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“No, of course not.”
Her swift response eases my concerns, but when she adds, “Not you, anyway,” it triggers my suspicion.
“Did…” I frown deeply. “Did that happen to you?”
Hannah’s face goes stricken for a beat, and then she slowly shakes her head. “It happened to a friend of mine in high school. She was drugged.”
My jaw falls open. “Seriously?”
She nods. “Someone slipped her GHB at a party…and, um…let’s just say it wasn’t a good night for her, okay?”
“Oh shit. That’s all kinds of fucked up. Was she okay?”
Hannah looks sad. “Yeah. She was fine.” She gives an awkward shrug. “But it made me distrustful about drinking in public. Even if I pour the drink myself…who knows what will happen if I turn away, even for a second. I refuse to take that chance.”
My voice thickens. “You know I’d never let that happen to you, right?”
“Um, yeah. Sure, I do.” But she doesn’t sound fully convinced, and I can’t bring myself to be offended about it because I suspect her friend’s experience really screwed with Hannah’s head. And with good reason.
I’ve heard horror stories like that before. As far as I know, it hasn’t happened at Briar, but I know it goes on at other colleges. Girls unwittingly ingesting E or Rohypnol, or getting shit-faced out of their minds while immoral creeps take advantage of them in that state. I honestly don’t understand guys who would do that to a woman. As far as I’m concerned, they should all be behind bars.
But now that I know the reason behind her no-drinking rule, I quit bugging Hannah about having a beer, and we head back to the main room. Hannah’s eyes scan the crowd, and I instantly stiffen because I know she’s looking for Kohl.
Fortunately, he’s nowhere to be seen.
We mingle for a while. Every time I introduce her to someone, they look surprised, as if they can’t understand why I’m with her and not some ditzy sorority girl. And more than one guy ogles Hannah’s breasts before winking at me as if to say good job.
I officially take back my earlier claim—I wish I hadn’t convinced her to wear that top. For some reason, the appreciative stares she’s receiving really piss me off. But I swallow the possessive caveman urges and try to enjoy the party. The crowd is more football than hockey, but I still know almost everyone there, which causes Hannah to mutter, “Jeez. How do you know all these people?”
I smirk at her. “I told you I’m popular. Hey, there’s Beau. Come on, let’s go over and say hi.”
Beau Maxwell is the typical college quarterback. He’s got it all—the looks, the swagger, and most important, the talent. But although anyone else in his position might think it’s their right to be a total douchebag, Beau’s actually kinda decent. He’s a history major like me, and he looks genuinely happy to see me tonight.
“G, you made it! Here, try this.” He holds out a bottle of…something. The bottle is black and has no label, so I have no clue what he’s offering.
“What is it?” I ask with a grin.
Beau grins back. “Moonshine courtesy of Big Joe’s sister. This shit is potent.”
“Yeah? Then get it the hell away from me. I’ve got a game tomorrow afternoon. Can’t show up with a moonshine hangover.”
“Fair enough.” He bats his baby blues at Hannah. “You want some, honey?”
“No, thanks.”
“Beau, Hannah. Hannah, Beau,” I introduce.
“Why do you look so familiar?” Beau demands, looking her up and down. “Where do I know you fr—oh shit, I know. I saw you sing in the spring showcase last year.”
“Really? You were there?”
Hannah sounds simultaneously surprised and pleased, and I wonder if maybe I’ve been living on a different planet or some shit, because how am I the only one who doesn’t know about these showcases?
“Damn straight I was there,” Beau declares. “And you were awesome. You sang…what was it again? ‘Stand By Me,’ I think?”
She nods.
I wrinkle my forehead as I glance at her. “I thought you were only allowed to sing originals.”
