Page 9 of Caught Stealing

We weave our way through the mass of people between us and the front door, more than a couple of girls grabbing at my arm to stop me. Something I wouldn’t normally mind, but rejection and boredom have long since set it, and I’m ready to call it for the night.

It’s nearly twenty degrees cooler outside the Kappa Sighouse, and I follow Oakley over to where his car is parked on the side street.

“Thought you were going to get laid?” he says as we reach the car.

So did I.

I give him a shrug before sliding into the passenger seat, not necessarily wanting to get into the details. “Plans change.”

Oakley’s brow quirks as he hops in beside me. “And from how you’re trying to vaguely play it off, I’m assuming it wasn’t your idea.”

I open my mouth, ready to lie through my damn teeth, seeing as I’m not one to get bothered by striking out. But something about the way tonight went rubs me the wrong way. Enough to have me spilling the most minute details.

“There’s nothing like being cock-blocked by an overprotective bestie to ruin the night.”

He lets out a bark of laughter. “Why do I feel like this isn’t the first time that’s happened?”

“Because it’s not,” I say with a sigh, my eyes locking with Oakley’s in the darkened car. “And if we’re being honest, it probably won’t be the last either.”

Oakley laughs again before steering his car onto the streets, heading toward our empty townhouse. At least, I’m assuming it’s empty, seeing as I saw two of our other roommates at the party. Camden was the only one I didn’t catch sight of, but if there’s a party on campus—especially on Greek Row—he’s usually not far.

“Quit laughing at me.”

“Why? It’s funny.”

“Yeah, it’s hilarious,” I deadpan. “I wouldn’t be laughing at you if the roles were reversed.”

His brow arches, but he doesn’t look away from the road. “That’s a lie, and we both know it. You’d laugh, announce it at the party with a megaphone, and then keep laughing louder.”

Yeah, definitely sounds like something I’d do…

“Fair enough,” I mutter.

“You know better than anyone, it’s the life of a playboy to strike out once in a while.” He glances my way again. “Or is your ego too large to handle it?”

He’s not wrong about one thing: it’s undoubtedly par for the course to strike out every once in a while, though I wouldn’t classify myself as a playboy. Just a lover of many with a set of simple rules when it comes to hooking up that has yet to fail me thus far.

No cuddling or overnights. No strings with repeat hookups. And most importantly: no involving anyone’s fucking heart. Especially mine. And seeing as I don’t stick to one person long enough to get attached in the first place, this last one is pretty much a given.

Of course, that’s not to say attachment doesn’t happen on theotherend of things, but I always make sure the score is known. If whoever it is can’t hang—which isn’t very often—then feelings get hurt and shit ends badly. Like getting bitch-slapped at parties or drinks thrown at me. Or decked by boyfriends. Although those moments, specifically, are ones I’d rather not recollect.

So best friends looking out for each other isn’t uncommon, but it’s still a blow to the balls—

“Holden?” Oakley says, cutting through my thoughts.

I blink over at him. “What?”

He laughs and just shakes his head. “Your ego really must not be able to deal if you go allTwilight Zoneon me after getting shot down.”

“I was thinking,” I say, an iciness to my tone that’s more playful than irritated.

“Something you’re not used to, obviously.”

“Oh, fuck off,” I laugh, my mood lightening despite his jabs. What’s a best friend without a little lighthearted roasting, anyway?

Or judgmental cock-blocking, it seems.

“Enough about me, where the hell did you disappear off to?” I ask, flipping the conversation back to him—anything to get my mind off Kason and the looks Phoenix was giving me.

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