On Friday night as I'm watching Scream for a film assignment, I get a text from Jack. I'm already in my pajamas, ready to head to bed soon.

Party is tonight
Want me to pick you up?

Fuck off

I thought you wanted
the full college experience

Not with you
Also, Archer would
kill me

I'll make sure he
doesn't find out
Trust me

Why should I?

Because you love me

Wrong

Scar, I'm sorry about
the other night

But just let me make
it up to you

I'll explain everything

When I don't answer for a few minutes, he texts again.

You're more than just
another girl to me

I stare at his words for a few more minutes, wrestling with my own thoughts. Am I?

What's in it
for me?

You'll see
You won't regret it

As much as I want to keep giving him the silent treatment for a few more days, I'm drawn to the prospect of finally going to a party without my brother getting in the way. And seeing if his actions match his words.

Pulling myself out from under my covers, I throw on an outfit and put on a bit of makeup. It's not for him, I tell myself.

He texts me the address, picking up on the fact that I don't want him to pick me up. The frat house isn't very far away, so I decide to walk. Not like I can ask Archer to give me a ride so I can meet up with his best friend at a frat party.

Not knowing anyone and too proud to text Jack that I'm here, I head to the kitchen to get a drink. I'm thirsty for anything that will prepare me for talking to him for the first time since the basketball game.

As soon as I enter the kitchen, a meaty arm wraps itself around my shoulders, pulling me closer to the source of some stale beer-breath.

"Hey, are you lost?" He asks, blocking my way to the counter full of drinks. "I can be your tour guide 'round the house, if you want."

"No, I'm good," I say, a bit annoyed. I push past him quickly, but he keeps talking.

"You're a fiesty one. You're lucky I like my kittens with some claws," he says, following up the putrid pick-up line with a low growl. Kill me.

I pour a beer into a solo cup and write my name on the rim. "Hey, if I can guess your name on the first try, will you give me a kiss?" He asks, leaning on the counter. Before I can say no, he says, "Scarlett. I'm right, aren't I?"

"Congrats," I spit. "You can read my cup. Now move."

"What's your major? Let me guess. Something basic like creative writing or art history."

I just love guys who put down women for their interests. Realizing he's not gonna leave me alone, my anger grows and I say shortly, "Psychology. Now please leave me alone."

"Oh, a psych major. Can you guess what I'm thinking of right now?"

My fuse blows. "I can't tell you what you're thinking, but I can tell you what I'm thinking. I'm thinking that you've been staring at my chest this entire interaction and that you're pretty damn pathetic to be hitting on a girl that is obviously not interested. Now I'll say it again: get the hell out of my way."

Unable to contain my growing fury, I press my hands against his chest and shove him back as hard as I can. He stumbles back into the kitchen counter, knocking over a few plastic cups that fall to the ground loudly. My anger is only being fueled by the predatory way he's still peering at me. "Come on, Scarlett. No reason to get angr—"

"Hey, what's goin' on here?" Jack says, walking to stand beside me, noticing the fallen cups. He eyes the strange guy intensely, obviously expecting an answer. I'm too angry to object when he puts his hand on my waist.

The guy stumbles over his words, watching Jack get closer to me. "Nothing. You know this chick, Jack? I didn't know, I swear. Great game last week, by the way. You kicked ass."

"Thanks," Jack says, not really giving the guy the time of day. "And you are?...."

The guy opens his mouth to give his name but Jack interrupts him. "I don't care, actually. Thanks for keeping Scarlett company, but I'll take it from here."

The guy nods frantically, unsure of how to respond. "Okay, cool. I'm sure you'll kick ass against Kentucky next week. I have my money on it."

"Sure you do, bud," Jack says condescendingly, pulling me out of the kitchen and away from that asshole. His arm remains around my waist, and every logical ounce of me is saying to tell him to screw off. But the emotional side of me — the one whose heart skipped a beat when he walked into the room — tells me to let it happen.

My resolve is fading quickly, and I take a long sip of my beer. My anger has been reduced to a low simmer, and I wish I'd done more than just pushed that guy. He would've deserved it.

"Did saving me satisfy your desire to be a knight-in-shining-armor? Do you enjoy the feeling of rescuing poor damsels in distress?" I press the back of my hand to my forehead and pretend to faint into him. "Is that another one of your go-to tricks to pick up girls? Like that whole basketball stunt you pulled after the home opener?"

There it is: the reason I've been mad at him for days. Jack suddenly stops walking and turns to me. We're right next to a wall, and the closeness of his body causes me to take a step back. I can't think straight when he's this close to me, when I can practically feel his skin against mine.

