Page 2 of The Rebel (Looking to Score 1)
It’s irrational, but the flare of rejection stings. Coupled with my family’s fall from grace and the high expectations for me to succeed, it’s too much.
I’ve imagined Alex and me as a power couple. Him the athletic sports star with the big smile and fun-loving attitude, and me with the brains and drive and connections. He’d see what a perfect match we’d make and abandon his fuck-boy ways. Every guy’s gotta grow up sometime, right? And if Eden Wynn isn’t the kind of girl you settle down with, then who the hell is?
My mantra is in my last name—Wynn at all costs. It’s what I do.
Gretchen is still watching me with a worried look.
“I’ll be right back. I’m going to find something different to drink.” My voice comes out steady, but inside, I feel anything but. I feel like I’m spinning out of control, like I’m on one of those tilt-a-whirl rides at the carnival.
Gretchen’s expression darkens but she nods. I’m not quite sure she believes me, but I don’t care.
Hurrying, I make it up the stairs in time to see Alex and the girl disappear into a bedroom. My heart hammers out a painful rhythm. This isn’t how I wanted tonight to go.
The door doesn’t close all the way like I expect it to, and my feet stop moving, stuck here in the center of the hallway. I don’t dare move because I’m certain the creaky wooden floorboards will give me away. The music from downstairs is only a distant thumping sound up here, which means I can hear the faint rustling of clothes.
“Jesus,” Alex grunts.
I hate myself for it a little, but I dare to take one cautious step closer, then another, until I can see through the crack in the door.
The sight isn’t one I expected. I thought there would be a passionate display of groping each other, arms wrapped around bodies, and kisses so hot you could feel them deep down in your soul. That’s the kind of kisses I’ve fantasized about sharing with him all week long.
Instead, Alex stands like a statue carved from stone, muscular and unmoving except for his chest, which hitches with quick, shallow breaths. His gaze is downcast, focused on the girl on her knees between his parted feet. Her hands work quickly at undoing his belt buckle. I hear the clank of metal, and my heart squeezes.
I can’t see it from this vantage point, but it’s obvious the second she gets his cock free. Because her head bobs, and he releases a strangled sound.
“Fuck.” He groans, squeezing his eyes closed and fisting her hair.
I force a breath into my lungs and stagger one step back.
“Spying?”
The deep rasp of a masculine voice in the hallway startles me and I whirl around, my heart in my throat.
“No.”
The word leaves my mouth at the same moment I register who’s joined me in the hallway. Holt Rossi.
If Alex is the golden jock, then Holt is the brooding loner. He’s imposing and powerful, and standing here before him, I feel a little unsteady. He’s huge, with a broad chest. Wide shoulders. Chiseled jaw. And he looks ticked off.
“I was looking for something else to drink. The beer is awful.” It’s not a complete lie.
“The drinks are in the kitchen.” He gives me a reproachful look, but after another beat, he nods toward the hall. “Come on.”
For reasons unknown, I follow him. Maybe it’s because he believes my lie. Maybe it’s because I really don’t want to see and hear my crush getting a blow job.
Holt and I had English composition together freshman year, and two classes together sophomore year. In one of them, we were assigned partners for a semester-long project. Then he declared his major—criminal justice—and our shared classes stopped. This year, I’ve only seen him a handful of times. His hair is longer and he looks like he forgot how to shave, but his eyes are still the same dark gray, expressive with a hidden depth I’ve never quite understood.
He unlocks a door, and I follow him inside. It takes me a minute to realize we’re inside his bedroom. It’s a small room in what appears to be a converted attic, with wood-paneled walls and a sloping ceiling that makes him duck as we enter.
“You live here?”
He nods. “Moved in last semester. Free rent.”
“Why would Theta give you free rent?”
I know he’s not in the fraternity. I’m pretty sure he’s against what all fraternities stand for—fun, camaraderie, and brotherhood. Holt Rossi doesn’t like relying on anyone but himself.
“Because I tutor the underclassmen, and I do all the grounds maintenance. Lawn care, snow removal, et cetera.”
I nod. “Gotcha.”
Holt grabs a silver flask from his dresser and holds it out to me.
I certainly don’t want whatever mystery liquor is inside. I’ve never been a big drinker, but since I lied and told him I was up here searching for something to drink, I don’t want to blow my cover.
