22

 

 

The last week of the month has me and Cameron squeezing in as many seasonal activities as we can.

First on the agenda was a visit to the pumpkin patch—one a good forty miles out of town to avoid running into anyone we knew.

Dressed in matching flannels like one of those adorable color-coordinating couples, we took as many photographs as we could. Some were Christmas-card-worthy portraits, wide smiles amongst an abundance of gourds and hay stacks. But most were absolutely ridiculous. The pic I snapped of Cam holding two ginormous pumpkins in front of his chest like a massive pair of orange boobs had us keeling over with laughter.

And the one of me with a leg wrapped scandalously around a scarecrow, a seductive finger pressed to my bottom lip?

Yeah...that is not going on social media.

This past Saturday night, we took Bev and Carlos to Midnight Massacre Haunted House. Personally, I wasn't a big fan of the constant jump scares. Every time a creeper with a bloody chainsaw or some other tetanus-infested weapon popped out, I screamed like a banshee and latched onto Cam's arm in fear.

I'm pretty sure I permanently bruised his bicep.

Bev and 'Los, on the other hand, had the time of their freaking lives. The pair of horror junkies laughed and talked like old pals, barely even acknowledging Cam and me the entire outing. I swear I saw them holding hands a few times, but it was too dark to be certain.

Match made in heaven, those two.

Another pair of kindred spirits we discovered that night?

Bev and Crimson.

The tween was utterly captivated by my roommate...a little intrigued, a little scared, and a lot impressed that she'd finally met someone who wears more costume makeup on a daily basis than she does.

Overall, the haunted house trip was a success. Barring the vivid nightmares I've been having for the past three nights, of course.

And so that brings us to this evening—the final celebration of the spooky season. It's the biggest party of the semester. A wild shindig the boys have been prepping for all week long.

The Treehouse Terror Party.

It's gotten so popular over the years, they've started limiting the number of guests allowed. Vaughn told me I could invite a few friends and he'd make sure their names got on the 'VIP List'.

Fancy, huh?

Older bro being the BMOC has some sweet perks, and Mariana and Crimson are officially my +2 for the night.

Mari's and my soccer practice ran super late (Happy Halloween to you, too, Coach Addy), so by the time we show up, the party's already in full-swing.

Earth-shattering music shakes the ground, courtesy of a purple-haired D.J. getting funky over on one side of the yard. Glowing jack-o-lanterns float in the pool, orange twinkle lights are wrapped around tree trunks and draped throughout branches, and the Main House is completely decked out with dusty cobwebs, giant spiders, and boarded-up windows.

"Wow."

It's a simultaneous reaction from all three of us.

The place looks insane.

And don't even get me started on the costumes! Holy shit the time, money, and effort that must've been put into some of these elaborate get-ups.

Windhaven students take their All Hallows' Eve outfits verrrry seriously.

I took the easy route: a simple bumble bee costume I've had since I was a freshman in high school. Mariana scoured the leftovers at Party Central earlier this afternoon, somehow managing to find a Tinkerbell costume in her size. Pixie-dust fairy suits her perfectly.

And Crimson?

Well...she's damn near unrecognizable.

We're walking through the masses of people when Ellie spots us. She's dressed up as Belle from Beauty and the Beast, her blue-and-white dress flowing gracefully around her ankles as she skips over.

"Y'all made it!" she gushes. "Isn't this awesome?"

"Beyond awesome," I agree before glancing over her shoulder. "Where's the Beast?"

"Liam's around here somewhere." Her eyes roll towards the starry skies. "But he decided to go the Gaston route instead. Claims he's more 'badass' than the Beast." With a laugh, she lifts her wicker basket filled with books into the air. "I'll take what I can get with that boy."

I grin as she steps back and places a hand on her hip, studying us one by one.

"Okay, my turn to get a good look at y'all's costumes. Let's see...We have a honey bee. How cute! And a fairy. Tinkerbell, right?"

