Undeclared (The Woodlands) - By Jen Frederick Page 0,14

Chances were, with my luck, I’d probably start sobbing in this strange boy’s lap.

“I’m going to sit this out, Lana,” I told her. “I’m afraid I’ll get sick and then I’ll be the worst party pooper ever. Not to mention the fact that I’ll probably ruin my new blouse.”

“Are you sure, Grace? I’ll come downstairs with you,” Lana offered immediately.

“Go downstairs and sit in the second windowsill on the right side,” Jack instructed. It was clear he didn’t want Lana going anywhere. “It’s got a deep sill and you can enjoy the party without being crushed. If someone is there, go to the kitchen and grab a pledge. They’ll have a green wristband. Tell him Jack said that seat is reserved for you.”

“Thanks.” I closed the door behind me, grateful to get out of that room.

I went downstairs and sought out the second window well. It was occupied by two guys with green wristbands. I repeated what Jack had said, and the two jumped up like he was there giving the order personally. It was good to be president, I guess. One even offered to get me another beer, but I turned him down.

The window maybe wasn’t the best place for me to sit given my backless top. Lana was right about the shirt attracting a lot of attention. After sitting there for just a few minutes, more than one cold beer bottle had been dragged down my exposed spine. My shivers were definitely the result of the chill and not excitement.

If I was interested in a hookup, this would be the place to find one. There were people of both sexes scoping each other out, flirting, and engaging in pre-mating behavior on the dance floor. It made for excellent people-watching, if nothing else.

“Mind if I sit here?” a voice asked. I looked up and saw a curly-haired guy with broad shoulders smiling down at me.

“Not at all,” I scooted over. He sat down in the sill, sideways, one leg drawn up and the other stabilizing him on the floor.

“Kyle Briggs,” He offered his hand.

“Grace Sullivan,” I clasped his hand and shook it once but he didn’t let it go.

“Haven’t I seen you in my Poli Sci class?” Kyle asked, still holding my hand in his. I wriggled my fingers a little and he released me.

“Don’t think so,” I shook my head. I didn’t remember him from class. Granted we had only had six of them so far. I knotted my fingers together on my lap so he wouldn’t find an excuse to hold them, but that was a mistake, because he just placed his large hand over both of mine. Either he was coming on to me or he was super touchy. Both made me feel uncomfortable. He leaned closer and I could smell the yeast from the beer on his breath. I was trying not to feel overwhelmed, but it was difficult.

“I’ve seen you somewhere, though, and it bugs me that I can’t remember where because I almost always remember the good-looking ones.”

“Do you always use bad pick-up lines or just when you’re drunk?”

“You’re going to make me work for it,” Kyle nodded to himself. “I like that in a girl.”

I tried to move backward but was blocked by the window frame. Unfortunately, I couldn’t stand up with this Kyle guy pressing his considerable weight onto my hands. He took my reply as a challenge; I could see it in his eyes. He thought I was flirting with him and was probably too intoxicated at this point to see a difference between the girl wanting to get away and the girl trying to get in his pants.

I pushed my hands upward, not wanting to leave his big sweaty palm lying across my skirt, close to the juncture of my thighs. “Listen, Griggs, I don’t think my boyfriend would want me sitting so close to you.” Josh had taught me to never insult a drunken guy, because you didn’t know if he was a mean drunk or a happy one. Just try to compliment your way out of a negative situation. Saying I had a boyfriend was an inoffensive way of making sure that Kyle would not be offended by my lack of interest.

Unfortunately, Kyle was denser or drunker than I thought because he only grabbed my hands in his and drew me closer. His other arm came to rest around my back. “Oh ho ho,” he cried when his hand met my bare back. I froze and arched