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Where every other resident had a spot on a list, the Marrs Manwhore had an entire folder dedicated to his pranks, antics, and the many resident assistants that had given up trying to leash him.
He wasn’t exactly liked by my coworkers.
"I mean—we talked about it—but that’s not why I’m here—"
"Why are you really here?" Adam turned around at the kitchen counter and I almost bumped into him. He tilted his head back, pleased. "Can’t stay away?"
That familiar flicker of irritation bit me. "Not everybody worships the ground you walk on."
"You don’t want to get on your knees for me?"
"No," I said quickly. Too quickly.
"Don’t lie to me, Piper."
"First of all, I don’t even like lying."
"You sure about that?" His voice was soft. "You’re pretty good at lying to yourself."
His eyes searched my face, hungry. Can he hear my heart beating? It drowned out every other noise for me. My hand reached to touch the counter, just to hold on to something real. It was too easy to get lost in those eyes of his.
I had to look away. "Adam, I have to get up early tomorrow."
"You know what helps with sleeping problems? A great margarita."
This is going off the rails.
Biting my lip, I took another look around the room. If there was any place I didn’t want to be caught, it was here. I was suddenly aware of every camera and phone nearby, filming one of Adam Russell’s infamous college parties and after the Birchwood Bowl too.
Just what I need. Another viral photo.
"Adam." I straightened my back. "I don’t want a drink."
He held up the margarita mixture and set it back down. "Non-alcoholic? No worries. Arnold Palmer? Shirley Temple? Roy Rogers?" He turned back to his fridge. "I’ve got the cherries here somewhere."
"No—you have to stop this party."
"That’s a good one."
"I’m serious. It’s almost midnight. Quiet hours begin now."
"Except for school-run organizations. They’re allowed an extra hour beyond quiet time." He set a glass down on the counter. "Like Adam Russell’s Grand-Starters."
I stared at him, dumbfounded. "Like what?"
"An after-school program to enhance a student’s social and community health, to tie the campus together—"
"You made up a fake organization?" I demanded. "To party more?!"
Laughter burst out of him, easy and husky. "You wouldn’t believe how many forms I had to sign."
There was no possible way he was telling the truth. Even though…he was right. School organizations could have an hour after quiet times to conduct events. He wouldn’t seriously make an entirely fake organization just to throw more stupid parties, would he?
Yes. He’d absolutely do that.
"I don’t care," I decided. "Throw everybody out."
"Have you got something more exciting than the party? Reconsidering your policy against football players?"
