jerseys saunter past us, headed toward the dartboard in the back of the room, and one of them gives her an eye waggle.
“Now that’s a tall drink of water.” Straightening up, she tucks a strand of sleek brown hair behind her ear. “And I’ve always wanted to score a tight end or a wide receiver.”
I snort. “You just like saying the names of those positions.”
“Maybe.” She downs her punch. “I should follow them.”
My mouth opens. “How do you even start a conversation with a guy you don’t know?” Please. I need to know.
She arches an elegant eyebrow. “Girl, you’re just out of practice because you were in a relationship for two years. You just bat those eyes and start talking about whatever he likes—and in this case, it’s how spectacularly he handled that ball.”
I snort, watching her check out the football players at the dartboard. Again. “Go on. I’ll be fine. I know how to kick a guy in the nuts if I have to.”
Considering she was worried about where I was before, it doesn’t take much convincing this time. I watch as she fluffs out her hair and sways away from me, her willowy figure drawing its fair share of looks. She makes her way over to the group of players, steering herself right into the center of the action where the guys are.
She’s good.
A long exhale comes from me as I look around the room for Zack.
Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve put this off long enough.
I gather my resolve. No way am I leaving this party until I’ve at least spoken to Zack Morgan.
If Julia can do it, so can I.
4
Sugar
Half an hour later, I’ve made zero progress and haven’t budged from the bar. I suck so bad. Julia has disappeared upstairs with a football player and I’m alone. When Pixie Girl does a pee dance, I volunteer to make sure no one steals the punch, even though she was kind of mean to me earlier. She gives me a long look, promises to be right back, and dashes to the restroom.
Feeling like a bump on a log, I groan, surveying the crowd. There are so many people here, I have no clue where he is, and I keep hoping he’ll walk by to get a drink, but he doesn’t. I picture random girls at his beck and call, rushing to refill his glass and feeding him juicy strawberries on some sofa in the back. Scratch that—it’s way too PG. He’s probably getting sucked off in a bedroom upstairs.
It feels as if someone has cranked up the heat, and I take my coat off and tie it around my waist.
I’m looking at my phone when a warm, sweaty body appears next to me.
Frat Boy.
He’s back and we’re only a few feet apart. I get a better impression of him, stocky with a barrel chest and big biceps…like a wrestler. I recall Julia’s warning about the clap. Great. Just great.
There’s a red zit on his forehead and it takes center stage as he shoves back a lock of brown hair that’s fallen in his face. Giving me a once-over, his beady gaze lingers on my chest.
“Heyyyyyyy, you. Has anyone ever said you look like an angel?”
Ugh. “I haven’t fallen from heaven, so don’t even go there.”
He squints down at me, his words slurred. “I’ve never seen you at a Kappa party. You new here?”
“Stellar observation. Now if you don’t mind, I have to call my boyfriend. He’s on his way here.” I pull out my phone, wave it at him, and pretend to scroll through my contacts. I could leave and head back to my column, but I’m hoping he’ll take the hint and move on. I’ve become fond of my barstool.
“You’re hot,” Frat Boy mumbles on an exhalation as he slides in closer and tosses an arm around my shoulders. “And I won’t tell your boyfriend if you want to hang out. I won’t tell my girlfriend either. Have you seen her?” He scans the area as if looking for her, and when he seems satisfied the coast is clear, he leans in, giving me a whiff of his alcohol-laced breath.
“I don’t know your girlfriend,” I snap as I edge away until his arm drops. “But I feel sorry for her.”
It’s like he doesn’t hear me. Putting his elbows on the bar, he bends his head down until we’re practically cheek to cheek. “Name’s Harry by the way.”
I stare at my phone, mentally willing him to get out of