Page 57 of Lovesick
I don’t think I thought this whole caution tape thing through, considering I’m sure to contract hypothermia by the time we make it inside.
Irelyn, the wiser of the two of us, made sure to drape herself in a red, silky wrap before braving the hellish temperature. Fashionableandpractical.
“Do you think he’s here yet?” she asks, magnetizing to my side and slipping her arm through mine.
Fuck, it’s cold. It feels like my nipples are going to fall off.
I check my phone, watching as the screen blinks to life and broadcasts a message from Crew.
CREW
Here.
I didn’t know four letters could be so foreboding.
I’ve seen Disneyland lines shorter than the one we’re in. Surveying the almost comical length, I suddenly wish I’d taken a few shots of liquid courage beforehand to ward off the chill.
As we start to slowly shuffle toward the overcrowded entrance, Crew comes out of the house with that yummy height of his like he telepathically sensed that we were right outside. And before me stands the captain of the hockey team—with his hard muscles on display—wearing nothing but a large Christmas bow over his privates.
I…I don’t even know what to say right now. Irelyn is in the same boat as me—slack-jawed and bug-eyed. But whereas I’m slightly terrified, she’s ogling him like he’s a juicy cut of steak and she’s a feral barn cat who hasn’t eaten in days.
I’m so in shock that I don’t remember to greet him. Are his ass cheeks just hanging out? I mean, I know Crew can be promiscuous, but this is…next level.
“No, my ass cheeks arenotjust hanging out,” he says, his husky voice rife with amusement.
Shit. That was supposed to be an inside thought.
While I’m trying to untie my tongue, Irelyn holds her hand out and eyes him suspiciously. “Irelyn.”
Crew—too oblivious for his own good—doesn’t realize that he’s being analyzed by my best friend to see if he’s “worthy” enough for me, and he accepts her outstretched hand with an ear-to-ear beam. “Crew. Haven’t we met before? At Dusky’s?”
Irelyn’s guard dog façade falls for a second as she whispers an aside to me with her hand acting as a privacy curtain. Though it’s hardly an aside seeing as Crew is literally right there and can hear every word she’s saying.
“He’s got a good memory. That’s hot.”
“O-kay. Let’s go inside,” I shout, hoping my voice is loud enough to drown out her franklyunwarrantedcomment.
I begin to shepherd the Queen of Hearts and Mr. Christmas past the unfortunate partygoers and into the frat house. The Sig Chi guys part like the Red Sea for Crew, and I even hear a gaggle of freshmen girls squealing over him from somewhere to my right.
Jealousy shouldn’t bloom inside of my belly, but it does. Let’s face the facts: Crew Calloway is a good-looking guy. He also has quite the reputation despite it being his first year at MU. Right now, he’s got nothing but a satin gift bow over his penis. Women are going to stare and wish they werewithhim, and men are going to stare and wish theywerehim.
Crew’s not mine. I have no right to feel possessive. I think I need a drink. Or two. Or three.
The inside of the house is just as chaotic as the outside. As with any holiday, the frats half-ass their decorations. Fake spiderwebs stretch along the cornices, cheap animatronics bob and weave on a timer, and a bowl of half-eaten candy sits out on the coffee table.
Everywhere I look, I’m nearly flashed. There are couples making out on the worse-for-wear couches, there’s a rowdy group of functioning alcoholics playing beer pong in the open-plan kitchen, and there’s a mosh pit of sweaty, intoxicated bodies gyrating on the makeshift dance floor in the adjoining room.
The only untouched area is the staircase leading up to the second floor, guarded by a pitiful pledge who’s been painted in neon brushstrokes that glow under the third-rate lighting. It’s musty as hell in here, and when I inhale, it feels like sticky nicotine adheres to my gasping lungs. I wouldn’t be surprised if I contracted some airborne disease.
I don’t even know where to start. I’ll be lucky if I don’t get trampled. I should’ve brought Irelyn’s extendable leash. She’s a runner when she’s drunk, and I can’t afford to lose her again.
But, because things can never be easy, Irelyn and her social drifter tendencies break for the nearest squad of Alpha Phi girls, who are outfitted in an intricate loofa costume, a two-piece consisting of fake leaves as an ode to Eve, a gift bag with a matching bow headpiece, and an impressive balloon ensemble.
Aaand she left me alone with Crew. Not even a minute in.
As Crew and I make our way through the labyrinthine house, our unmapped trek leads us to the kitchen, where underage drinkers exploit the freakishly large kegs. The noise level is much more bearable in here, but finding any privacy tonight is going to be impossible.
After minutes of silence, Crew clears his fraying throat. He has to raise his voice to combat the cacophonous slurry of sideconversations. “I had a great time at the movies the other night.”
