Chapter 1

1

Troy

Iwant tonight to be fun.

The sort of wild, chaotic, fantastic fun that’s made Alpha Theta Mu’s parties legendary.

The sort of fun that makes all the organizing, planning, and decorating worth it.

The sort of fun that helps me forget.

In only briefs, I search through my dresser for shorts when there’s a knock at my door. “Just a sec,” I call as I hurry into a pair, then answer the door.

“Troy, Troy, Troy,” Colin says, hooking an arm around me while driving his opposite elbow into my stomach and pushing me toward the bed. I figure he’s going to surrender before we make it there, but he’s not satisfied until he’s got me on my back on the mattress.

He rises to his knees. “Fumble!” he calls out, bringing back memories of our time on our high school football team.

“Pretty sure I would have kept the ball.”

He searches around. “Then where’s it at?”

“Fucker,” I say, though he’s got me chuckling.

“Now, I’d be fine with you being up here without a shirt on if there was someone else in here with you, but this is just sad.”

“Not everyone’s as horny as you, man. And I had to finish up some homework on the first law of thermodynamics and wrap my head around internal energy and heat transfer.”

“Troy, no one’s gonna believe you were ever a jock if you talk like this,” he teases with a wink.

“Oh really? Even when I do this?” I flex my biceps, which makes him laugh. “Anyway, if I don’t get it done tonight, I’ll be working on it over the weekend to get it in on time on Monday.”

“Can’t everyone flash a smile and ask for an extension? Is that just me?”

“Pretty confident that only applies to athletes on the school teams,” I say, and his expression turns serious.

I was only trying to point out his privilege, not dredge up shit from the past, but I can tell he’s thinking about high school, when we both dreamed of playing for Peach State. Now he’s living the dream, and my life went another direction.

“Don’t be weird, Colin. I just meant that now that I’m a mere mortal, I’ve gotta get my work in on time.”

I’m worried he’s not going to drop it, so I’m glad when he does. “Well, get some fucking clothes on and get down there so you can get them back off again ASAP.”

I find my tee with the Greek letters of our frat across the front, and then Colin and I head downstairs to join in on the fun in the yard. We enjoy the dance remixes the DJ’s playing as Colin and I beat some guys from Alpha Phi Alpha at beer pong and chat with pledges over cornhole before befriending some girls from Phi Kappa. One named Debbie keeps ogling me and has made up one too many excuses to grab my biceps and pecs, enough that Colin and I exchange a glance. Some point soon, I’m gonna need to let her know I’m as gay as Colin is straight.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asks just as shouting nearby draws my attention.

Alpha Theta Mu parties are about fun. We don’t do drama. And we crack down on bad behavior. Hard. Toxic people can go find toxic spaces for that shit.

I recognize my housemate Marty’s voice even before I spot him by the fence along the yard. He’s getting in someone’s face, someone I can’t see yet, but there’s a nagging knot in my gut, some instinct warning me whom it might be, and then the nearby group shifts, revealing who’s earned his ire.

Fucking Atlas.

Of course it’s him.

“You have to go,” I distinctly hear Marty say.

“Chill out, man. What’s the big deal?” Atlas asks, which makes Marty’s face flush red.

I turn to my new Phi Kappa friend, who seems to have noticed my distraction.

“So, do you?” she says. “Have a girlfriend?”

“I’m gay,” I tell her, then politely excuse myself so I can deal with my stepbrother.

Marty doesn’t have experience with a guy like Atlas, not enough to keep his cool during a confrontation. This requires a seasoned pro, someone with years of practice dealing with my full-time stepbrother, part-time pain in the ass.

When I think of an atlas, I think of maps—coherent, useful, reliable. These aren’t my stepbrother’s attributes. He’s what you’d find if you opened the glove compartment and bits and pieces of a map exploded onto the passenger seat. And even if you went through the trouble to tape it all back together, you’d discover it wasn’t printed right—Phoenix in Alabama, London in Peru, Barcelona in Japan.

That’s Atlas McCallister.

Rogue. Reckless. Troublemaker. Having gone through high school with the guy, I can say they’re earned reputations but somewhat overblown. We weren’t so different. We both skipped class. We both didn’t take shit from anyone. And we both had our share of mistakes that got discussed around town.

