door, and get my business over with.
There are three baskets of clean clothes in the laundry room—mostly Killian’s football gear. The whole room smells faintly of sour sweat and lingering body spray. No matter how many times my mom bleaches his uniform, the stench never really goes away. I bend over and sort through one of the baskets for my blush-colored tank.
“Thank god,” I sigh, snagging the cotton shirt in my fingers. “Found you.”
“Nope, looks like we found you.”
My heart leaps up my throat and I spin, hand clutched to my throat. Tristian and Dimitri—Rath, as everyone calls him—stand in the doorway.
“God, you scared me.” I exhale, darting my eyes between them. “You shouldn’t sneak around like that.”
“Why not?” Tristian says, a sharp, lopsided grin tugging at his mouth. From the glassy look in his eyes and the way he reeks of beer, he’s clearly been drowning his sorrows down there. I’m not dumb enough to imagine he’s broken-hearted from getting dumped. Probably just nursing his bruised ego. “You’re the one sneaking around up here like a frightened little mouse.”
Tristian is insanely good-looking. He’s all blond hair, tan skin, and lean, hard muscle. I know that, out of the three of them, he does best with the girls. Much like Killian and Rath, he’s also enormous. Intimidating not just because of his size, wealth, and popularity, but mostly because of something else.
His smile never quite reaches his eyes.
They’re ice blue and carry a glint of cool detachment. Just looking into them makes me want to wrap my arms around myself.
Rath is the opposite of Tristian, with his inky-black hair, lip piercings, pale skin, and dark eyes. He’s quieter than the other two, those intense eyes always watching, tracking. We had a class together for a single semester last year, and it was enough to make me hate even being in the same room with him. A long stare from him always gives me a hind-brain impulse to hide. “Check it out,” Rath says, jerking his chin at me. “Story’s not wearing a bra.”
Just the mention of it makes my nipples hard, doubling my embarrassment.
“Perky little nipples, eh?” Tristian says, taking a step into the small room. My eyes flick to his hand, wrapping around the door jamb, caging me in. His lips part and he wets them with his tongue. “Are they sensitive? Did they get hard just from me talking about them? Or do I need to touch them?”
My jaw drops and I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re a pig.” I start toward the door prepared to squeeze past them, but they block the exit completely. I jerk back, nostrils flaring angrily. “Get out of my way.”
“Answer one question for us, Story, and then we’ll let you go,” Rath says, propping his shoulder against the jamb. He’s wearing a lazy smirk and I can smell the beer wafting off him, too. I try to peer over his broad shoulders, hoping to see Killian somewhere. He can’t stand it when I’m around his friends. He’ll get them to back off.
Finding no sign of him, I release a frustrated sigh. “What do you want to know?”
Rath’s head tilts, eyes taking me in. “Are you a virgin?”
“What?” My cheeks are blistering before the word is even out of my mouth. “That’s none of your business!”
They both laugh, the tone deep and mocking. Tristian shakes his head, eyes flashing in something menacing and delighted. “Oh Story, only virgins say it’s no one’s business. You just gave yourself away.”
My mouth forms around a weak denial, but I clamp it shut. “Well, who cares?” I snap. “So what? I’m a virgin. Big deal!”
“Nothing we didn’t already know,” Tristian says, taking another step forward. I move back and bump into the hard edge of the washing machine. “You have that look. All innocent and clean and pure. The kind of thing that just makes you want to...” He reaches out, ignoring the way I bat his hand away when he tries to stroke my collarbone. “Mess it all up.”
He has no idea just how hard his words hit.
Rath rakes his bottom lip through his teeth and I don’t like the look in his eyes—hungry and heavy. “There’s something about virgins, you know?”
“That nervous energy,” Tristan agrees. “It gets my dick hard.”
“I like the begging.” Rath adds, his deep voice shifting into a falsetto, “Please don’t, it hurts!”
The anxious butterflies in my stomach turn to stone.
“But my favorite part,” Tristian says, blue eyes pulsing and