“He’s the captain of the Princeton Heavyweight rowing team. My dad is the coach,” she explains, her speech slurring slightly. Her hand waves around the room in a wide spiral. “I know a lot of these guys.” That explains her social ease, I guess. “And I think you’ve caught his attention, roomie,” she adds with a sly wink.
I shrug and give her a tight smile, wanting to change subjects before we give him the satisfaction of figuring out we’re talking about him. But as I glance around the room at the little pockets of females and see the glances in his direction—some furtive, some downright obvious—I’m sure there’s no shortage of attention on this Ashton guy.
Reagan confirms that a second later. “And he’s pretty much the hottest guy at this school.” She takes a sip of her beer. “And also, a giant ass.”
“That much, I gathered,” I murmur, more to myself than to her. I suck back my shooter, intentionally turning my back to him, hoping he’ll redirect his predatory stare to a willing recipient.
“And a bit of a man whore.”
This just keeps getting better and better. “I’m sure he’ll have no trouble finding someone to . . . whore it up with.” Someone who isn’t me.
I’m not sure if I’m officially drunk or Kacey is a magician, but she does a twirl and two more shooters land in my hand. The music has picked up tempo and volume and now I feel it vibrating through my entire body, making my hips sway of their own accord to the beat.
“It’s fun here, isn’t it?” Reagan shouts, her straight honey-blond hair flipping around as she jumps, throwing her arms in the air and screeching, “Wooh!” She has a ton of energy. Like one of those kids who gets dosed with Ritalin. “All these people, the excitement, the music. I love it!”
I smile and nod as I look around again. And I have to admit, this is fun. “I’m glad I came!” I yell, bumping shoulders with Kacey. “Keep me out of any more trouble tonight, though. Please,” I warn as I suck both shots back.
Kacey answers with a laugh, hooking an arm around mine and throwing the other arm around Reagan, who happily joins in the revelry. “Of course, baby sis. Tonight, Princeton is going to party Cleary style.”
I giggle, my sister’s giddiness temporarily pushing everything else away. “I don’t even know what that means.”
With one of my sister’s notorious evil grins, she says, “You’re about to find out.”
CHAPTER THREE
The Beast
There are about five seconds of calm and blissful ignorance after I crack my eyes open. Five seconds when I stare at the white ceiling looming not far from my face, as my eyes adjust to the dim light, as my brain just sits idly, waiting for the neurons to start firing.
And then the avalanche of confusion hits.
Where am I?
How did I get here?
What the hell happened?
I roll my head and find my sister’s face only a few inches away. “Kacey?” I whisper.
She moans, and my nostrils catch her rank breath. I cringe and turn away. Too quickly, it would seem, as a sharp, stabbing pain pierces my brain. I cringe a second time.
We’re in my dorm room. That much, I can quickly deduce by the cramped space and a few personal belongings. But I don’t remember coming home.
What do I remember?
My hand slides feebly up to my face to give it a good rub while I pick through my foggy memory, trying to piece together the night . . . Bits of blurry images flicker so faintly that I’m not sure they’re real. Shot after shot. After shot. Orange, blue, green . . . Kacey and me doing the robot on the dance floor? I groan and immediately wince at another throb of pain in my head. God, I hope not. From there . . . nothing. I remember nothing. How can I not remember anything?
Kacey moans again and I’m assaulted with another wave of that foulness. Swallowing several times, I accept that my breath can’t be much better and that I would kill for a bottle of water. I push my sheets off my body with slow, uncoordinated kicks.
And I frown as I take in my exposed flesh. Why am I . . . Oh, right. I was wearing that stupid toga last night. That doesn’t explain why I’m in nothing but panties now, but my head hurts too much to think about tha . . . Whatever. It’s only my sister. And Reagan, but she’s a girl.
I struggle to sit up, groaning as I push my hands back through a mess of knotted hair, squeezing my temples to relieve some of the pressure. And why does my head feel ready to burst! I think if someone walked in here with an axe, I’d stretch my neck out for a clean cut.
There’s already a vile taste in my mouth when a surge of nausea hits me. I need water. Now. With shaky arms and legs, I rock my body around and down, not wasting time with the ladder and hoping I don’t step on Reagan’s head. If I can just make it to the mini fridge and chug a bottle of cold water, I’ll feel better. I know it . . .
A second later, as my feet hit Reagan’s plush white shag rug by the bed, I get my second shock of the morning.