of myself or the vice president,” Charlotte is saying, “Fiona will lead the election commission with Willow and Madison. They will host the platform dinner and coordinate the ballot committee. Anyone interested in helping out should talk with them after the meeting.”
Truth is, the election is all but a formality. Every year, the outgoing senior names a junior as her VP and she is elected the following year. All pretenses that we aren’t living under a dynastic system are insulting. Dani, who’s running against Abigail as the lone voice of resistance, doesn’t stand a chance. But she’s got my vote.
“Fi?” Charlotte prompts.
The tall redhead stands up. “Yes, okay. So, both Abigail and Dani will give their final campaign speeches at the platform dinner. The format will be—”
My phone vibrates against my thigh, drawing focus away from Fiona. I peer down and hide a smile when I read Conor’s text.
HIM: How’s my sexy babe doing this afternoon?
I covertly type back a response, although I feel Sasha’s knowing gaze on me. She’s in the chair next to mine, no doubt trying to read what I’m writing.
ME: In the middle of a chapter meeting. Kill me now.
HIM: Kill you?! But then how will we ever fuck?
I fight a laugh and reply with an eyeroll emoji.
He ups the ante by sending a picture of his abs, and I try not to drool all over the dining room table.
“Are you going to share with the rest of the class, Tay-Tay?” comes Abigail’s snippy voice.
My head jerks up. “Sorry,” I blurt, setting my phone on the tabletop. I give Fiona and then Charlotte apologetic looks. “Someone texted and I was just texting back to say I’m in the middle of a meeting.”
“Someone?” Sasha cracks, laughing. “And does that someone’s name start with a C and end with an Onor?”
I turn to glare at her.
But the remark has already snagged the interest of our president. “Conor?” she echoes. “As in Conor Edwards?”
I manage a weak nod.
“My girl Taylor’s landed herself a hockey god,” my best friend brags on my behalf, and I’m torn between smacking her for making me the center of attention and thanking her for hyping me up. Sasha Lennox is the best hype-woman there is. She’s also well aware that the whole MyBri relationship status stuff was baloney, so now I’m praying she doesn’t slip up and somehow reveal the truth.
“No shit,” Charlotte says, looking impressed. “Good going, Marsh.”
“They fucked in my room,” Rachel boasts, as if that means she’s one step away from being Conor Edwards’ girlfriend herself.
“Oh, big fucking deal,” Abigail speaks up, her pale green eyes cool as ice. “Who hasn’t fucked that guy? I mean, seriously. Show of hands—who here has slept with Conor Edwards?”
After several seconds of hesitation, three hands are raised. A sheepish Willow and Taryn on the other side of the table, and a blushing Laura who’s standing against the wall.
Well. Dude gets around.
I swallow the tiny lump of jealousy that rises in my throat and remind myself that I already knew he was a player. Besides, he’s a grown-ass man. He’s allowed to sleep with whomever he wants, my sorority sisters included.
Sensing my discomfort, Sasha turns toward Abigail, pinning the platinum blonde with an equally icy stare. “What are you saying, Abs? You implying that Taylor is, what, of lesser value because her man has a past? Like that means anything. In fact—show of hands,” Sasha mimics, “who here has slept with one of Abigail’s douchey ex-boyfriends?”
To my great amusement, twice the amount of hands shoot up. That’s right—six Kappas, and none of them look the slightest bit sheepish this time around. I suspect they’re receiving some sort of perverse pleasure in admitting it because Abigail is such a bitch.
Abigail’s trusted lackey Jules sports a deep scowl. “Anyone here ever heard of the girl code?”
Sasha snickers. “You tell me, Julianne. Weren’t you the one who just stole Duke Jarrett away from some Theta Beta Nu chick?”
That shuts up Jules.
Charlotte clears her throat. “Alright, we’ve strayed off-topic. Fiona, you were telling us about the candidate speeches?”
Just as Fiona opens her mouth to answer, my phone buzzes again, eliciting an excited shriek from Rachel, who’s draping practically her entire body across the dining table to see the screen.
“He’s FaceTiming you!”
My heart does a nervous flip. “I’m so sorry,” I tell Charlotte. “Let me just ignore the—”
“Ignore?” Charlotte echoes in disbelief. “For fuck’s sake, Marsh, answer it.”
Oh my God. This is my worst nightmare. What on earth compelled my