Page 16 of Terror Tuesday
With a bright smile, the man lifts his face to me. He’scute. Not like a model with dangerous looks, but in a way that makes me feel immediately warm inside.
Freckles dash across his straight nose, and sandy-colored hair flounces on the top of his head in a messy pile that looks as if he tried hard to tame it. The shimmer in his green eyes makes me feel safe. Or maybe I just want it to…
“Why?” he asks, as if he’s going to tell me a children’s joke.
My brow pinches. “Why, what?”
“Why are you sorry? That fucking rug should be sorry. Want me to burn it for you? Show it why it should never have gotten in your way? Teach it a lesson in consent?”
I giggle, and his smile broadens until he’s laughing with me. When he stands and hands me my purse, I shrug. “Maybe after the party, so no one suspects you did it.”
“Good idea.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets, and we stare at each other for an awkward moment. “You’re Olivia, right?”
“Yeah…” Hurriedly, I try to place him. He’s notTheta. Not enough tattoos to be aDelta. Is he aBetainitiate I haven’t met yet?
“I’m Elliot. I’m in your stats class.”
“Are you not inBeta?”
His cheeks flame with a pink blush like he’s embarrassed. And it’s so adorable, I feel bad for even asking the question.
With a deep breath, he opens his mouth wide. “Oh, um. No. I’m not in Greek Life.”
“You may be smarter than all of us, then.”
A stubborn part of me—quiet and buried—registers disappointment. He’s notthe one. Not the man I’m meant to be appointed to. Not the one selected by the board. He’s probably not wealthy enough for my father. And definitely notViscountenough for Seventh Society.
They prize blood and wealth, but obedience above all.
Guilt immediately makes me regret even having those thoughts. I just witnessed my boyfriend get his throat cut open. What kind of a slut is already imagining a sordid romance with a boy she meets the next day?
He waves a palm across the room. “Want a drink? I dipped in here when I saw the caterer leave a tray of bourbon.”
I glance inside the room, which appears to be a library. “Sure. You’re a rebel, huh? Sneaking in to get the good stuff.”
His grin returns, but this time, there’s a hint of flirtiness to it. It’s almost wicked. “You got me. Although this is probably the most risk I’ve taken in quite some time.”
Shoving the sleeves of his olive-green sweater up his arms reveals some flexing muscle. Veiny. And I shift my gaze away to stop the heat rising inside my body.
“Here you go.”
When he hands me a glass, our fingers touch, and it sends a zing of electricity all the way up my arm. I meet his eyes to see if he felt it, too. His smile flickers, gone for a split second before it returns.
“So what are you doing here, if you’re not in Greek Life?” I ask.
He leans against the large oak desk and opens his mouth to speak, but a waiter interrupts by snagging the tray behind him. With a sneer, the suited man glares at Elliot as if hestolethe drinks.
“Fucking rich pricks,” the server murmurs under his breath as he scurries out the door, but not without giving me a pointed look.
“Well, Olivia,” Elliot begins with a tiny smirk on the corners of his lips. “I’m here because I’m arich prick.”
I toss my head back and laugh, then take a sip of my drink. The burning sting takes my mind off the stress. But it’s not just the alcohol…the guy standing in front of me has such a casual stance that it puts me at ease.
“Miss Cardell? There you are. I believe Dean Rutherford is looking for you.”
My throat constricts until it’s difficult to swallow, but I nod. “Coming!”
Elliot raises his glass to me and says, “I’ll see you in class.”
