Filthy Vows - Alessandra Torre Page 0,5

fact that he knew exactly where our sorority house was.

“Very suave,” I remarked. “And well needed. With a name like Easton, I assumed you were a tuba player.”

It was his turn to laugh, and a shot of pleasure hit at the unrestrained sound that came from him. He glanced at me, amused, and I fought to keep my features bored. “So?” he asked. “Are you in love?”

“That’s an odd question,” I shifted in my seat and watched the approaching light turn red. We slowed to a stop, and a trio of guys stepped into the road. “Most guys just ask if I’m dating anyone.”

“Most guys are probably hitting on you.”

“Which you aren’t,” I said skeptically.

“I’m just asking a question.” He smiled as if he knew exactly how devastating the impact was.

“She’s single,” Chelsea crowed. “Very very VERY single.”

I groaned and turned to glare at my best friend. “I’m not that single.”

“You should date E,” she announced brightly, as if she had just had the idea of a lifetime. “You guys would be perfect together!”

Easton gasped as if offended. “I thought we were in love. What happened to diminishing our beauty and all of that?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she rattled off. “You guys can diminish your own beauty.”

He turned down our street, the short ride almost painful in its quick trajectory. “ADPi, right? You want me to drop you off in front or back?”

“The front please.” I found my clutch on the floorboard and turned to Chelsea, holding on to the seat as he drove across the pothole just before our house. “We’re at the house. Please be quiet.”

She snorted in response. I unclipped my seatbelt. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll get her in.”

“Wait.” He grabbed my hand and the contact felt too intimate. “I never found out why you laughed at my license.”

I scrunched up my nose. “Maybe I’ll tell you next time I see you.” I pulled my hand free and cranked open the door. “If I see you.” Stepping out, I waited for Chelsea, getting a full view of her panties as she hoisted herself out of the backseat with an unladylike burp.

“Thanks, E.” She leaned back in the car and waved her fingers at him like she was casting a spell. “I’ll text you Elle’s phone number later.”

“No, SHE WON’T,” I said loudly.

Chelsea laughed as she swung the door shut and turned to me, wrapping one arm around my shoulders in a fierce hug. “I did that for you, you know. The whole vomit thing. It was to get you two together.”

“Likely.” I struggled under her weight and aimed us toward the stately southern mansion’s front door. “But you did it very well. The vomiting was perfectly executed.”

“I thought so,” she said modestly. “I’ve been practicing.”

I planted an affectionate kiss on her blonde curls and left her side, getting to the door first and punching in our passcode, holding my finger to my mouth to indicate that she should stay quiet. It was after curfew, so house noise was required to be at a minimum. We tiptoed in and waved silently to a cluster of girls in the den, under blankets, with the television quietly playing. Moving down the wood hall, we headed to the open sleeping porches at the back of the house, the beds reserved for any sister who needed a place to crash after too much studying or partying.

“Goodnight.” Chelsea fell, face-first, on the closest bed. I carefully extracted her phone from her back pocket, plugged it in beside her, and patted the top of her head.

“Night.”

3

Summer came and Easton North stayed, like a final Girl Scout cookie you keep in the box, debating over the right time to finally pull it out and eat it. I wanted to eat him. God, I wanted to pounce on that tall athletic frame and wrestle him to the ground. Devour that adorable smirk.

But I didn’t. Out of a misplaced respect for Chelsea, who was tits deep in Jersey trash, and a wariness of all men after Jonah’s betrayal—I stayed as far away from Easton North as I could. During the school year, it would have been easy. Thirty thousand bodies allowed for easy avoidance, which is how I didn’t know about Jonah’s hookups until three months into our relationship. But in the summer, campus became a smaller place. Faces became familiar. Parties were more intimate. The inevitable bump of Easton and me happened, again and again, like discarded rafts along a shore.

A house party. Red solo cups