Page 102 of How to Win the Girl

I take the beer from him ’cause he’s only doing his job.

“Thanks.”

When Daisy glances over her shoulder, our eyes meet.

She smiles, biting down on her bottom lip the way girls do when they’re being coy.

“What is that look?” I mutter, trailing them through the living room to the dining room, then outside to the back, where more partygoers are spilling into the yard.

It’s loud and crowded—full of people.

But from this perch on the porch, I have a good vantage point of everyone, Drew and Daisy included. The glowing lights from the inground pool cast an eerie glow over the party.

“Looks to me like the pool is a safety hazard,” a girl’s voice says next to me, and when I glance over, I find a blonde standing there, arm brushing against me. “I wonder how many drunk idiots will end up in there by the end of the night.”

I grunt, uninterested in conversation.

“Rush is always like this,” she says, still so close I can feel her bare skin against my forearm.

“Always like what?”

“Crazy. Drunk. Lots of parties.”

“How do you know?”

She shrugs. “I’m the recruitment chair for my sorority; we make the rounds.”

“Ah.”

I have no interest in sorority girls, not that I have anything against them. My mother was a sorority girl, in fact, from what I’ve seen, those women are still her best friends. But things were different twenty-five years ago when she was in college than they are now; the girls are different, too.

“My name is Karla,” the blonde supplies to thin air, determined to trap me into a conversation.

I don’t respond.

Instead, I chug the beer in my hand in one breath, glancing around for another pledge, the keg not too far away. When one breezes past, I swap out the empty cup for a full one, chugging that one, too, wanting to feel a buzz inside my belly.

“Whoa, tiger.” Karla giggles. “What’s the rush?”

What Karla here doesn't understand is that I ain't here to make friends with her, and I ain't here to get trashed. Hell, I'm not sure why I'm here except that I've bamboozled my brother into this party, and therefore, I’m subjected to be here too.

It’s as if God is punishing me for being a complete fucking moron.

It’s not her fault I’m not interested, but it's also not my job to entertain her. And I'm certainly not interested in leading her on; I won't be taking her home at the end of the night as she's probably hoping I will and she certainly is never going to become my girlfriend.

She seems like a really nice gal—she also looks like the type with designs. You know the kind: here for her Mrs. Degree, looking for the most eligible bachelor with the most amount of money in his pockets.

Or his daddy's pockets.

Unfortunately, Karla here isn’t a quitter, so she continues to chat while I continue to ignore her.

“No rush,” I finally drawl, the liquor in my belly beginning to work its magic. Just enough to take the edge off, but not enough to get Daisy off my mind.

“You’re the Colter Twin,” she tells me as if I hadn’t known.

“Indeed.”

“Why are you over here alone?” Karla pries, still invading my personal space as we stand at the corner of the porch, against the railing, off to the side.

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