Page 22 of Hush, Hush

For the last couple of years, Keegan has been a stranger. The same boy I knew growing up, but it’s almost as if he’s worn different personalities. Since we broke up the last time, we haven’t been on favorable talking terms, so I couldn’t ask him what was wrong. If we’re actually getting somewhere now, that might be a different story.

These thoughts roll through my head all throughout the next day. Half the time, I think about setting up a meeting with a therapist so I can exorcise the demon known as Keegan from my head. I’m aware I sound like the girl who wants to change a man, but I actually know Keegan better than that. It’s like he’s wearing clothes that aren’t necessarily his. A cloak that makes him do things he wouldn’t normally.

As for the committee task he gave me, I had to hunt down one guy’s number, but I get the text thread going, sending them all a group message at the same time to announce that everyone who was at the meeting is included. However, I also take it a step further, reminding them of the plan we decided upon at the meeting. I specifically usedwe, trying to take the power out of Keegan’s hands. Twocanplay this game. I’m not just going to sit to the side of the room and let the guys handle it. Sir Reginald wanted me to prove myself by being on this committee, so I’m going to do it to the best of my abilities.

My pep talk to myself doesn’t last that long. Just enough time passes for Reginald’s son to announce that he has an in with a few of the sorority leaders at the local college, and that they’ve agreed to start spreading the word that we’re in need of “models” for a lavish, exclusive party.

My eyes nearly roll into the back of my head. Of course he has an in with sororities—plural. Do these guys even find time to study while fucking everything that walks?

Damn. I sound like Eden.

I take a deep breath after reading his message, but my phone buzzes in my hand as texts come through one after the other like a vibrating avalanche. It snowballs and snowballs, and before I can even put my two cents in, they’ve already arranged for a wet t-shirt contest to happen tonight at a dive bar in the local town. Yes, that’s right. The future bigwigs of multimillion dollar companies will be judging a wet t-shirt contest. Somehow, I don’t think that when our ancestors founded the Knights they envisioned their predecessors doing things like this. Did they hold wet hoop-skirt contests? Maybe competitions on how tight women can pull their corsets? No, they were interested in values and work ethic and the joining of like minds.

I guess this means I have to be the best little wet t-shirt contest judge I can be. Even if it kills me inside.

I know as well as the rest of the guys that they’re right about beautiful women attending Devil’s Night. If that’s what the elders have always had, they’ll be expecting it, but maybe we can do something to make it more tasteful? A little less sex dungeon and more beautiful art?

I’ve been putting off calling my father to ask about past Devil’s Nights, but I also don’t want to be the only one going in blind. Instead of calling him on the phone and pretending as if we’re having a normal father-daughter conversation, I decide to write him an email.

I pop into my favorite café. Tim’s nowhere to be seen, even after I scour the place. Worry threads through me, and I can only hope he’s still okay after getting jumped. A girl with a permanent scowl makes me my French vanilla cappuccino, and I take it back with me to the couch, so I can compose an email to my father that sounds as businesslike as possible while also asking about the less favorable side of the Knights.

Sipping my drink, I construct the email in my head first then punch it out on my phone’s keyboard. By keeping my tone matter of fact, I won’t be tempted to ask if he’s ever taken one of the women into a sex room like the others suggested happened rampantly. Instead, I tell him I’ve made it onto the Devil’s Night committee, and I need his help making sure I can make it the best party there is.

I hit Send and then down the rest of my cappuccino as if I can pretend that I didn’t just ask my father about throwing a party full of debauchery since it’s everything I want to fight against with the Knights.

“Need another?”

Startled, I spin, only to find Tim standing in front of me, a dish towel over his shoulder. I smile. “I didn’t see you when I came in.”

His brows rise. “You were looking for me?”

I take a closer look at him. The bruising has deepened today, making him look even worse. “I wanted to see if you were okay.”

The coloring around his eyes can’t hide the blush that tints his cheeks. “I’m fine. Really.” Tilting his head toward me, his eyes drop to my phone in my hand and then back up. “What are you working on?”

I set my phone screen down on the table in front of me. “Nothing. Just emailing my dad.”

He makes a face. “Emailingyour dad? Most people I know don’t email their dad.”

I laugh at myself. Of course that would sound weird. “My dad’s super busy. Sometimes the only way I can get ahold of him is to email his work.” At least, that’s what I’m telling this guy. I’m sure he’d look at me like I have two heads if he knew I was going to judge a wet t-shirt contest tonight.

I groan inwardly again. Just why?

My phone buzzes, and I flip my phone around to peek at the screen.Are you safe?

“Sorry, I have to respond to this.” Picking my phone up, I type out:Yes. All good. About to head to the library.

Studying is the last thing I want to do right now, but since my life is being consumed by planning a party I don’t want to attend but could reinforce my membership into the Knights, I have to study when I can. Standing, I straighten my shoulders and place my phone into my bag. I nearly jump when Tim’s rumbling voice says, “On the house.”

Peering up, I find my new friend holding out a to-go cup. “For me?”

“You look like you need it.”

He has no idea. I take it from him with a smile. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He shrugs. “And you know, if you ever want to chat or get together when I’m not working, let me know.”

“I’ll do that,” I tell him, wondering why there aren’t more guys like him around before dipping out to study my butt off.

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