Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 51647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 258(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 258(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Dean knows most of the people in the kitchen, the bartender included. He chats with a few people, yelling to them over the loud music, and then hands me one of the beers the bartender passes to him.
“Can we go somewhere more… quiet?”
He tilts his head back and laughs. “We’re at a party. It’s supposed to be loud in here.”
I roll my eyes at him and stick out my tongue.
“We can go downstairs,” he offers. “It’s usually not as loud. You have to know the guys in the frat to hang out down there.”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
Dean always has a VIP pass at Delta Sig. When I actually come to a party, I’m usually the girl in the corner, nursing her beer and trying to blend into the background. For most of my life, I’ve been the center of attention. And not because I wanted to be. I grew up with photographers snapping my picture, reporters chasing after us to get interviews with my dad. It was awful.
So, as an adult, I like when people don’t notice me. It’s nice to be normal. But it’s hard to do that around Dean. Girls throw themselves at him, and guys want to chill with him. He’s that guy. Like my dad. Like my brothers. And then, there’s me.
In the basement, I sit next to Dean on one of the old, ratty couches and cringe. I’m pretty sure someone puked on the fabric earlier, which causes me to scoot closer to Dean. I’m ready to jump on his lap but that would be weird. It would only give the people on campus more to talk about. Everyone assumes we’re dating when we’ve never even kissed.
The room is filled with smoke, the stench of beer, weed, and cigarettes thick in the air. I can barely see through the fog. Dean coughs a few times. He hates smoking as much as I do. We’ve both trained for most of our lives to be athletes. Neither of us was ever into smoking or drugs. Sitting with the fraternity brothers and their latest victims in this dank basement reminds me why I never bothered with this shit.
“Are you playing?” A guy asks Dean and me, pointing his finger at us.
Dean leans in to whisper, “We can get out of here if you want. We can go back to my house and drink there instead.”
“What are we playing?”
He sips his beer and shrugs. “This game is stupid. Think of it as a more advanced version of Seven Minutes in Heaven.”
I roll my eyes. “We’re not in grade school anymore, but it sounds simple enough.”
His face turns to stone. “We can go. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready to do.”
I wave him off. “I’m good. We haven’t been here long. Let’s stay a little while longer, and then we can go back to your house.”
“We’re in,” Dean says to the frat boy with dark ink running up the length of his biceps.
Worst-case scenario I have to kiss Dean. Silvia was right about one thing. My best friend is hands-down one of the hottest guys on campus. Some girls hate me because of our friendship, while others cozy up to me to get in a good word with Dean. Tall and toned, he has muscles everywhere, bulging from beneath the tight black shirt stretched across his thick chest.
He’s the best defenseman in the league and one of my father’s top picks for the NHL Draft this summer. Despite his modest upbringing, Dean has a lot going for him. He never thought he would ever have a shot at becoming a professional hockey player until he made the men’s ice hockey team on the first try in his freshman year. For his sake, and his mother’s, I hope Dean takes his career all the way.
Dean glances over at me with a worried look on his face. He runs a hand through his dark, wavy hair to push a few strands off his forehead. “I don’t want you to kiss some random,” he whispers. “You’re too good for this frat shit. This was a stupid idea. We should’ve gone to O’Shea’s instead.”
I flash a crooked smile and tip the beer in my hand to my mouth. “Stop worrying about me, Dean. It’s our last semester of college. We’ll be out of here in a few weeks. So, why not have fun, right? We said we would play. Let’s get through this round, and then we can go.”
Dean has more experience than me. But with Dean at my side, I’m not scared. He has a way of calming me down without saying a word. Just knowing he’s here with me is enough.
If we weren’t best friends, Dean would be my type. Hell, he’s every woman’s type. He’s the perfect mixture of sweet and rough, a gentleman when he needs to be and a dick when it comes to any man who gets near me. I’ve always wondered if his feelings for me extend beyond friendship. My brothers and Silvia constantly annoy me with their questions about our relationship.