Page 6 of You Were Never Not Mine

Except for that one.

Chapter Three

SINCLAIR

This house is nothing like I thought it would be. I’ve watched enough movies and shows to get a general idea of what a frat house typically looks like. Older and a little run-down. Full of guys who are all slobs and can barely keep the place clean. Beer cans stacked everywhere and liquor bottles tipped over, spilling their contents onto the floor. There should be a couple sitting on top of the pool table, making out, and loud music playing and beer pong being played somewhere.

But there’s none of that here at Alpha Alpha Omega—God, what a fitting name, right? The interior is immaculate, with plush, oversized midnight-blue velvet couches and glittering chandeliers hanging above us. Portraits of past members line the walls, some of them photographs and the older ones are actual paintings. There’s not a single red Solo cup in sight. Everyone is clutching an actual glass and they look expensive, reminding me of my mother’s Baccarat highball glasses she never let any of us touch when we were growing up. She was always too afraid we’d break them.

No one is afraid in this house, though. Everywhere I look,someone has a beautiful glass in their hand, filled with a brownish liquid that tells me they are definitely not drinking beer.

What the hell kind of frat party is this anyway?

“It’s so quiet in here,” I murmur close to Elise’s ear.

She sends me a quick look before speaking in a hushed tone. “I feel like I’m in a library.”

Huh. This party is a real rager.

“Well hello. What are your names?” We’re greeted by a tragically beautiful, dark-haired woman who’s watching us with the deepest brown eyes that immediately make me think of sadness, hence the tragic thought. She has a smile on her face, her lips slicked in the deepest ruby red lipstick shade I think I’ve ever seen. She’s dressed in all black and there’s not a single logo on display, but I can tell her clothes are expensive. She even smells like money—meaning her perfume is a deep, rich scent that I know is pricey.

“I’m Elise, and this is Sinclair.” Elise points at me before flashing that disarming smile of hers at the woman, whose lips don’t shift whatsoever.

“Were you invited?” the woman asks, her tone cool.

Elise lifts up on her tiptoes to try and look beyond the woman’s shoulder, where the rest of our group is already mingling with the guys. “We’re with them.”

The woman doesn’t even bother looking in the direction Elise is pointing. “You’re underage.”

Elise’s expression turns crestfallen. “Well, ye?—”

I nudge her in the ribs extra hard, which makes her stop talking, thank God. “I know practically every man in this room.” I rattle off a few names, most of them obscure ones because why would I state the obvious ones? Everyone has heard about them and she’d think I was lying. “I went to school with them.”

Her right eyebrow arches perfectly, her disbelief obvious. “And where exactly did you go to school?”

I tilt my chin up and say with as much pride as possible bleeding into my voice, “Lancaster Prep.”

And with that answer, she appears duly impressed, which was my plan. “Ah. Well, then. Welcome. My name is Yolanda. I’m the housemother. Would you care for something to drink?”

Well, that was easier than I thought it would be. “Please. Whatever everyone else is having.”

“Same,” Elise offers weakly.

Yolanda’s head inclines toward us. “Will do.”

She turns on her heel and hurriedly walks away, off to fix our drinks, I suppose. Elise’s shoulders sag the moment she’s out of sight.

“You knew just what to say.” Her voice is tinged with the faintest hint of awe. “I was panicking.”

“You almost agreed with her about being underage and she would’ve kicked us out.” I make a scoffing noise, shaking my head. “What frat cares about how old the partygoers are?”

“I guess this one is different.” Elise tilts her head back, taking everything in. “This house is massive. And so clean.”

“Here you go.” Yolanda appears before us again like magic, a drink in each hand. We take them from her, the both of us murmuring our thank yous. “Enjoy yourselves.”

She’s gone before we can say anything else, and Elise and I share a look before we each take a sip from the glass.

“Oh God,” I choke out once the liquor hits the back of my throat. It burns going down, settling warmly in my stomach. “That’s strong.”

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