Boyfriend Bargain (Hawthorne University #1)(6)

She’s good.

A long exhale comes from me as I look around the room for Zack.

Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve put this off long enough.

I gather my resolve. No way am I leaving this party until I’ve at least spoken to Zack Morgan.

If Julia can do it, so can I.





4





Sugar





Half an hour later, I’ve made zero progress and haven’t budged from the bar. I suck so bad. Julia has disappeared upstairs with a football player and I’m alone. When Pixie Girl does a pee dance, I volunteer to make sure no one steals the punch, even though she was kind of mean to me earlier. She gives me a long look, promises to be right back, and dashes to the restroom.

Feeling like a bump on a log, I groan, surveying the crowd. There are so many people here, I have no clue where he is, and I keep hoping he’ll walk by to get a drink, but he doesn’t. I picture random girls at his beck and call, rushing to refill his glass and feeding him juicy strawberries on some sofa in the back. Scratch that—it’s way too PG. He’s probably getting sucked off in a bedroom upstairs.

It feels as if someone has cranked up the heat, and I take my coat off and tie it around my waist.

I’m looking at my phone when a warm, sweaty body appears next to me.

Frat Boy.

He’s back and we’re only a few feet apart. I get a better impression of him, stocky with a barrel chest and big biceps…like a wrestler. I recall Julia’s warning about the clap. Great. Just great.

There’s a red zit on his forehead and it takes center stage as he shoves back a lock of brown hair that’s fallen in his face. Giving me a once-over, his beady gaze lingers on my chest.

“Heyyyyyyy, you. Has anyone ever said you look like an angel?”

Ugh. “I haven’t fallen from heaven, so don’t even go there.”

He squints down at me, his words slurred. “I’ve never seen you at a Kappa party. You new here?”

“Stellar observation. Now if you don’t mind, I have to call my boyfriend. He’s on his way here.” I pull out my phone, wave it at him, and pretend to scroll through my contacts. I could leave and head back to my column, but I’m hoping he’ll take the hint and move on. I’ve become fond of my barstool.

“You’re hot,” Frat Boy mumbles on an exhalation as he slides in closer and tosses an arm around my shoulders. “And I won’t tell your boyfriend if you want to hang out. I won’t tell my girlfriend either. Have you seen her?” He scans the area as if looking for her, and when he seems satisfied the coast is clear, he leans in, giving me a whiff of his alcohol-laced breath.

“I don’t know your girlfriend,” I snap as I edge away until his arm drops. “But I feel sorry for her.”

It’s like he doesn’t hear me. Putting his elbows on the bar, he bends his head down until we’re practically cheek to cheek. “Name’s Harry by the way.”

I stare at my phone, mentally willing him to get out of my face.

“Friends call me Horny Harry. Want to know why?” He does a little giggle and puts his arm around my shoulders. Again.

I’ve been described as haughty a few times (I’m really not), but with my height of five ten, I do have a glorious glare. I use it now. “Look, I’m not interested, okay? You should go away.” I poke at his arm a few times until it slips off my shoulders.

His face reddens. “Hey now. You blinked at me.” He sounds like a petulant child as he points down at his shirt.

If his brains were leather, he wouldn’t have enough to saddle a June bug. I can practically hear my mama saying the words.

“Everyone blinks.” I stand. “Why can’t a girl just come to a barstool and have a drink—even if it isn’t a decent one? Huh? Is that so hard? Why can’t I just sit here and watch the crowd and look for hockey players? That’s a rhetorical question, by the way.”

He leers. “Whatever. My room is just upstairs. I have some beer in the fridge and condoms. Sounds good, right?” He nods his head toward the steps that lead to the upper level of the house. “Come on, babe.”

Babe.

BABE.

Bennett called me that and no one will ever again. It’s a promise to myself. I’m better than babe.

Picking up my purse from the bar, I cross the strap over my shirt.

He makes a pout. “Ah, don’t leave like that. We were just getting to know each other.” He moves as if to take my arm, but I give him a little push in the chest. Dude probably weighs about two fifty, and of course, it does no good.

“Are you cheating on me already?” The shrill tone comes from Pixie Girl. I guess she’s back from her pee break. With her hands on her hips, she sends a scathing look at Frat Boy and then turns it on me. “And you? What makes you think you can flirt with my man? Is that why you offered to watch the bar?”

Oh. My. God.

I shake my head at her. “No! This—this isn’t what you think. I’m not flirting—”

“Then why are you standing there with your fuck-me eyes on him?” She glares at me.

“There is no eye-fucking going on here!” I feel ridiculous even saying that.

She curls her lip. “You and your top-shelf tequila. Please.”