Rushed (The Rushed Series) (10 page)

Like I could resist a taunt like that. I swallowed my pride and caught up to her in two steps. I bent and whispered in her ear. "I'm trying to give you an out, pledge. FYI, the girls don't hang with the houseboys outside the house and certain sanctioned frat parties and events. It's not good for your image to be seen with the help."

She shrugged and kept walking. "They can't complain about me doing homework with my partner."

"But somehow they still will. You don't get it—we're from two different worlds."

She raced on, expecting me to follow her like her puppy dog. And damn, but I did.
 

"I don't think we are, Zach. In case you haven't noticed, we don't have a caste system here."
 

I followed her into the crowded hall. "We have something worse—peer pressure."

She flashed me a flirty smile. "I handle pressure like a pro. Years of dealing with my mom. Come on, Zach. Chill. It's just a cup of coffee. Do I have to beg? Or are we going to do this assignment at the last minute? In the study room in full view of everyone." She laughed like the thought was delicious.

"Yeah, beg. I like it when girls beg." She had me where she wanted me. I pictured Morgan giving us death looks. The College Grind was safer.

Alexis laughed and grabbed my arm. "Please, please,
please
. Pretty please." She batted her eyes with her ridiculously long lashes, exaggerating comically for effect.
 

How could any hetero guy resist that? Up close, I could see a faint spray of freckles across her nose. She had a light scar on her chin that she'd tried to hide with makeup. She wasn't perfect. She wasn't even the most gorgeous Double Deltsie in the house. But her face was arresting. Her long blond hair fell around her shoulders, tempting a guy to run his fingers through it. My pulse wouldn't stop racing.

She was damn striking. Imperfect enough to be real. Her personality was magnetic. I liked her way too much.

She wasn't looking where she was going. She tripped on the uneven sidewalk and nearly went down.
 

I caught her by the arm just in time and pulled her to her feet. "You okay?"

"Besides being embarrassed? Yeah, I'm fine. Just turned my ankle." She tested her weight on it.

"Don't be embarrassed. These sidewalks are killers. You should see people slide onto their butts on them in the winter. Let me take that." I pulled her backpack from her shoulder and slid it over mine. "Can you walk?"

"If I can't, will you carry me?" She batted her lashes again in that ridiculous way.

"Depends on how much you weigh."
 

She shoved me playfully. "Forget it." She grinned. "Give me your arm."

I held it out to her. "Now you want me to be your crutch?"

"Absolutely." She took my arm and snuggled against me.

She was going to kill me. She couldn't know how hard my heart pounded. We looked too much like a couple as we made our way to the edge of Greek Row.
 

The College Grind was crowded. It took fifteen minutes to get our iced coffees. I asked for an extra cup of ice. She paid before I could whip out my non-existent money. We found a spot on the grass outside and sat in the shade.
 

I insisted on inspecting her naked ankle. That was another mistake. When I took it in my hand, I could see up her skirt. Her shapely leg felt too good in my hand. All I could think about was sliding my hand up her leg and beneath that short skirt of hers.

"What do you think, doc?" she asked. "Will I live?"

"Looks like you just twisted it." I put the cup of ice against it and she jumped at the touch of cold, laughing. Her leg was as imperfectly beautiful as the rest of her. "Where did you all these scars?" I slid my hand up her shin and lightly caressed one.

"Just trying to get a feel?" Her eyes sparkled like she was enjoying this. "I thought you were worried about appearances. What do you think my sorority sisters will think if they see you holding my leg in public?" Her eyes danced like she didn't care.

I caressed her ankle and let go slowly. "They know I like to play doctor."

"But not with the girls?"

"You didn't answer my question," I said.

"I took a spill over a hurdle at the state meet in high school."

That took me by surprise. I didn't have her pegged for a sporty girl.

"Freaked my mom out. She thought I had permanently disfigured myself. And she's not good with blood. Speaking of that—am I trusting my leg to someone with medical skills? You aren't a premed major, or maybe physical therapy?"

"Are you fishing for information? If you want to know what I'm majoring in, just ask."

She grinned. "So?"

"Food science. But if it makes you feel better, I've taken anatomy and physiology, organic chem, and biology. I have some experience with injuries from my years of being sacked on the football field."

She tilted her head like she was trying to figure me out. "Food science? What's that? Like, nutrition?"

I stared at her. I got that question a lot. "No,
not
like nutrition. It's pretty self-explanatory—the science of food."

"It's not self-explanatory to me."

"New product development, food packaging and storage methods, food safety. Super tasters for new products. That kind of thing. Food scientists work at all the major food producers, at dairies, wineries, breweries, coffee companies. There's a lot of science involved in developing new products without destroying the nutritional value of the food and still making it tasty. And finding ways to preserve food safely using fewer and fewer chemicals and additives."

"It sounds interesting. And you're a junior?"

"More fishing?"

"Maybe."

"Yeah. Junior. Since we're asking the mundane 'what's your major' question, what's yours?"

She shrugged and smiled brightly. "Business, I think. I haven't really decided for sure."

