Chapter Thirteen RHETT

It’s around nine o’clock when the party is finally rolling along at a decent clip. There’s plenty of alcohol flowing. People brought their own. Plus, Brooks has an older brother who supplied us with a couple of kegs that are currently inside the crumbling old building that used to be part of the campus back in the day or some shit like that.

I don’t know much about this school, but that’s the story I’ve always heard. It’s also where the annual Halloween party is held, which is epic. I went to last year’s and got drunk off my ass.

“Where are all the girls?” Brooks grumbles into his red Solo cup of beer.

I’m tempted to tap the bottom of his cup and make it spill all over his face, but I don’t do it. I’m not that much of an asshole. “You know how girls are. They take ten hours to look like they just rolled out of bed.”

“Wish one of them would roll out of my bed.” Brooks Crosby is a grumpy motherfucker. He’s always complaining about something, which I find hilarious considering he’s richer than God—but not the Lancasters—and realistically shouldn’t have a single thing in his life to complain about. I’ve never seen someone so spoiled and so fucking cranky about it all the time.

I think that’s why he’s on the football team. It gives him something legitimate to do—and complain about. And while I’m not big on people who gripe all the time, I do care about my friend because he’s as loyal as they come and fast as fuck on the field. He’s my number one wide receiver and we’ve made more touchdowns together than me and anyone else. Our coach loves us.

The girls love us—well, me. Brooks? Not as much.

I blame that fact on his mouth and all the shitty things it says. Since I’m pretty much the same way, I figure this is why we’re such good friends.

“You start flattering them instead of giving them grief all the time and you’d find one,” I tell him, sipping from my cup of beer. It’s mostly foam and getting warmer by the second, but it’ll do for now. It helps knowing that if we want to get really fucked up, I have a stash of liquor bottles hidden behind a pine tree.

Not that I’m looking to get fucked up tonight. I have priorities, and at the top of my list is one Willow Lancaster. I have a feeling she’s no into sloppy drunk guys. Does she even drink? Or is she holier than thou when it comes to booze and drugs?

I won’t touch drugs, especially during football season. Our coaching staff has a zero- tolerance policy and I’m not about to risk it. First, my dad would murder me on the spot. Second, my mom and grandpa and everyone else on the Callahan side would murder me if my father didn’t do it first. I’m not about to ruin my chances. I have plans, and all of them have to do with going pro. Keeping up the legacy is important to me.

This is why I treat my body like a goddamn temple and work out morning, noon and night. So much exercise means I consume a ton of calories, and I just love when the girls say, “where do you put it all?” when they watch me eat.

I exert it all out on the field, ladies,is what I want to tell them but I don’t. They don’t get it. Well, some of the girls who are also athletes do, and I tried to date a couple of them—not at the same time of course—but I ended it with all of them. Always felt like we were in competition against each other and I hated it.

Weird.

Then there’s Brooks who smokes blunts and hits the occasional bong. Currently he’s going through an edible stage and he’s high at this very moment, but never worried about it. His family has gone to this school for generations and he knows if he was caught doing drugs, nothing would happen to him. His dad would throw money at the school and they’d have a new building under construction in no time. They’d name that bad boy Crosby too.

Wonder what it’s like, to be that untouchable? I come from a privileged background, and I never deny it. I thought I had it pretty good growing up, but then I came here and realized how we live is different compared to some of the people I go to school with.

They come from big money. Generational wealth, meaning they’re part of a long line of rich assholes who managed to make a fortune in the early days and the generations that came afterward managed to not fuck it up and spend it all.

Mom comes from wealth. My grandpa Drew Callahan’s dad was rich as hell too, and none of us wanted for anything growing up, but there are things people do here that we’d never think of asking for, let alone receive. Hell, there was a senior last year who brought her maid with her everywhere she went. In class. At lunch in the dining hall. During P.E. That poor lady was at this rich bitch’s beck and call at all hours of the day and night, and I’ve never seen anything like it.

“Here comes the Lancaster girls,” Brooks suddenly announces, his tone snide.

I stand at attention at hearing that last name, scanning the many faces in search of the prettiest face I’ve ever seen. Ah, there she is.