"It wasn't a . . . stunt," he explains, tripping slightly over his words. I wonder if this is new for him — being nervous and held accountable for his action. "That moment between us wasn't some stupid scheme. Yeah, Coach has seen me on the court with other girls. But it wasn't — it wasn't the same."

"Why? Because I didn't sleep with you afterwards?" I ask, feeling slightly bad about how bitter I'm being toward him. But what he did hurt me, and I can't even entertain the thought of being with someone who will play me like that.

He's closer now, and I'm leaning against the wall. Jack's forearm is braced against the wall above me, and he keeps his eyes trained in me as he chooses his next words wisely. "I deserve that," he says. "I don't know how to get you to believe that I've never played games with you. And I never will. Ever."

I don't know how he can do that either. I chew the inside of my cheek, trying to maintain my clear head while also sorting though every deep emotion surging through me right now.

It's an odd territory we're in right now. Both of us have obvious feelings for each other, but neither have come forthright and said so. My head hurts just thinking back to Jack's arms around me on the basketball court or his hands around mine when we played Mario Kart.

It feels like we're playing Poker and we've both been bluffing for the past three rounds, but neither of us fold or call each other out. It's exciting and fun, but I already feel myself wanting something more from this game. I want something more than just a stupid game.

I take another sip of my beer and decide that this is too much thinking to be doing at a party. "Forget about it," I say, because that's honestly what I want to do right now. For once, I just want to act without thinking. I finish off my beer. "The way you make it up to me is by getting me another drink."

I shove my empty solo cup into his hand, and the corners of his mouth lift again. This time, both his dimples come out, and I force myself to look away.

"I'll do more than just get you another drink," he says. "I'll make sure you really have fun tonight."

My self control is waning thing, and he looks breathtakingly attractive right now. I smile at him, unsure of what just happened. I play along, ready to get lost in the night. The alcohol loosens my tongue. "Is that so? Well now that you have me, how're you planning on doing that?"

"Easy," he says, leading me to a table with people crowded all around it. People seem to move out of our way when they see Jack, some of them talking to him or trying to get his attention. Jack keeps his eyes on me, leaning his face near mine so I can hear him above all the noise. "As an expert on the subject, I've created a College Party Bucket List for you."

"A Bucket List? Am I dying?"

"You might die after everything I have planned for tonight," he says as we reach the dining room table. "And I'm not letting you leave until you complete everything."

"You're holding me hostage," I laugh. I watch as a few guys stab holes on their beer cans and down it from the side. "Please don't tell me that one of the items is shotgunning a beer."

"Do you think this is my first time at a party? Of course I'm gonna make you shotgun a beer." Then he turns away from me and talks in the general direction of crowd. "Let me get two," he says.

"Jack, catch," someone yells, then two beer cans seem to fall into Jack's hands. I've never shotgunned a beer before, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited.

Jack hands one to me. I put down my solo cup to take it from him. "I've never done this before. Can I get a knife to poke the holes?" I ask, holding the beer awkwardly. Jack shakes his head, laughing lightly.

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't just ask that," he says, taking the beer from my hands. Then I watch as he brings the beer to his lips and bites the can quickly. When he brings it away from his mouth, there is a small hole leaking beer on the side. "All yours. Practice makes perfect."

I grab it from his hands and start sipping from the side. In the time that I take four small sips, I watch as Jack bites a hole in his beer and down the entire thing. With his head tilted back, I can see his tanned throat move up and down with each swallow. I don't know why the obscure sight turns me on so much, but I lose concentration and start drinking even slower.

He crushes the beer can and throws it on the table, realizing that I'm still drinking mine. Beer is spilling down the sides because I'm drinking so slowly. His fingers brush my cheek as he takes the can from my hands.

"Jack! I was working on it," I scold. Although, I'm not that mad since it gives me another chance to watch his throat.

He finishes the rest of my drink and takes a deep breath. "Sorry, Scar," he says, tossing the can away. "You were wasting good beer."

I'm about to ask to try another when he asks for another can and hands it to me, then pulls me away from the table. I hear the next challenge before I see if. Pong.

"Hey, we got next," he declares. A bunch of people are crowded around a fold up table, watching the end of a game.

A guy on one of the ends sinks the ping pong ball into one of the cups, then looks up and grins at Jack. "Ayy! Griffin and his girl play winner."

I turn to Jack as the game finishes. "You know I'm a Pong pro, right? Can't remember the last time I lost a game."

Suddenly, Jack brings my right hand between his hands and brings it up to his lips. Then he breathes lightly onto my cupped hand. He smiles as he rubs my hand in between his larger ones. "In that case, let me warm up your playing hand. You're probably gonna have to carry the team."

