Page 14 of Learning Curve

Music pounds through the speakers that sit on either side of a local DJ who is currently doing a mashup of “Party Rock Anthem” and a song I’ve heard a million times in stadiums.

The one that goes whoa oh oh oh-oh.

When the beat drops and the lyrics Shots! Shots! Shots! echo inside the room, I don’t miss Dane in the corner doing exactly that. One, two, three, he downs the small glasses of amber liquid in quick succession and pounds his fists against his chest like he’s Tarzan.

Good grief. My annoyance makes a pit form in my stomach, but the small crowd of people around him is verbally celebrating his dumbassery with chants and fist pumps. Nadine claps and cheers so hard, I fear her tits might make a bid to escape her crop top like cats coming through a newly opened door.

Nadine Jones, put simply, doesn’t like me. Sure, she’s flirtatious with everyone, but I’d have to have been born yesterday not to understand Nadine’s underhanded comments and blatant seduction of my boyfriend stem from our current situation on the cheerleading squad—I’m the only freshman with a starting flyer spot—exactly what Nadine was gunning for. So, unless something happens to me or one of the other flyers, she’s stuck at alternate.

Cheerleading can be cutthroat, so this isn’t something I haven’t experienced before. It just sucks that it’s another thing I have to deal with while I’m trying to adjust to college life.

And truthfully, I’m not good at the whole drama thing. I’m a people pleaser to my core. A lover, not a fighter, and the type of person who clams up in any type of confrontational situation. It’s like my brain misplaces all its words for a few days and then finds them again when I’m revisiting that confrontation in my mind.

I’m the queen of “I wish I would’ve said that,” just like Meg Ryan in You’ve Got Mail.

Dane appears to be pouring himself another round of shots, and I can no longer witness the drunken clown show. I pull my phone out of my jeans pocket to check the time—12:30 a.m.

Still no sign of Finn Hayes.

Yeah, I don’t think he’s coming. And I think it’s time to go home.

On a sigh, I start to head for the mudroom of Delta Omega’s massive three-story brownstone to grab my purse, but before I can round the corner into the hallway, someone shouting, “Ace Kelly!” fills my ears.

I spin on my heel, my eyes going straight for the front door.

Ace Kelly and a super-pretty blond girl who’s in my calculus class named Julia Brooks are there, and someone else is right behind them.

Dark hair. Warm brown eyes. With my contacts in tonight, I can see both just fine.

Finn Hayes. Here. In the flesh. And looking as hot as ever.

Did he come here because I invited him? Or did Ace drag him here against his will?

It takes every bit of self-control I have not to run directly to the door to find out. Frankly, I don’t know that it would have held out if it weren’t for Kayla grabbing me by the hand and pulling me into a quiet hallway back behind us.

“What’s going on?” I ask, trying to pay attention to her and split focus with the door at the same time. It’s out of my eyeline, though, so I have no choice but to behave pretty quickly.

“Girl, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Dane and Nadine just made a bet with someone to take three more shots each.”

Well, hell. If that isn’t karma telling the girl with the boyfriend that the hot guy she’s crushing on is going to have to wait, I don’t know what is.

Finn

We’re not even through the front door of the fancy Delta Omega house when I have to dodge the first elbow to the face. It’s not some crazy partygoer, though, but my roommate, announcing his presence like he’s a member of the royal family.

“Ace Kelly in the house!” he cries obnoxiously, garnering the shouts of an apparent fan club shortly after. I’m not surprised he’s popular—he’s charismatic and rich. But I am surprised by the number of people who already seem to know who he is within the first week of school.

With a roll of her pretty blue eyes, Julia steps around him, and I take that as a cue to do the same. When she smiles back at me, I’m reminded why Ace does nothing but talk about her. Her features are almost delicately feminine, and her eyes are a crystal-clear blue ocean that seem to go on for miles.

“Come on, Finn. Let’s go get a drink. You’re going to need it, living with Ace.”

I chuckle and follow her gratefully, not bothering with the tedious explanation of my general aversion to alcohol. It’s not that I’m righteous or sanctimonious or some bullshit—you just see it a little differently when you grow up with a mean-as-fuck drunk.

She shoves her way through a group of writhing bodies first, me following behind, and takes a cup of beer from the guys at the keg on the far side of the food bar. They eye her longingly, dicks perking in their pants like ears on a dog, and I find myself crowding her back possessively. Maybe I’m fucked in the head, but for some reason, I’m feeling protective of Ace and his feelings, even if he doesn’t realize them yet.

Because for all he says they’re just friends, I sense there’s more brewing beneath the surface. I’ve only known Ace for a week, but six out of seven cumulative days have been spent on the topic of Julia. A guy doesn’t talk that much about a girl without deep feelings being involved.

If I got paid a dollar every time he brings her up, I’d be a rich fucker too, and all my problems would be solved.

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