I’m struck dumb for a moment by her beauty, my chest aching because seeing her steals my breath. I rub at the spot between my pecs absently, taking her in. She’s wearing baggy jeans and a cropped black sweatshirt that shows off her tiny waist to perfection. I bet my hands could span it, she’s so slender there. And curvy everywhere else where it counts. Big tits. Flared hips. Cute black sneakers on her feet. Stylish like every other girl at this party but somehow, none of them do it for me like this one does.

My gaze goes to her face. Her long, dark hair is straight and flowing past her shoulders, and she brushes a few wayward strands away from her cheek, smiling at something her cousin whispers in her ear.

“You don’t like them?” I ask Brooks when I realize he’s waiting for me to say something.

“Who, Willow and Iris? They’re all right. I’ve known them forever. Our families have stories of me being in a playpen with Iris when we were infants and I pulled her hair so she nailed me in the nads with her foot.”

“Seriously?” I send him a skeptical look, but he just shrugs.

“That’s the story our moms tell.”

“You two are friends?” I’ve never seen Brooks and Iris hang out together. Not once.

“I usually avoid her at all costs.”

“And why is that?”

“She’s fucking terrifying.” Brooks’s voice is dead serious and I can tell he means it. “She’s too beautiful.”

“I don’t see it.” Now it’s my turn to shrug, my gaze sticking on Willow. Some guy approaches them and her smile is friendly, just before the guy yanks her into a hug. A low growl leaves me and I clutch the Solo cup so tightly, I’m worried it’s going to crack and spill everywhere.

I need to chill out.

“You don’t think Iris is beautiful?”

“I mean yeah, she’s pretty. Definitely hot.” I shrug then take a sip of my beer while I watch the guy back away from Willow and Iris with a wave before he takes off. “Not my type though.”

“I thought everyone was your type.”

“Not blondes.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not attracted to them. I like dark-haired girls.”

Brooks follows my line of vision, figuring out that I’m watching Willow. At least that’s what it seems like, thanks to the smug look that appears on his smug face. “Like Willow.”

“She’s all right.” I play it off, but he sees right through me.

“You’re watching her like you’re trying to see what she’s got on underneath her clothes.” He sounds amused.

“I’d love to know.”

“Wouldn’t every other guy at this party.” Brooks is grumbling again, sipping from his cup of beer and grimacing. “This shit is awful.”

“We could crack open the whiskey.” I hesitate, mentally running through what he said to me only a second ago. “And what do you mean, every guy at this party wants to know what she’s got on underneath her clothes?”

“They’re all hot for her, dumbass. She came back to school with the plump red lips and plump round tits and they’re all salivating for a chance at her,” Brooks explains, his expression telling me that he thinks I’m an idiot for not noticing.

Guess I was too busy noticing her that I didn’t see everyone else was doing the same thing as me.

“Who else wants her?” I sound indignant. I am indignant. I never once considered that someone else was interested in her. The moment I laid eyes on Willow Lancaster, all I could think was, I want that one.

Sounds like a jackass thought, but I never claimed that I wasn’t a jackass.

“How much time do you have?” He chuckles, but the moment he notices my glare, he shuts up. “Come on, Rhett. She’s been gone for a year and then sweeps back onto campus looking hotter than ever. You didn’t think anyone else noticed?”

“Did you notice?”

“She’s not my type.”

“Right. You like violent blondes.” I grin.

Brooks grunts, polishing off his beer in one big swallow. “Let’s get fucked up.”

“No way.” I shake my head. “I’m working toward a pleasant buzz and that’s it.”

“It’ll take you fifty cups of this shitty beer to even feel it, so good luck to you. I’m digging out the whiskey.” Brooks starts walking away and I call out to him.

“You remember where I put it?”

He gives me the bird and nods while he keeps walking.

Okay then.

A group of girls approach me, all of them giggly and barely able to speak. They’re younger. Juniors? Maybe even sophomores and I humor them for a bit, letting them ask their dumb questions about football. It’s painfully obvious they know nothing about the sport and it’s fine. That’s cool. But I don’t want to be the one who teaches them.

“Rowan, hey!” I shout when I spot Willow’s younger brother.

