Page 32 of Kingston
Everything rushes by at double speed as I fill my backpack. At the forty-five-minute mark, I knock on the door of the last house I’ll have time to visit. A pretty brunette in a black mini dress answers the door. Behind her, I can see a ton of girls milling around, as if they’ve all gathered here to primp before they head out for the night. This could be exactly what I need to ensure my win.
“Can I help you?” She glances me up and down. I’d put my hair up on top of my head the minute I stopped running because it’s so terribly hot. I’m sticky with sweat, so I’m sure I look like a hot mess.
“Actually, I’m banking on it. Um. So, weird request, but I need everyone’s underwear.” I grit my teeth. “I know it sounds insane, but I don’t have a lot of time to be cute about it.”
She sputters out a laugh and waves another couple sorority sisters over. “I think you’re going to have to at least explain your request. Is this some sort of rush thing?”
A second girl—a curly-haired redhead—pipes up with a shake of her head. “I haven’t heard of any sororities doing that.”
I bite my lip. “Uh. You’re right.” I’m not allowed to tell them what I’m doing… but if they can figure it out on their own, I think it’d be fair and within the spirit of the rules set out for us.
There’s now a sizable crowd of girls standing in the foyer, watching me curiously. One bounces up on tiptoes, gives a shout, and pushes her way to the front. “Holy. Shit. Wait. You’re the girl who showed up to the Zeta Gamma party with Kingston Hawthorne.” Her blue eyes widen as she pins me with an incredulous look.
“That was me, yes.”Oh, please, please, please let that be a good thing.
A blue-eyed blonde speaks up. “Oh my god. I think I remember this from last year. There were like three guys going around asking girls for their underwear. Is it that?”
Another girl groans. “I don’t get it. Hawthorne Hall is a brotherhood. How would she be involved? It makes no sense.”
I blow out a breath. “Please. I need help. I am not allowed to confirm anything. But please, please give me your underwear. Here, look.” I take my backpack off and open it for them to show them the massive quantity I’ve already collected.
“Holy shit.” The brunette who answered the door peeks into the bag with big eyes. She slowly nods and backs up, waving me inside. “Okay. I think I get it. Ladies. Shimmy out of those panties for her. Everyone put a pair in her bag.” Her sorority sisters are semi-stunned. “Come on girls. Move.”
Glancing at my phone, I estimate I’m down to nine minutes. “Please. I can’t be late, and I still have to make it back before ten thirty.” I’m not above begging, so I play up what Will always called my puppy-dog eyes.
“Come on girls, let’s help her.”
Fortunately, almost every girl is wearing a skirt or dress, so the process is simple for them. Giggling and joking with each other, they slip out of their undergarments, dropping drawers into my bag.
One girl huffs out a laugh as she gets her thong caught on the heel of her sandal. “This is the weirdest.”
“But at least no one knows whose are whose.”
“I hope some cute guy gets mine.”
“Oh, fuck yes.”
“With my luck, it’ll be some perv.”
Another round of giggles.
If I leave soon, I can still make it. The brunette leader claps her hands. “Let’s go ladies! Everyone got theirs in the bag? Good!” She turns to me, a gleam in her eye. “I’m Cassie, by the way.”
“Elliot. And thank you so much for helping.” I shoot all the girls a grin. “I hate to steal your panties and run, but I really do have to go.” I zip up the bag and pull it onto my back.
Shouts ofgood luckandgo get ’emand a plethora of cheers follow me into the night as I dash from their sorority house and head for Hawthorne Hall. The bag bounces on my still-painful butt the entire way, as I never had a chance to adjust the straps to fit me. Up ahead, Taggart races up the porch steps and barges through the front door. Off to my right, the sound of heavy breathing comes closer.
My lungs scream while I raggedly attempt to draw more air into them to fuel my body. I’m in decent shape but running up this driveway is murder. My poor thighs and calf muscles cry in protest.
Out of nowhere, something hard connects with my bicep and before I can blink in shock, I’m shoved sideways and go down hard in the grass at the side of the pavement. I’m not hurt that I can tell, unless my pride counts, but the wind has been knocked from me. I glance up from where I’m inelegantly sprawled in the grass.
That bastard Bridger climbs the stairs to the porch, spins around, his eyes blazing, and growls out, “Fucking bitch.”
Shaken, I scramble to my hands and knees, then to my feet. I’ve got seconds left, I know it. Bridger enters the house and slams the door shut behind him.Shit. Fuck.I take off in a dead sprint, barrel up the stairs, and burst through the door, my chest heaving.
“Congrats, Elliot. You just made it in time.” Dane jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Everyone is downstairs waiting in the poker room.”
My chest burns with the last-minute exertion. “Okay.” I hold up a finger. “Gimme a sec.” I gulp in huge, deep breaths.