Mari nods and does a little twirl in her sparkly green mini-dress.

"Adorbs!" Ellie turns to the final girl in our line-up. "And last we have a, uh, a..." Her forehead crinkles. "Did you not have time to find a costume, hon? Not a problem! I can scrounge one up for you real quick, if you'll just follow m—"

"This is my costume," Crimson interrupts. "It's about the most outlandish ensemble I could think of."

"It really is," I confirm for the still-perplexed Ellie. "For her."

I'm probably the only person here who understands that. To the everyday observer, my roommate looks like your stereotypical college girl. But in Crimson Land, this is out of her comfort zone.

Way out of it.

Her dark hair is straight and shiny, no wigs or colored extensions to be seen. She's got on an oversized t-shirt, black leggings, and a pair of trendy brown boots.

The most extreme part is the make-up, or rather, the lack thereof. With nothing but a light coat of mascara and a hint of blush, I feel like I'm seeing her actual face for the first time. She is truly gorgeous, high cheekbones and enviable eyebrows on display, but this is Meredith, not Crimson.

"I'm a sorority girl," she explains to Ellie as she tugs at the giant tee. "One of the normies. Like you."

"Crimson." I nudge her side.

"What? Was that offensive?" She looks mystified. "I didn't mean it that way."

"No worries! I think you make a great sorority girl." Always the pacifist, El gives her a sweet smile. "I'll leave you three to enjoy yourselves, but here's some advice since y'all are first timers. One—stay away from the pool. Two—apple bobbing? Just say no. Last thing you want to do is stick your head in a bucket of murky liquid that fifty other people have already had their faces in. Makes me gag just thinkin' about it." She grimaces before continuing. "And three—take it slow when it comes to the alcohol. It's easy to go overboard, especially at this party. Y'all have fun!"

And with that final tidbit of guidance, she scampers off.

Left to navigate the event on our own, the three of us exchange overwhelmed glances.

"Um...what first?" Mariana asks, her voice an intimidated squeak.

Crimson shrugs, I mumble out "good question", and Mari scratches the crown of her head.

We're a trio of naive freshmen, rendered temporarily paralyzed by the large crowds and deafening music.

I'm scanning our surroundings when a comforting sight appears.

"Come on." I grab their hands and give them a sharp tug. "When in doubt, hit the refreshment table."

We head towards the food station, fingers interlocked in tight grips so no one gets washed away in the sea of drunks. I lead the way through the maze of intoxicated witches and sexy cats, my eyes bouncing from one party-goer to the next, searching for someone in particular...

Cameron.

But I'm not supposed to be looking for him.

In fact, I promised I wouldn't.

We both agreed it was too risky to interact tonight.

It's already hard enough to act casual around everyone, to pretend my relationship with him is no different than those I have with the rest of my brother's teammates.

Ha.

That could not be farther from the truth.

I'm not affected in the slightest when Diego cracks a dirty joke and sends a wink my way, but when Cameron does it?

I melt into a puddle.

And when Parker accidentally grazes his fingertips against mine when handing me a cup or plate? No reaction whatsoever.

But just the smallest touch from Cam—a bump of the shoulder as he walks past, a foot brushing mine under the table—and I'm aching for more.

I'm talking a core-throbbing, thighs-squeezed-together, need to go home and change my underwear type of ache.

It requires a clear head and a heavy dose of self-control to remain poised in those situations, so tonight, with alcohol flowing and the reckless energy that accompanies late nights and crazy parties...it's a recipe for disaster.

For us being found out.

My thoughts come to a halt when we reach the buffet of goodies and booze. It's huge—a train of tables covered in snacks and punch bowls that must stretch thirty feet long.

"Ooh. What is this?" Mariana points to a neon green substance in a tiny plastic cup. "Is it slime? Like Slime Time Live? I used to love that show!"

Oh sweet summer child.