Difference was, if I got in trouble, I played nice and displayed the requisite contrition. Atlas just did what he wanted and never gave a shit what anyone else thought. He was a loner, and if you were acting like a dick, he’d tell you to your face, which made a lot of people—especially teachers—see him as a fucking asshole. His temper didn’t help his reputation any either. To say it’s hot trivializes the volcanic rage he can explode into. Doesn’t happen often, but I’ve seen it when he’s gotten in a few fights, and it’s not the sort of thing anyone wants to be in the middle of, which is why Marty’s in his face.

As I approach the commotion, I say, “Hey, Marty…Marty! I got this. Okay?”

I rest my hand on his shoulder, and as he turns to me, I can feel him relax. He huffs and flashes me a threatening glare I read as, Tend to your stepbrother!

When he heads off, Atlas’s eyes widen, his green gaze shifting to me. “Do all the rushes get this kind of attention at Alpha Theta Mu?” He takes a sip from his Solo cup, and I can tell by his expression that he enjoyed just how pissed his presence made Marty.

“You know damn well rush week is over. Now, are you gonna make me kick you out?”

“Sounds like somebody’s mad because they were close to getting some action before they noticed me.”

He knows I’m gay, but apparently saw that girl flirting with me and wasn’t gonna miss a chance to give me hell.

“Maybe I’m curious why you’ve been watching me for the past ten minutes.” As I say that, I cringe, regretting that I took the bait.

“My friends aren’t here yet,” Atlas says, “so I had to entertain myself. And what better way than to watch my gay stepbro torturing some misguided woman? Oh, check out my big man muscles. You want tickets to the gun show? They’re free.” He’s not half-assing his impression either. I’m talking full-on stereotypical idiot jock voice and mannerisms, which he knows damn well doesn’t fit me at all. “Oh, please. Touch them all. Why would I spend all my time at the gym if I didn’t want everyone wanting a piece of this meat?”

My cheeks flush with heat. Even worse, I can tell by the wicked smirk on his face that he doesn’t mean it. He just wants to annoy me, and damned if it’s not working.

“Better to be you? I’m gonna find a wall at the back of a party and see what woman I can find to give an intriguing glance and pouty lips. Maybe she’ll take me home because she thinks she can rescue my sorry ass.”

As I finish my impersonation, he says, “I don’t pout.”

“If you say so. But I’m not gonna let you distract me from the issue—”

“You already did.” He beams with pride, running his fingers through his dirty-blond bangs like he’s using the move to accent his victory.

I get back to business. “As a junior at Peach State University, I trust you understand what the word ban means.”

“I was banned the rest of last year, and it’s a new year, so I get a fresh start, lil stepbro.” He takes another swig of his drink.

“Three months older won’t make you three inches taller, lil stepbro.”

He smirks at the familiar exchange, one we’ve swapped variations of plenty of times since our parents married.

“Isn’t your friend Colin studying law? Maybe he can read the fine print over my banning and let me know where I stand. Or you can just get some of your jock friends to escort me out of here like you did last time?”

“I’m happy to escort you out myself now.” I sling an arm over his shoulders.

Atlas sure knows how to get under my skin. Reminds me of when we were in high school, of every time I wanted to punch that smug grin off his face. Or put him in a choke hold when he’d find just the right dig to spear into my chest. Hell, there were times when just listening to him breathe or eat Cap’n Crunch made me want to snap.

Atlas wraps his arm around my back. “You remember when you lost that bet senior year and had to wear those little lacy panties?”

“What?” I’m totally thrown. Not that I’m confused about what he’s referring to. Getting under each other’s skin had always included this hyper-competitive streak. Races down the street, basketball matches in the driveway, video games that ended in broken controllers, senseless bets—we had plenty of chances to demonstrate who was superior. Perhaps the lingering tension between us has to do with the fact that none of these challenges ever determined a clear victor.

That said, I still don’t get why he’s bringing up the panty bet.

“You know the ones I’m talking about,” Atlas whispers. “Black silk, with that lacy pattern at the waistband…”

My cheeks are warm again, and I glance around to see if anyone is in earshot.

