“I’m not waiting five. I’ll go with you now, sistah.”
So she does, and takes her Mason jar without a lot of fuss, probably owing to her status as the provost’s daughter. Also, Katy’s older sister, Belle, was expelled from school last spring semester for trying to bribe a professor with a blow job, so I think Katy figures nothing she does could top that.
The last person I have to slip away with is Foster. I forgot her earlier, but I always bring an extra Mason jar for that very reason. I text Foster to meet me in conference room 1B. I slip into the small room, filled with faux wood tables, and sink down into one of the plastic chairs surrounding them. I pull open the ‘notes’ feature on my iPhone and confirm that I’ve gotten everyone but Amber, Hannah, and Lindsey, all of whom I can catch on the walk back to the house.
The bit with Foster is... not fast. She hangs around forever telling me about how much weight she’s gained since she started smoking pot again. She pulls a can of Sprite out of her purse and holds it out to me like it’s a poisonous snake.
“It’s my weakness. Take it! It’ll go straight to my thighs.”
I laugh, but take it. “Foster, it’s a beverage.”
“One with corn syrup!”
I shrug and pop the top as she elbows her way out the door. In the quiet of the little room, I take a minute for myself: to sip the Sprite and thumb through my overnight bag.
One minute, I’m peering into one of my remaining Mason jars, wondering if I over-measured. The next, I’m blinking into the dark.
“Ummm... huh?”
When the room remains pitch-black, I slide my arm into the straps of my bag and stand up slowly. Must be a power-outage. “Shit.”
I walk slowly toward the door, and when I’m almost there, my face bounces off of something hard.
The lights flick on, shocking my eyes so I can’t see at first. I blink a few times—and find myself staring at a wide, male chest.
ONE STEP BACK, AND the chest becomes a full-fledged male. Not just any male, but Kellan fucking Walsh.
Motherfucker.
Fuck shit.
Shit fuck.
This is bad, like really, really bad.
Kellan Walsh is the Lex Luthor of Cleoland—as well as the golden boy of Chattahoochee College.
He drives a jet black Escalade. He has a Crest-white smile. He dyes his hair with gold dust. Okay, maybe not really, but it looks that way, especially in the sun. When he walks, he swaggers. When he touches a girl’s arm at a party or a bar, he puts a spell on her. I’ve seen it happen with my own two eyes.
Take Katy, for example. First weekend back-to-school, at a party, she was being her normal self—in Katy’s case, this meant guzzling her second “goldfish bowl” martini, swinging her hips around like Elvis, swaying her wide, swimmer’s shoulders to a Lady Gaga dance remix, and singing off-key. Then Kellan Walsh showed up.
He was dressed to the nines, because that’s the only way Kellan Walsh dresses. I think that night he was wearing slacks and an expensive-looking button-up, with the sleeves rolled up to show off his muscular forearms. He looked like some kind of... lion, or tiger. Maybe a rare yellow leopard. He tipped his head at Katy, and in five minutes—FIVE MINUTES FLAT, I’m telling you—she’d climbed into the Sexcalade with him.
He took her to a hotel. Not to his room at the frat house, but a hotel, as if she was a hooker.
That alone wouldn’t be cause for concern, just revulsion. But, in addition to being campus playboy and soccer player extraordinaire, Kellan Walsh is also our school’s SGA president. Which means he has a lot of influence over my fate as a student here.
Sound like a tough spot? He’s also a champion of our campus’ zero tolerance drug policy.
Yeahhhh.
As my eyes adjust to the light he’s just flipped on, I take another small step back and run my gaze up and down him. Perfectly put together. Of course. Navy slacks and a pale pink Polo hug his body like... clothes draped over the world’s most flawless body. I’m a back and shoulders girl, and shit, he’s wide. I usually don’t get this close to him but... gawd. His soft cotton shirt is stretching to fit across the width of him. My eyes trail down his ripped chest and gawk at the width difference between his shoulders and his