Typical Double Deltsie answer. Most of them would never have to work. I don't know why that irritated me, but it did.
 

"I like what you're doing, but you can let go of my leg now. Before people start talking."

I'd been stroking her leg, almost without thinking. Just for fun, I held it more tightly. "Only if you're all better now. Are you sure?"

She smiled and I let go and grabbed my phone. "We have work to do."

The prof had posted the playlist online. We plugged headphones into our phones and sat side by side, listening to the birth pangs of rock and roll.
Sex
, my mind whispered.

Alexis lay on the grass with her blond hair fanning around her. She closed her eyes as she listened to the music, with a rapturous look on her face that matched the way a girl should look after a hot round of lovemaking. A look I would love to put on her face.
Sex
, that's what the music really was about.

I lay back, too, so close to her, our arms brushed. I could barely focus on the music.

"Zach! Did you hear that riff?" Beside me, Alexis suddenly sat up.

"What?" I tried to act casual, like I hadn't been thinking of her.

"That riff. It’s like heaven. Like the birth of the whole genre!" She tried to describe it to me.
 

"Where are you? I don't hear it." I tried to play it back and find the spot she was talking about.

She pulled one earbud out and pulled me close to stick it in my ear. We were so close, cheek to cheek. Her expensive perfume bloomed in the heat, giving off sensual undertones designed to turn guys on. Her lips were moist. Her nose so cute in profile. Everything about her made my heart pound. And then I heard the riff, wrapped in the middle of cheesy fifties music, and knew what she meant.

We turned our heads just enough to face each other. My breath caught as she realized I got it and smiled at me.
 

Damn, but I wanted to kiss her. All I had to do was cup the back of her head and bring my lips to hers. I came to my senses before I did something stupid that would get me fired and kicked out of the house.

"Awesome." I pulled her earbud out of my ear and handed it back to her. "Where did you learn so much about music?"

Her eyes clouded with disappointment and confusion. Like she'd been trying to trap me in that kiss. She didn't know that I was easy prey and fighting temptation only as a means of self-preservation. If she'd been just another Geed girl…

"My dad," she said. "But he's into classic seventies rock. This fifties stuff is too early for him. What about you?"

I shrugged. "I've always liked music. It’s an escape."

"From what?" She seemed genuinely interested.

I wished she wasn't sitting so close to me. It made it hard to think. "Everything."

The tiniest of frowns creased her forehead. "Everything?" Like she couldn't believe anyone would want to escape life.

I changed the subject. "You don't fit the Double Deltsie mold. Why did you pledge them?"

Her frown became a scowl. "I didn't have a choice. You know I'm a legacy? Mom would have
killed
me if I didn't." She rolled her eyes. "My mom is the queen of pressure and expectations."

"You could have defied her." It didn't seem like such a big deal to me.
 

She shook her head. "You don't know them." She was gorgeously imperfect even when she frowned. "I'm their only child. Their one hope for the future. Failure isn't an option."

I still didn't understand what the problem was. You live your own life. Screw your parents if they don't like it. They'll find something to disapprove of no matter what you do, or how much you succeed.
 

You make your own way so you don't have to rely on anyone. Prove people wrong about their expectations. And then don't give a shit whether they acknowledge them or not. It's the "not giving a shit" that takes practice. It's one of those simple things that was not at all easy to master. No one had ever expected anything of me.

"What about you?" Her eyes sparkled with curiosity, focused fully on me.

Damn, but I wanted her to look at me like that forever.

She leaned toward me, intimately, like I was the most interesting person on the planet. "Why are you a houseboy, Zach? Give me the inside scoop. What do your parents think about having a
son
who lives in a sorority house? Do their friends tease them? I bet that takes some explaining! 'No, our son is not gay or transgendered. He's just found his calling—living with girls! Yeah, it's a tough job for a guy, but someone has to do it.'"
 

She put on a low, mock-dad kind of voice that almost made me laugh. And sad at the same time. I could almost hear my dad explaining away my existence.

"'He's going to write a book someday—
The Smart Man's Guide to Living in a Female-Dominated Society
,'"
she said
.
"'As one of the handful of guys in the world who has survived the pressures of living with one hundred menstruating women, his insights are invaluable. It's going to hit number one on the
New York Times
list.'" She paused. "I bet this gig scores points with your buds back home." Her eyes lit up at the thought.

I laughed, but I refused to be drawn out. "It pays the bills."

She missed the cues I was sending her. "You know what you should do?" Her eyes went wide with excitement. "Dress in drag and send them the picture! Tell them you like the house so much, you've decided to join after all!"

"You think the Double Deltsies would take me?" I said.

"If you wore a long blond wig and short skirts. And maybe plucked your brows. They're a little thick." She laughed.

"My parents don't explain anything to anyone. They barely acknowledge I exist. They don't give a shit about me or what I do." The words came out with more force than I intended. As terse as my confession was, I immediately wished I could take it back. I'd shared too much.

She looked startled, like she couldn't comprehend what I'd said. Or what she'd said to upset me.

I felt like a real douchebag.

She hesitated. "They must care at least a little?"