"It's not slime, Mari. Those are Jello shots. This isn't an after-school Nickelodeon special. We're in college," I tease as I hand one to her and Crimson. "Here. These should loosen us up a little bit."

Mariana squints at the gelatin concoction, pokes it with her pinky finger, then lifts it to her mouth and dips her head back. She shakes the cup vigorously, but the shot remains put.

"Watch this." Crimson uses her tongue to go around the Jello, breaking the seal and loosening the jiggly substance. Miss Jello Shot Connoisseur finishes up the demonstration by tossing the party favor down her throat and offering a simple shrug. "Easy as that."

"Ahh, okay. I get it now. My turn." Mari mimics Crimson's tongue technique with success, but then she hesitates. "Exactly how alcoholic is this? I'm not a big drinker...and by that, I mean I've never had more than a sip or two of wine at a wedding."

"You'll be fine. Like Ellie said, just pace yourself." I hold my own shot out. "Let's do it together. Count of three?"

Just as Mari nods and starts the countdown, Crimson yells at us to wait. From her small cross-body bag, she pulls out a camera and lifts it eye-level.

I laugh at the familiar sight.

She's been on a serious film kick lately, creating unique (read: terrifying) documentary-style videos. Makes sense she'd want to get some footage from a party of this sort.

"Okay." She hits record and gives us a quick nod. "Proceed."

I wave at the camera before turning back to Mariana. We cross arms, tip our heads back, and send those tasty shots down the hatchet.

"Mhmmm! That's so good." Mari's eyes are wide, shimmering with a kind of intensity I've never seen on her before. "Another?"

"Another!"

And that's when our crazy night officially begins.

The next hour is a testament to why this party reigns supreme above all others. Why it's more anticipated than fraternity formals, sorority soirees, and even "Drinkin' Down Dublin"—Windhaven's wildest downtown event of the year.

I'd imagine it has something to do with the sheer amount of activities going on. This isn't your typical 'stand around and socialize' type of get together; there are tons of games and contests scattered about the property. I spy the notorious apple bobbing, a mummy wrapping competition, and a piñata station.

At first glance, these seem like the typical entertainment you'd find at any ol' Halloween party, but a closer look reveals everything's been "college-fied".

The green apples are floating in a bucket of vodka, not water, which might make it slightly more sanitary than Ellie thought. Whoever loses the mummy wrapping contest is also doomed to lose an article of clothing in some sort of strip-tease twist. And instead of the piñatas busting open with gummies and chocolates, they produce a downpour of miniature liquor bottles.

The whole thing is seriously impressive, and that includes the top-notch drink selection. Everything's fruity and delicious and goes down easily—no cheap beer or bottom-shelf liquor to be found. Pretty soon Mariana's bouncing up and down.

"I have to pee!"

"So do I," I say before downing one more lemon-flavored shot. My vision spins for a moment, the alcohol finally starting to kick in. "Let's go."

The two of us follow a tombstone that reads Bathrooms This Way —>.

We pass by the pool and then the D.J. booth. Diego's in the center of the dance floor, dressed like a pirate as he performs a bunch of moves for a captivated audience. When he busts out a moonwalk almost as smooth as M.J.'s, the crowd lets out a rowdy cheer.

"Gahh. Look at the line." Mari points at the long queue of people waiting to go inside the Greenhouse and relieve themselves.

Luckily, we only wait a minute or two before a knight in shining armor comes to the rescue.

Literally.

Weston looks exactly like a medieval castle bro about to slay a dragon. He approaches the never-ending line and makes an announcement.

"News-fucking-flash: Sigma Pi's got bathrooms, too!"

When he jerks his fake sword to the right, half the people ahead of us quickly take off in that direction.

Mariana and I are about to join them when 'Sir Weston' suddenly catches my eye.

"Wait up, Little Steel. C'mere." He coils a finger. "And bring your friend."

As we jog up to him, he pulls a small and shiny object from his pocket.