“What about them?” I ask through gritted teeth.

“I think they might be riding up your ass tonight.” He finally makes eye contact with me, a wicked grin overtaking his face.

A swirling fire burns in my chest, so hot I have to keep myself from growling like a dog.

I can tell he’s living for it.

“Come on,” he says. “Taylor and Brenner really wanted to come. They’ll be here in a few. You can’t punish them for my mistake.”

“They aren’t being punished. They can still come.”

“Yeah, but how are they gonna have any fun without me?” He wears a cocky expression, but I can’t really judge him for it since I’d feel the same about my friends. “Can’t you just take pride in knowing Alpha Theta Mu puts on the best parties and let me make them even better by being in attendance? You know everything is better with me.”

I ignore his cockiness, or maybe it’s just easier to stomach with years of practice under my belt. “I’d be fine with letting you be if I knew you weren’t gonna start any trouble like you did last spring.”

He scowls. Something about bringing up that fight agitates him, and I have to admit, I like knowing I’m getting to him the way he gets to me.

The gist of the aforementioned fight is that a drunk Atlas decided it was a wise move to start trouble with a linebacker from the school team. It took Colin and me to break them up, and the incident left a few of the guys in my house unwilling to see my stepbro again.

“If you tell your dogs to stand down,” he says, “I’ll be a good boy. Promise.”

Atlas and I have a complicated relationship. Yeah, sometimes I really want to strangle him, but he’s my family. It’s my Achilles’ heel, and he must know this; otherwise, he wouldn’t be asking to stay. Besides, he’s not hurting anyone, and he clearly only wants to have a good time with his friends. But I know him. He’s a live wire that could spark at any moment.

I get it because I’ve got my own rage too.

It’s one of the reasons why, despite how much he can unnerve me, as much as we can give each other hell, on some level, we get each other.

I weigh the pros and cons in my head to see if it’s worth the risk or the shit I’ll get from the guys to make this fly.

I release his shoulders and step away from him, folding my arms as I look him over to make my decision. “You promise you’ll be on your best behavior?”

“Do you want me to pinky swear on it?”

Little ass. I try to do you a favor and—

I haven’t even said the words, but he must read them on my face since he quickly says, “I’m kidding. Yes, I’ll be good, Troy. Now please go tell your posse that I’m not signing autographs tonight.”

I turn to see some of the gang from the house eyeing Atlas and whispering to each other. They look as irritated about his presence as Marty was.

“You owe me,” I tell him.

He studies my expression. He knows my submission isn’t free. “What are you thinking I owe you?”

“You need to text Mom, and—”

“You mean Ellie? She’s your mom, not mine.”

As if I need to hear that for the thousandth time.

“She said you bailed on dinner this Sunday, and you already bailed last time.”

He considers this. “Can I owe you something else?”

“No. That’s what you owe me.”

His eye roll is all the confirmation I need. I know this guy, and he might be reckless and a fuckup, he might not give a shit about much, but just like with all our little competitions since we first met, he always plays fair.

“Don’t make me regret this, Atlas.”

“Try not to celebrate having this over me too much because you know you’re gonna need me too one day, and you’re not going to want me rubbing it in your face.”

Valid point. Part of being stepsiblings is being tied to each other in a way most people who have these complicated feelings toward one another don’t have to be. Whether that’s covering each other’s asses when we were getting up to no good in high school, or helping out in emergencies, we’ve accepted we’re in each other’s lives, even though it wasn’t something we had any say in.

I’m about to walk away, but then stop. “Oh, I meant to say, you got a little something on your…” I indicate his ass, and he glances over his shoulder. “Sorry,” I add. “I thought I still saw part of my name written on your left cheek.” Since he brought up the panties, it seems only fair to revel in my own victory from another of our ridiculous high school wagers.

He smiles, but his eyes narrow—his expression when he’s trying to hide how much I’ve affected him. Whether he likes it or not, I get to him as much as he gets to me.

Savoring the victory of my final dig, I head over to the guys to manage PR so I can get back to the party…

Because tonight is supposed to be fun.