Page 14 of Feel Free to Scream

“You can’t call me that,” I remind her. “You’re a Keller too.”

She grins as my eyes slide to her husband.

“Bas,” I say, acknowledging him second.

“Darius.” He nods, his gaze challenging, like he’s expecting a trap of some sort.

No one likes when I make a move. No one can tell who my prey is until I let them know.

“So, an open party, huh? That’s not like you.”

I roll my eyes. “I love parties.”

“But you don’t tend to throw them. What are you up to?”

“I’m not throwing this one,” I tell him.

My cousin only shakes his head. “Whatever you’re up to, keep us out of it, yeah?”

“Cross my heart,” I promise readily.

I don’t drink much as a general rule, but tonight, I barely touch my glass, nursing my beer for a full hour, letting it go warm.

And then she gets here.

Fuck.

I down the rest of my drink in one go, and turn my back on the front of the house to gather my thoughts.

I…did not expect that, somehow. I mean, I should have. It’s a party, so naturally she dressed up. But from the pictures in her background check, and how she was dressed the two times I saw her, I figured her idea of dressing up was a knee-length Sunday dress. Instead, she’s wearing a tiny little shiny black pleated skirt that shows off her amazing, long, toned legs, and a shirt that while outwardly appropriate—a button-down with sleeves—is also incredibly suggestive. The outer layer is transparent. There’s a top underneath, but it’s still taunting.

I didn’t count on her making me want to grab her and pin her to the closest surface like a savage in two seconds, dammit. Tonight is supposed to be subtle. The girl istaken. She messages her boyfriend daily, FaceTimes him a few times a week. Of course, she doesn’t realize he’s been screwing a cheerleader on the side since sophomore year of high school—a girl his family wouldn’t approve of, and who’s not really interested in him other than the occasional lay, in any case. He started college two weeks back and already has three girls calling him “baby” in his inbox. But as far as Claire’s concerned, she has a boyfriend she’s committed to.

Tonight, the plan is moving one pawn up the board, not shooting for the damn queen right away.

I surprise myself when I realize I was this patient and strategic with someone I’d just met. It shouldn’t matter if I fuck it up. I should just shoot my shot, then move on, whether she says yes or no. I don’t quite get why I’m so very taken with her. Maybe it’s how she handled Octavia. Maybe it’s just that she’s exactly my type: formal, uptight, so damn pure. There’s something fascinating about immaculate, pristine wholesomeness. Makes one want to get it dirty.

Still, I didn’t expect her to make me half hard in three seconds.

I don’t immediately approach her, watching from a distance. She’s greeted curiously, cautiously. Everyone knows security checks unfamiliar faces at the door if they’re not accompanied by legacies. It’s impossible to fake our invites; they include a hidden code our guys scan for. So no one wonders if she belongs here, but they’re curious about who brought her in.

I should say them. My gaze only follows her while I get another drink and circle the room, pretending to chat with a few acquaintances, but eventually I make myself notice the other chick. She’s pretty enough, I suppose.

All right, no, that’s unfair. Claire’s friend is hot, too. Nice butt, in tight jeans, an inch of skin displayed under the hem of a lovely blouse with a healthy cleavage, she’s a looker. I would likely consider her entirely fuckable any other day. Her bangs and long black hair, plus huge glasses, also give her a bit of a prudish vibe. She’s playing the sexy librarian, and it works for her. But instead, I only watch Claire.

Holy fuck, what’s wrong with me?

7

CLAIRE

Itry not to gawk stupidly at everything, but gosh, it’s hard. This place is insane. It looks like the kind of club I see in TV shows; too posh and luxurious to really exist. The furnishings are all warm, dark leather—the kind that looks like it’ll be the same in fifty years.

In high school, I used to know a girl whose dad was making a fair bit of money in estate planning. She always had the latest of everything, followed the last fashions. A few years back, she invited Noah and me to her birthday party. We’d never been close, as she was part of the popular crew—a cheerleader—but Noah wanted to go, so we did.

Her house was the very opposite of this. I could tell every piece of furniture was chosen because it was expensive, or well known, or fashionable, but the overall vibe was cold, impersonal, uncomfortable.

This house is…cozy’s the wrong word, but I can imagine people just lying back on those sofas and reading a book. I bet they’re comfortable. There are too many students here tonight, so most of us are standing, but I’m curious to try my theory someday.

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