of her fingers through her hair. She’s a pretty girl and all, but she doesn’t have shit on Sela.
Melissa opens the door and steps aside to give me entrance. I immediately take in the small but clean apartment, decorated in mismatched, used furniture and cheap prints on the walls framed in acrylic. The woman who opened the door stands in the tiny kitchen, hunched over a gossip magazine, chewing gum heavily.
“We need privacy,” I tell Melissa.
The dollar signs burn brighter and she says, “We can go in my room.”
I don’t argue with her. I don’t care if we talk here or in her room, and I’m not worried about my virtue. I can handle her, but I do not need prying ears for what I’m about to discuss.
Melissa’s room is messy, with clothes littered all around the floor. She makes a show of kicking a few pieces under her unmade bed as I shut the door behind me.
“Sorry about all this,” she says as she bends to pick up a bra off the floor. She doesn’t stuff this under the bed, but instead lays it on top where I guess she wants me to admire the large, pale blue lacy cups or something.
I don’t give it another thought and get straight to the point. “I need to talk to you about the last Sugar Bowl mixer you attended on the twenty-first.”
Her head tilts at me in curiosity. “I was there. Having a drink with your partner as a matter of fact, but he bailed.”
I nod. “Was that the first time you’d met JT?”
“Yeah,” she said with a fond smile. “Never thought I’d get a shot at him, but he zeroed in on me pretty fast. I really thought something would come out of that, but like I said . . . he bailed.”
I reach into my back pocket, pull out the copy of the agreement that JT said Melissa signed, and hand it to her. She opens it up, glances at it once, and then looks back up to me with confusion in her eyes.
“Is that your signature at the bottom?” I ask, nodding my head toward the paper in her hands.
She peers down at it, brows furrowed, and says, “It looks like it.”
“Did you sign it?”
Her eyes start flying across the words of the agreement, all the while her brow furrowing deeper and deeper. Finally her eyes raise to mine and the dollar signs are gone. I see a flash of anger as she hands it back to me. “I didn’t sign that. Nor would I ever do something like that.”
I take the document from her, shove it back into my pocket. “I didn’t think so.”
My stomach churns with the realization that JT was going to rape this woman. He was going to drug her, the way he did Sela, and he was going to do with her whatever he pleased. Fuck, for all I know he’s got an entire gang of buddies that rape with him, and I know at least one of them is in our fraternity, because Sela saw his tattoo.
“What’s this about?” she asks suspiciously, her arms now crossing over her chest.
I had suspected she didn’t sign this agreement. On the way over here, I had debated whether or not to tell her the truth of what almost happened to her. On just a quick consideration, it could have been a good play. No doubt she’s pissed and I bet she’d want to report this to the police. A criminal investigation would ensue, but then I know what would happen. JT would offer to pay her off and I figure she’d take it and drop the charges.
So I lie to her, feeling only a slight bit of guilt, which I quickly push away by telling myself I saved her from getting raped. That should be good enough for now.
“It’s a sick-as-fuck prank someone’s trying to play on me,” I tell her smoothly. “Nothing for you to worry about now that I confirmed you didn’t sign this.”
I expect her to question me further. At the very least, after what she read in that document, she should have some concern for her safety. Instead, she just nods and asks, “Would you, um . . . like to go out and get a drink or something?”
It takes every effort for me to put an engaging smile on my face. “Thank you, Melissa, for that offer. But I actually have somewhere I need to be.”