Page 78 of The Friend Zone

BAY

The Gamma house is unusually quiet when I return home from a morning of back to back classes and an entire afternoon in the lab. Advanced Organic Chemistry will be the death of me, I swear. The course load is unreal, but that’s what I get for wanting to learn from one of the leading experts in the country. Our professor has trained scientists who went on to work for pharmaceutical and cosmetics giants; if I want to have my own company one day, all this work will be worth it.

Walking to my room without hearing the guys playing video games so loudly that I can’t hear myself thinking is refreshing. Not catching an eyeful if one of the guys is hooking up on the couch in full view of everyone is even better. Tucker seems to get a kick out of getting it on in front of his frat brothers.

I look at my smart watch, wondering if practice has been running later than usual, but it’s past dinner time. I doubt Coach Harrison wants to punish the team for their latest loss to the point of keeping them on the ice all night.

Then my phone pings with a text from Tami and it all makes sense. It’s the first Monday night of the month and Puck’s Luck,the bar on campus, has half price wings and two for one on beer pitchers. That’s where the team must be. The Gammas rarely miss one of those nights and neither do the Zetas.

Tami:

Hey Bay, I’m saving you a seat. You should get here before they run out of hot wings.

I probably should get changed into something a little more casual and go hang out with my sisters. Since we aren’t living together in the Zeta house, I’ve been seeing them way less and I miss them. Well, I miss some of them.

Going out for a night of cheap bar food and even cheaper beer is what a good sorority president would do. It’s what I would have done last year.

I walk into my closet, resolved to do the right thing rather than making myself a grilled cheese to eat in my PJs and relax watching a chick flick. Something gets my attention as I mindlessly open the email app on my phone.

There’s an email from one of the sponsors who support my streaming channel. I’ve pitched all of them with a new, albeit desperate idea.

Since the insurance isn’t going to pay for rebuilding our sorority house, I thought that maybe a sponsor would be able to help us. The central chapter was very sympathetic with our plight and they agreed to give us a lump sum to help us cover part of the expenses. But with the new campus and state regulations, rebuilding will cost a lot more than anticipated and we need about twice the money that Zeta Theta Beta offered.

If my idea works, we’ll feature our sponsors in every activity we organize. Our sorority has a thriving social media presence, so that should be an interesting proposal for companies that make makeup and hair products. I even offered to have a bannerwith their logo hanging at the front of the house, so every passerby on campus will see it.

Hope makes me feel dizzy as I open the email with trembling fingers. It would be awesome to join my sisters at the bar with some good news.

However my excitement is short lived. This was the last of the companies I reached out to and they turned me down like all the others before them.

I’m really going to be the president under whose tenure not only did the house burn down; I’m going to go down in history as the president who got the Star Cove chapter of Zeta Theta Beta closed down indefinitely.

Whatever little desire I had to go out tonight goes down in flames, much like the Zeta house.

I feel twice as guilty because I don’t have the courage to reply to Tami’s text.

Rather than changing into a going out outfit, I reach for a tank top and a pair of shorts and decide to drown my sorrows in a triple pepperoni pizza. If the guys were home, I’d have to ask if anyone wants to join me and it would become a huge production. For once, ordering on the app is quick and easy and I’m even a little proud of myself for resisting the temptation to add garlic knots, cinnamon rolls or cannoli to my order.

Another thing I’d be tempted to do would be to text Cole or Ryker and see if they want to hang out.

I’m still deliciously sore after my night—and morning—with Cole yesterday and I can’t believe my luck that the guys are willing to try to coexist and aren’t asking me to choose.

I head downstairs to grab a bottle of my favorite sparkling water and that’s when I hear the front door open.

Maybe not everyone went to the bar? It’s too early for anyone coming home with their hookup of the night. Or at least I hopeso, I was really looking forward to having the house to myself tonight.

“Cinnamon,” Ryker steps into the kitchen. “Just the woman I was hoping to see.”

He smells so good it should be illegal and his lips are soft and lingering when I kiss him hello. “Hey,” I smile. “This is a nice surprise. And you come bearing gifts?” I ask, eying the bakery box in his hands.

“If I recall correctly, I owe you a cinnamon roll. So I thought I’d bring you some.”

I run my hands over the lapel of his leather jacket, feeling the hard muscles of his chest without an ounce of shame. Images of licking the cinnamon roll frosting off Ryker’s sculpted abs begin making me feel warm and a little breathless.

Then a thought hits me. “How did you get into the house? Did I leave the front door unlocked?” Campus is relatively safe, but you can never be too careful, especially when all the guys are out.

The answer to my question doesn’t come from Ryker.

“I let him in.”

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