"Frat toilets are fucking gross. Here." He shoves it in my hand. "Spare key to the Redhouse. You two can use my bathroom."

"Really?" Mari asks. "But the bouncer dude at the front gate told us everything except the Greenhouse was off-limits?"

"Yeah. Technically that's true," Weston confirms before giving us a coy wink. "But not for the soccer captain's sis and her guests. Royal treatment for you guys."

I close a fist around the cold metal and smile. "Thanks."

"No prob. Just give the key back to Lex or Rayne or whoever when you get a chance."

We whisk off towards the Redhouse, and (once again) I thank my lucky stars I'm related to Vaughn.

Maybe I can convince him to be a Super Senior so I can enjoy one more year of preferential treatment.

After stepping inside the home, we notice two closed doors on either side of the living room.

"Which one is his?" Mari asks.

"Uhhh." I slant my head. "Not sure. I've never been in here before."

"Well, we have a 50/50 chance."

She waves an erratic hand between our two options before abruptly stopping on the left door.

"Aha! That one," she insists with unfounded confidence. "That's got to be the one."

We twist the knob and enter. The bedroom is cold and pitch black, the sole window covered by a thick curtain. As our eyes start to adjust, a rustling on the bed gets my attention. To my surprise, there's a shadowy figure on the mattress. Actually, no...

Make that two shadowy figures.

Light from a lamp in the kitchen slowly pours into the room, exposing more than just dark outlines.

A topless girl with cropped brown hair.

A shirtless boy, pale and toned, underneath her. His head rests against a pillow, eyes closed and jaw clenched tight. His large hands cup the girl's breasts as she grinds against his lap.

Oh shit.

Mari was wrong.

So, so wrong.

This isn't Weston's room; it's Zion's.

And we just walked in on something we shouldn't have.

I wrap my fingers around Mari's wrist and try to yank her backwards, but she's rooted to the spot like a deer in headlights.

"Let's go," I whisper as quietly as possible.

I'd really like to exit the room before things, er, escalate further or we're caught, but no such luck on both accounts. The girl dips one hand beneath Z's waistband, stroking his erection beneath his black boxers. When he lets out a raspy growl of pleasure, Mariana emits a gasp that instantly gives us away.

The nearly-naked pair snap their heads our direction, a high-pitched "what the hell?!" coming from the brunette.

"Sorry!" I blurt out. "Sorry. We didn't mean to—"

"Why are you in here?" she shrieks before turning her angry gaze on Zion. "You told me no one would be in here."

"We were invited." I hold up the key as evidence.

She glares daggers at the boy she's straddling. "And exactly how many girls did you invite back to your room? How many?!"

"Wait, no. Not by him," I try to explain, but she doesn't listen as she continues berating Z.

"What's going on here?" One of her eyes starts to twitch, a crazy-looking smile spreading over her lips a moment later. "You're not cheating on me, are you?!"

"First of all, I met you half an hour ago, so how the fuck would I be cheating?" He raises a brow. "And I didn't invite them."

He echoes my claims, but she's not having it.

"Sure you didn't!" With a huff of disbelief, she grabs her shirt and tugs it on. "I'd heard it through the grapevine that you were an asshole, but apparently you're a manwhore, too!"

Before anyone can utter another syllable, she flips him off and scrambles off the bed. As she storms out of the room, she purposely bumps against my shoulder as hard as she can and calls me a 'dirty home-wrecker'.

Chill out, psychopath.

I hear the front door slam and give Zion a guilty glance. "We thought this was Weston's room. Honest mistake."

"Whatever," he grunts out. "Thanks a lot."

"I know you're being sarcastic, but you probably should be thanking us," I say. "We helped you dodge a bullet. She seemed a little...unhinged."

"Uh, yeah." He lets out a sharp laugh. "You think I didn't realize she's borderline insane? That's exactly why I brought her back here. Crazies are wild as shit in bed."