Row’s entire face lights up when he sees I’m the one who yelled his name and he comes right over to where I’m standing, clutching a full cup of beer and wearing a big ol’ grin on his face. “Hey, Rhett. How’s it going?”

“Good, buddy. How are you?” I slap him on the back extra hard, making him take a step forward, the beer sloshing over the rim of his cup. “How’s practice going?”

Since taking over as the JV QB, Row is looking good. He’s got a decent throw that’ll get better with work and he’s fast. Meaning, if he doesn’t spot anyone to throw the ball to, he has no qualms tucking it against his chest and trying to run it in himself.

I love a guy who’s willing to take risks, and Row is definitely a risk-taker.

“Oh my God, Rowan,” one of the girls squeaks, rushing up to him and throwing her arms around his neck. He stands there helplessly while she squeezes him, though he never puts his arms around her in return. He’s too worried trying to save his beer from spilling any more. “I love watching you play.”

I’ve heard he’s got his own fan club during practice, not that I ever see it. Our daily practices are held at two different fields, with two different sets of coaches. Last year we were all put together because we didn’t have as many players, but now?

Every motherfucker who goes to this school seems to want to play now after our fantastic season last year, even a few girls. The JV team has a female kicker and she’s phenomenal. Guess she used to play soccer but got sick of the drama on her team.

“Hey thanks,” Row says, flashing what is most likely a pantymelting smile at the girl who suddenly looks like she might faint.

Huh. I mean, the kid is a Lancaster. I get it. But I didn’t realize he had that much rizz going on.

I try to make small talk with him, hoping to steer the conversation toward his sister, but the girls keep interrupting me, all three of them eager to gain Row’s attention by asking him lots of questions. I’m all but forgotten, which isn’t normal for me, but I’m cool with it in this instance. I like Row. Plus, it’s smart for me to get on his good side, considering who his sister is.

I leave them be and start wandering, taking my opportunity when I see the familiar blonde and brunette standing close to each other, talking excitedly.

“Ladies.” They both jerk their heads up at my greeting, a knowing smile spreading across Iris’s face while Willow just stands there and stares at me mutely. Damn, she’s cute. “Glad you showed up.”

“We wouldn’t miss this party for the world, Rhett,” Iris says, her blue eyes dancing with mischief. “As a matter of fact, I was just telling Willow about what happened last year during this party.”

Oh great. May as well own it. “When I got shit-faced?”

Iris bursts out laughing. “Yes. You were hilarious. Will there be a repeat performance this year?”

“Hell no.” I shake my head. “I’m not interested in getting wasted again.”

“Why not?” This question comes from Willow.

I turn my attention onto her, our gazes meeting. Locking. I stare into her beautiful eyes, deciding to be truthful. “I don’t need to make an ass of myself tonight. I’d rather work on impressing you.”

Iris nudges Willow in the side with her elbow, offering her a small smile. Willow steps aside, sending her cousin a vaguely dirty look. All of this gives me hope because it’s got me thinking they’ve been talking about me, and that’s a good thing.

I rub my hand along my jaw, contemplating Willow while Iris rattles on about something—I don’t even know what because I’m not listening. I’m too entranced with the beautiful girl standing in front of me, her wide-eyed gaze shifting to the left, then the right. Like she might be looking for someone?

Someone else?

Fuck, that kills me.

“You want something to drink?” I ask, my voice low, not wanting to stop Iris from talking, which she doesn’t.

Willow makes a cute little face, her nose wrinkling. “I don’t really care for beer.”

“You want something else?”

“You have something else?”

Iris stops talking mid-sentence, her brows drawing together. “Are you two even listening to me?”

“Nope.”

“No.”

We answer at the same time, sharing a smile and Iris rolls her eyes.

“Should I leave you two alone, then?” She starts walking before I get a chance to say, hell yes, but Willow grabs hold of Iris’s hand, stopping her from going.

“No. Stay for a few more minutes.” Willow sends me a look and I’m a goner. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me? “Rhett was just offering us something to drink.”

“Something besides the shitty keg beer?” Iris asks hopefully.

“I’m offended.” I rest my hand against my chest, which makes Willow giggle while Iris reaches out and pushes my shoulder, though I don’t move.

Wish Willow would’ve touched me, but I’m patient. That will definitely happen.

Hopefully tonight.