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“Well, that’s awesome of you,” he says, finally standing since I am.
The awkwardness returns when he praises me for my little fiction, but I’m on my way out of here, so I won’t have to live with it for very long.
“When is the auction? Is it at the sorority house? I’d love to come and show my support.”
“Do you have an iPhone?” I ask. “I can air drop you the flyer.”
“Or you can just text it to me,” he says, a touch playfully.
“I don’t have your phone number.”
“I can think of a way to remedy that.”
He still sounds playful, but my heart sinks a bit.
Noticing my hesitation, he says, “Unless your… boyfriend would have a problem with that.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I say quickly, awkwardly, tucking a chunk of dark curls behind my ear as I make my way out of the classroom.
But he would have a problem with that.
I have a problem with some of the things he does, too, though, so I probably shouldn’t let that dictate my life.
I’m not interested in Liam outside of being classmates, but as I hand him my phone in the hall and watch him type his number into the new contact, I wonder if I would have been if I’d never met Killian. He was more my type before. Killian certainly wasn’t.
I’m not sure he is now, but I can’t deny missing him a little—even if he is a low-down dirty catnapper.
Thankfully, there’s no time to think about that. I have to get to my next science class, so I send Liam the flyer Vanessa sent me, and then, with a quick goodbye, I’m on my way.
___
In a strange turn of events, my lie comes true when Vanessa texts me asking if I want to drop by the Zeta house this evening to help them prep for the auction tomorrow.
I have studying to do, but I also have all weekend to do it, and since my conscience is a bit guilty from telling the lie in the first place, I tell her I’d love to.
I haven’t been to the Zeta house since rush week, and to be honest, I’d forgotten how it felt to stand in front of it. House is a misnomer; it’s a mansion.
There are two enormous columns on each side of the double entry doors, and the Greek letters representing the sorority hanging above them on the front of the house. Above the grand entry is a little fenced-in balcony overlooking the street—the only room with a balcony, I remember from my rush week tour. The presidential suite.
Visitors have to be scanned in, so I wait outside the big white doors for someone to grant me entrance. The door opens, and a pretty girl with glossy, stick-straight raven hair greets me with her biggest smile, as if we’re the best of friends.
I’ve never seen her in my life.
“Hi,” she greets warmly, grabbing my arm to pull me in.
“Oh, okay.” I try to quickly acclimate to her level of friendliness and familiarity, and flash her a big smile back.
“I’m Dawn,” she tells me.
“Brynn,” I offer back.
“Hey, Brynn. I take it you’re here to help us with the fundraiser setup?”
“I am.” I nod faintly, looking around the glamorous entryway and eyeing the chandelier hanging in the center of the foyer.
“We’re working right in here,” she says, indicating the archway to the left of the entryway. “Since we obviously had to pull this together pretty quickly, we didn’t have time to get a separate venue for the auction. We’ll turn the dining room into the main area where we’ll host the auction, and as you can see at the back of the room,” she says, gesturing that way, “it opens to the little sitting area out there so we have some more seating.”
There’s nothing little about either room. What she calls a dining room, I call a ballroom, so I can definitely see how they can host a party in here. They moved the tables to accommodate people during rush, too, so I’m familiar with the setup. “Okay. So, do you need me to start folding up tables?” I ask, since that’s what I see people doing.
