1700s, with balconies for each of the sixteen bedrooms, multiple garages, pool houses, and acres of land.
Pulling my car up next to his Ferrari, I jump out and bound up the stairs to his front door, which is open. I call out his name, and my voice echoes, bouncing off the oak wood floors and down the corridor. A few beats later, a shuffling of feet come toward me in the shape of Wendy, the Goddard’s wonderful, loyal, housekeeper.
Many times, this woman has kept food in my belly and clean clothes on my back when I’d push my luck at home and needed to crash here throughout the years.
“Rhett, my darling boy, it’s so good to see you. You’re looking too skinny, let me feed you,” she says in a comforting tone that reminds me of my late grandmother.
“How are you, Wendy? I haven’t seen you at any parties lately,” I tease, and she rewards me with a tap to my arms and an amused smile.
Guiding me through the house and into the kitchen, she gestures for me to take a seat at the breakfast bar.
“Where’s God?” I ask, accepting the glass of fresh lemonade.
“He’s taking a shower. He came back all covered in this dirt that will never come out of his clothes.” She rolls her eyes, waving a frustrated hand between unloading the fridge with the makings of a sandwich.
I don’t even want to know why he was covered in dirt. God is the craziest son of a bitch I know, and sometimes it’s best not knowing. If I don’t know, no one can ask me about it. That was a best friend pact we made way back when.
And it worked for us. We tell each other shit that’s important, but other than that, need to know is best.
“Here, eat.” Wendy pushes a sandwich in my direction.
I offer her a grateful smile and take my sandwich up to Gods’ room with me.
The shower hums from his en suite, steam creeping around the open door.
I take a bite of the sandwich, and my stomach growls. This is the first time I’ve eaten since a candy bar at lunch.
Dumping my bag on his computer desk, I slump down on his bed, ignoring the pull of the mattress beckoning me to take a nap.
A pile of rumpled up clothes dumped in his trashcan grabs my attention, and I put down the plate with my half-eaten sandwich and pick up the sweater God left wearing this morning.
Stains paint the white material, but it’s not dirt, it’s blood.
My cell buzzes with a notification from one of the party apps I added today, and I snort.
The address is God’s house. I fucking knew he was going to throw a party. How the fuck did he get this out there? He wasn’t even on campus today.
Hearing the shower turn off and his feet pad across the floor, I hold up his sweater.
Pausing briefly when he enters the room and sees me, he places his hands on his hips, waiting for the questions he knows is coming.
“Wendy said you had dirt stains on your clothes. This isn’t dirt.”
Raising a brow, he walks over to me, wearing only a small towel wrapped around his waist, flashing his junk at me.
“Wendy’s blind as a bat.”
“Dude, I wish I was.” I fake offense. Turning my head, I throw the sweater at him to cover his junk. I’d seen God’s junk as much as my own over the years, but I want to lighten the mood.
“So, you want to tell me what this is about?”
“Nothing to tell. Not my blood.” He smirks, swiping my unfinished sandwich and scarfing it.
“You know I’d back you no matter what shit you get into right? You’re my brother before anything else,” I say, just putting it out there.
Dropping the towel, he slips a pair of jeans up his legs and runs a hand through his wet hair.
“Some prick didn’t like losing to me. He got mouthy, so I closed it for him.”
That sounds about right. God took shit from no one. People usually knew better than to even attempt it.
“How the fuck did you manage to get a party sorted without even coming to class today?” I ask, throwing myself back on his bed. I want to crash so bad. I’ve burned myself out.
“We want to make ourselves known, get people talking, establish ourselves amongst our peers.”
He’s right, like always. If I want my name spread amongst The Elite, I need to mingle with potential members. A party is perfect.
My eyes close briefly, but Robbie meets me there, causing a cold shiver to race up my spine.
“You want to take a nap?” God questions, but I’ve already opened my eyes and gotten to my feet.
“Nah. I’ll grab a shower, though.”
How the fuck God pulls off parties to this extreme on a whim is beyond me.
A live band plays from the lounge area, food and drinks are served by waitstaff, and the place is almost at capacity.
Wading through the bodies of our peers, I greet people with a head nod and make my way to the pool out back, knowing there’ll be kegs out there.
I’m spent and in need of sleep, but before I can give in to the exhaustion, I have to place a wall up in my mind, and each drink I consume adds a brick to that wall, blocking out the thoughts. Nightmares.
A beer gets handed to me as I step outside by a waitress carrying a tray of red cups. It’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever seen, but I accept the drink and reach for another.
Music filters through the open doors with well-placed speakers, extending the party to the open grounds. God’s house could host a music festival if he wanted. I’m surprised this hasn’t happened already.
“I can’t escape you.” A huffed voice penetrates my ear from behind me.
Turning toward the sound, a grin tugs up my lips. There must be a hundred people out here, yet she stands out amongst them all.
“Or you’re stalking me. Don’t you have books to read?” I tease, chugging the contents of the first cup, then the second, trying my best not to look over Chastity’s figure that’s been squeezed into a tight, black, sparkly dress.
I fail.
Her hair is pulled up off her face, and she’s not wearing her glasses. The contacts make her eyes appear brighter, even under the dim light of the moon. I’m not sure which look I like best on her. I think she could wear a sack and make it appealing.
My eyes chase the creamy hollow of her elegant neck and rest on the plump mounds of her cleavage on display. A small freckle sits in the valley of her cleavage, and my mind traces the path with my tongue, wanting to strip away the fabric from her skin and see if she has more freckles elsewhere.
I know I’m failing at feigning disinterest in her body, but fuck, she’s all kinds of beautiful, and her attitude just makes me want to break her down and make her beg for my touch.
I raise my eyes to hers. There’s a silence cloaking us, despite the music and chatter around us. It’s like we’ve been sucked into a vacuum and no one else exists.
The moment doesn’t last when a redhead saddles up next to her, almost startling her from the hypnotic hold I held her in. The newcomer offers Chastity a glass of what I assume is wine by the color, but she declines with a subtle head shake. The girl shrugs a shoulder and studies me with an intrigue I’m used to receiving from the opposite sex—hell, even the same sex.
“You know my best friend, Maggie,” Chastity snaps, narrowing those blues on me. I bite my lip and count to ten in my head to stop myself from throwing her over my shoulder and fucking all that defiance out of her. Looking to her friend, I try to conjure up recognition, but nothing comes to me. She’s shorter than Chastity and carries more weight around her ass and hips, which she crammed into too-small jeans.
“No, we haven’t had the pleasure,” the girl answers for me with a seductive purr, pushing herself forward and offering me her hand.
“Rhett.” I take her hand and give it a kiss, just to enjoy the tsking I’m gifted from Chastity.
“This is Rhett Masters, Maggie. Remember?” Chastity grinds out my name like it’s an offensive slur.
A hand snakes around my shoulder, and God crowds into my space, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “I need to take off for a bit. You good holding shit down here?”