Ick. What a pig.

She was right about one thing. He's most definitely a manwhore.

He flops down on his bed, eyelids squeezing shut as he lets out a long exhale. A beat later, he opens one eye and narrows it at me. "Mind getting the fuck out?"

I raise my hands in the air. "You don't have to ask us twice. We're leaving."

"And next time, learn how to fucking knock."

His attitude is really starting to get on my nerves. I open my mouth to respond, but Mariana beats me to it, finally ending her stunned-silence.

"H-how about next time you learn how to lock your door?"

Her snarky reply comes out a little shaky, but it's effective. He sits up in bed, acknowledging her for the first time. He squints, his annoyed scowl transforming into a smirk as he recognizes her.

"That you, Good Girl? Took a night off of studying? Color me shocked."

She scrunches her nose as he gives her a once-over.

"Nice dress."

"Thanks?" She sounds skeptical of his compliment, and rightly so.

"Kinda provocative for you, isn't it?" His moonlight gaze lands on her exposed upper thighs. He bites down on his bottom lip and grins. "A little too sexy for Miss Prim and Proper."

"Sexy?" Mariana quickly tugs the hem down and shakes her head adamantly. "No it's not!"

"I don't make the rules, Good Girl. It's sexy as hell, and that's an objective fact." An intense heat suddenly burns in his eyes, voice noticeably deeper as he speaks again. "Fuck, it'd look even sexier crumpled up on my floo—"

Before he can finish that sentence, I force my friend out of the room.

I think she's had more than enough "real-world" experience for tonight.

"Are you okay?" I ask as we head inside Weston's room and shut the door. "Do we need to get you blacked-out so you can forget everything you just witnessed?"

"It was a bit much, but I think I'll be fine. Just slightly scarred." She smiles before an inquisitive look flashes across her face. "I didn't realize how attractive he is."

With one hand on the bathroom door, I stop dead in my tracks.

"Who?"

"Zion."

"What?!" I shoot her a pointed look. "Mari, don't even go down that road."

"I'm not going down any road; I'm just stating the obvious! He's a good-looking boy."

"Alrighty then, no need to get you wasted. You've already got total booze-brain if you're getting all giddy over freaking Zion."

"I am not giddy!" she quickly exclaims. "You know I can't stand him, Sydney. He's awful."

Her words say one thing, but those crimson-colored cheeks convey another message entirely.

"You're blushing," I point out.

"No I'm not!"

Ducking under my outstretched arm, she goes into the bathroom and locks me out so I can't grill her any longer.

But it's too late; the damage has already been done.

Her bad-boy fever is blatant and blooming.

Looks like I'm gonna have to keep an eye on her for the next couple years...

After finishing up in the bathroom—the clean and private bathroom!—we rejoin the party.

Crimson's hanging out by the refreshment table, still glued to that camera. We're a few feet behind her when suddenly she speaks.

"Sydney," she says, her back to us. "Or Mariana. It doesn't matter. I need a shot of one of you pouring some punch."

"Does she have eyes in the back of her head or something?" Mari whispers. "How did she know we were here?"

I lift both shoulders. "No clue. I've learned to stop questioning the unusual when it comes to Crimson," I mutter before volunteering for the close-up. "I'll get some punch. I need a break from downing shots anyway."

Judging by the Beware! Pumpkin Punch is Deceivingly Deadly! notecard leaning against the glass bowl, I get the feeling this isn't much of a "break", but oh well. Using the giant ladle, I scoop three large helpings of orange liquid into my plastic cup. Crimson films each pour from a different angle, then tells me to take a long sip.

I'm lifting the drink to my lips when someone bumps my arm.

Hard.

"Ugh!"

I frown at the liquid splatter coating my chest and shoulder before turning to confront the culprit.

I'm expecting a super drunk frat guy, or maybe Zion's crazy lady seeking some sort of vengeance, but no.

It's someone worse.