"What happened to you being a college party expert?" I gasp exaggeratedly. "Have I been letting an amateur lead me around?"

Jack runs a hand through his golden hair, then leans in close to my ear. I feel his warm cheek on mine as he says, "There are a lot of words you could use to describe me. But you and I both know that amateur is not one of them."

I take a sip from my new beer and lock eyes with him as he pulls away from me. His eyes aren't quite dazed yet, but there is a euphoric look in his gaze as he stares at me. I don't know if it's the dimness or the beer setting in, but he seems to lean closer and closer to me.

"Jack, looks like you're up against me," the guy at the table yells, beckoning us over when the Pong game ends. I clean my throat and walk over to the other side of the table.

Jack fist-bumps our opponent. "My girl is about to serve your ass to you on a silver platter, Ethan. Hope you brought your big boy pants."

My girl. There it is again, making me feel just as confused and flustered as the first time. I want him to say it again.

Then he comes next to me to help me set up. Our hands brush a few times as we set up our cups in the triangle formation. When we're done, I win the blind throw, so Jack and I go first.

Jack misses our first shot. "Fucking shit," he mutters. "Fucking shit balls motherfucking asshole."

"You done?" I ask, holding back a laugh.

He laughs and hands me the second ping pong ball. "Yes."

"Good, now let me show you how it's done."

I sink our team's first cup — the one at the apex of the formation. "Not bad, Maddox," Jack leans in to say from behind me. I tilt my head to the side to let his chin rest on my shoulder.

Ethan downs the beer, then says, "Damn, Griffin. Your girl's got skill. Maybe she should take your spot on the team."

"Maybe," he says to Ethan. Then to me, with a grin on his face, he says, "Finish this game for us. I have a surprise for you upstairs."

"What kind of surprise?" I ask coyly, watching the other team sink a single cup. They miss the other shot.

"A big one." Then Jack chugs the cup that the other team sank, leaving me to think about how much I want that surprise.

Jack goes again and misses. "Holy shit, Jack. You suck. Looks like those college recruiters picked a dud," I say loudly, and people around us laugh.

Ethan laughs. "Fuck, Jack. The last person that insulted you like that got their face reconstructed. You gonna take that kinda heat from just anyone?"

Jack looks at me intensely as he hands me the ball. "She's not just anyone," he says smoothly.

Then into my ear, he says teasingly, "You talk a lot of talk with that mouth of yours."

I'm heating up with every passing second, and I'm surprised when I make another cup. All I can think of is Jack and the feeling of his skin on mine. God, I'm losing my self control. But just like any other moment with Jack, it doesn't feel like a bad thing at all.

The other team misses both cups, thankfully. Im already on my third beer and the last thing I need is to get more drunk around Jack. I don't think I'd be able to hold myself back anymore.

"Finally!" I yell when Jack makes his first cup. Without thinking, I wrap my arms around his neck and say to him, "I was starting to think that we might lose without you pulling your weight."

He turns his head so his face is mere centimeters from me. His lips are almost touching mine, and it takes all my willpower to stop myself from kissing him right here. "You talk a lot of shit, Scar," he says. I feel his hand open mine and place the ball inside.

Jack places his hands on my waist and turns me around so my back is pressed against his front. Then he moves one of his hands from my waist to over both my eyes. The other arm snakes around the front of my body, keeping me still against him.

I feel his head rest on my shoulder, his cheek pressed against mine as we face the same direction. "Let's see if you got the skill to back it up," he says, and I feel his lips brush the curve of my ear.

"Fine by me," I say, accepting the challenge. I raise my arm, then say loudly, "Island."

Jack laughs. The sound, so close to my ear, almost undoes me right then and there. "Are you sure you're up for the challenge, Scar? If you don't make it, you could lose our lead."

I smile, remembering the placement of my target cup on the other side of the table. "I'm sure. Sounds like you're more nervous than I am."

Before he can think of a clever response, I throw the ball. For the split second that the ball is in the air, I swear that I can hear a pin drop in the room. Then I hear it land softly in a cup, and from the cheers around us, I know it went in the right one.

Jack removes the hand from my eyes but not the one from my waist. "I have to admit, that was good," he says. "But it was just a lucky shot."

"Does that make you my lucky charm?" I tease.

We only have one cup left. Since Jack and I both made our shots, we get balls back. I barely have time to celebrate my sinking of the last cup before Jack picks me up and hugs me.

I wrap my arms around his neck as we celebrate this small victory. "So where's my surprise?" I ask as he puts me down. Jack doesn't say a word.

He just takes my hand and leads me toward the stairs.

♔

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