Julie.

Clad in a frosty-blue tube dress and a sparkling tiara, she looks every bit the ice princess she is.

But, to my complete surprise, she's not sneering down at me. She's also not gloating or cackling with her pack of Goal Girl clones behind her.

Actually, she looks genuinely apologetic.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't see you, Sydney." Grabbing a few napkins off the table, she starts dabbing the sticky liquid off my skin. "Forgive me?"

"Oh, um..." I'm stunned into silence as she wipes the droplets of spilled punch off the sides of my cup. "Sure?"

"There. Good as new." After tossing the damp napkins into a trash can, she gives me a radiant smile. "Love the costume, by the way. Have a good night!"

And with that, she heads towards the photobooth behind the Main House.

I blink a few times, still confused as she fades into the distance.

That was strange?

Before I can analyze it further, someone else is behind me, commenting on my get-up.

"Baby Blue the bumble bee?"

That deep, sexy drawl instantly turns to my insides to mush. I pivot around, lips rising involuntarily as I watch Cameron fill up a red cup with punch.

"Not gonna lie, I hate those black-and-yellow motherfuckers," he continues, his sharp profile highlighted under the flame of a tiki torch. "When I was a kid, a bee stung me on the inside of my lip. That shit hurt like hell, but I wouldn't hesitate to let you sting me."

"Careful what you wish for. My stinger's sharp as a knife," I warn with a teasing laugh. "And what exactly are you supposed to be?"

I raise a brow at his "costume", which is nothing more than a t-shirt with a tuxedo print on it.

He takes a drag of his drink and smirks. "I call it Mr. Hates Dressing Up For Halloween. This is about as festive as I get."

I click my tongue in mock disappointment. "Party pooper."

"Won't deny it." He shrugs. "But I'm not the only dude here who takes the easy route when it comes to costumes. Check out Victor."

He lifts his cup in the direction of the junior. Victor's also wearing a printed tee, but his is one of those bodacious bikini-body ones, the kind you buy on a cruise. The clashing combination of his masculine facial features alongside the coke-bottle figure is both hilarious and weird.

"Victor, why?!" I shake my head back and forth.

"Disturbing, right?"

"More than disturbing."

Both of us are laughing at the odd visual when a realization brings me to an abrupt halt.

"What?" Cameron frowns at my reaction. "What's wrong?"

"We're breaking our rule," I say quietly. "We shouldn't be talking right now."

"Yeah, I know." He acknowledges the agreement, but instead of leaving, he moves towards me. "But we should've known it was gonna get broken. Not a freakin' chance we'd follow it."

He steps closer still. He's so tall, so effortlessly masculine and dominant, with a lustful desire in his eyes that pierces me to the bone.

I swallow.

"I can't stay away from you, Sydney. It's fucking impossible."

Our bodies are within inches of one another now. He reaches out, fingers gently caressing my bare shoulder.

"Cameron..." I murmur under my breath, a heady feeling washing over me. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

His hand drags inward, fingertips lightly brushing my exposed collarbone. Goosebumps spread down my arms, my back, my neck. I visibly shiver.

That's not nothing.

My brain is telling me to avoid his touch.

My heart is begging me to bask in the moment.

And my feet, judging by the fact that they're superglued to the grass, are obviously on my heart's side for this one.

"There are too many people around," I insist. "Someone's going to see us."

"I don't fucking care," he states gruffly. Fiery determination floods his features. "I really don't give a damn anymore. Baby Blue, I can't—"

"Sydney!"

That finally breaks me out of the trance.

I jump away from Cameron as Lexie comes running up to us. Her medieval gown fits her perfectly, the scarlet-colored fabric cinching at her waist, then billowing out in a floor length skirt.

She and Weston are definitely top contenders for this evening's 'Best Couples Costume'.

"Hey!" she says breathlessly.

I return the greeting and raise a brow at the person she's pulling along with her: some random dude dressed like a carrot.

"Okay, so I swear I'm not trying to play matchmaker or anything, but..." Lex tugs the guy in front of her. "I overheard this nice young fellow talking about how cute you were. He said he wanted to dance with you."

"Shit. You're really putting me on the spot here." The carrot grabs the back of his neck and gives me a sheepish grin. "I do think you're really attractive, so I might as well shoot my shot. Would you like to dance?"

"Oh! Gosh, um, I'm flattered, really, but—"

A low, growl-like sound catches my attention. My eyes dart towards Cam. His hostile grunt is emphasized by a clenched jaw and a white-knuckle grip on his cup.

"I'm just...not the best dancer?"

My excuse is lame and the orange vegetable isn't buying it.

"You two are together?" He bounces a finger between Cameron and me with an insightful nod. "Ah. Sorry. I should've known."

"What? Me and him? Together?! You're crazy!" I force a laugh, one that is far too loud and sounds slightly maniacal.

I glance at Cameron again and jerk a thumb towards our accuser. I shake my head in a way that says "This guy....amirite?".

But Cam isn't playing along with my schtick.

"He's crazy." I clear my throat and jut my head forward. "Right, Cameron?"

For some reason, he still won't validate my claims. His mouth is in a tight line, eyes narrowed like he's deep in thought.

Okie dokie.

I guess I'll be handling the cover-up tonight.

"We're not a couple," I reiterate.

"Really?" The carrot remains unconvinced. "Because it kinda seemed like it. The way you two were looking at each other, the way he was touching you—"

"Touching her?" Lexie's forehead wrinkles in curiosity.

"Dude, what?" Diego's suddenly beside us, jumping right into the conversation. He grabs four mini quiches, stuffs them in his mouth, and gives Cameron a pointed look. "Bro, what's this Veggie Tale character talking about?"

Cam shrugs and takes a long sip of his beverage.

What is his deal?!

I glance around in a panic. Lexie's confused, Diego's suspicious, Crimson's still got her damn video camera in my face...

I need to do something.

I need to do something fast!

"You know what? I just remembered that I'm a classically trained hip-hop dancer!" I practically shout as I grab Mr. Carrot's arm. "Don't know how that slipped my mind. I'll show you. Come on!"

"Wait. Don't forget this." He shakes my red cup. Not sure how that ended up in his possession, but he hands it back to me. "Drink up."

I chug down the Pumpkin Punch—the whole dang cup—and toss it in the trash before dragging him away from the awkward situation.

The dance floor's packed, barely-clothed girls twerking and drunk dudes forming mosh pits everywhere you turn. Some students are grinding on one another with such animalistic vigor, I have to look away.

It's starting to get raunchy around here.

As we squeeze onto the floor, black-and-white spots flood my vision, causing me to trip.

"Watch your step." My dance partner grabs my shoulders to steady me. "There you go."

"Thanks," I mutter as I blink hard. "I think the punch is already getting to me."

"I'm Dave, by the way."

He places his hands on my waist and I interlock my fingers behind his neck.

"Awesome." I nod. "Nice to meet you, Dave."

We start to sway to the music and he cocks his head.

"Do you have a name?" he asks with a half-grin.

"Oh, whoops. Sydney."

"Sydney. Pretty name."

I muster up a smile, but I don't prolong the conversation.

Sneaking glances over Dave's shoulder > small talk.

As expected, Cameron's watching us.

And, as expected, his frustration is palpable from all the way across the yard.

I totally understand.

If he was out here dancing with another girl, I'd be livid.

But this is what we have to deal with. It's what we agreed on.

Keeping "us" a secret requires a certain type of sacrifice.

When Dave lowers his hands, palms coming to rest just above my ass, Cam looks like he's gonna blow a gasket. He downs his drink, squishes the cup in his large fist, and storms off.

As I watch him go, I blow out a heavy breath.

Because I feel the same exact way.