Perfect Touchdown

RYLEE

As Isabelle and I walk to the sorority party, looking dazzling in our new outfits, we talk about how our interviews this afternoon went.

“Did you know it was going to be that long and nerve-racking?” she groans. “By the third sister, my throat was as dry as the Sahara Desert, and I’d chewed off all my fingertips.”

I chuckle at her overdramatization of events. “I didn’t think it was so bad.” I shrug. “Avery prepared me well for this. The only thing I didn’t expect was how hard their questions would be. Especially Leah’s. Good thing he made me do my Greek research.”

She snorts. “Lucky. Wish I had a living university bible.”

“It’s not my fault I have an older brother with experience.” I wink, and we link arms as we approach the booming house lit up with flashing lights and lasers.

Isabelle looks at the house and sighs. “Why are we doing this, again?”

“Because this is what we want, remember? If we don’t go in, they’ll think we don’t want to pledge them. And, we said we were going to work on stepping out of our comfort zones.” I tug on her arm. “Come on, it’s only going to be crappy if you make it crappy.”

She digs her heels into the ground. “But there’s no one here that we know.”

“Not true. We know all the cheer—oh, wait. I see what you’re saying.” I make a pouty face. “You want Aiden to be here.” I pat her arm then stroke it like a cat. “Don’t worry, you’ll have your chance soon enough. But maybe tonight you’ll find another source of vitamin D.”

Gasping, she slaps my hand. “Shut up!”

We laugh as we walk into the house, where sweaty bodies and pounding bass once again greet us. My chest rumbles as the music sets the beat of my heart, which for some reason gives me anxiety.

All of a sudden, being here doesn’t feel quite right. Maybe it is because this is our first solo party, or maybe it is because I am nervous about getting into the sorority. Whatever the reason, this is no time for fear, so I make a beeline for the drinks table opposite the door.

In the center of the table sits a large punch bowl filled with a bright pink liquid. Assuming it has alcohol in it, I scoop myself a cup, chug it, breathe through the burn, and do it all again for good measure.

“Pace yourself, Rylee,” Isabelle says, coming to my side and tapping my arm. “We’re here to make a good impression.”

Turning to her, I hand her a glass. “Don’t worry, I just needed something to calm my nerves.” I raise my pink drink in a toast. “Come on, one more drink, and we’ll walk around for a bit, see if we can connect with any of the sisters. Cheers!” I take it down in three gulps.

Isabelle needs more time and finishes with a gag. “Ugh, how can you drink that so quickly? It’s so strong.” She pulls in air through her O-shaped lips, shaking her head.

I laugh at her, happy that it feels easier to do so—happy that the drinks are working their magic.

As my body calms and loosens, I grow thankful that I didn’t wear the skintight dress Isabelle said looked good on me. This flowy black halter dress, while short, is very comfortable, and that is the key word for tonight, I decide.

Sure, joining Delta Phi is a big deal and will benefit my future. Sure, a lot is riding on how well I get along with these people. And sure, that probably means I will have to do some sucking up and kissing heels.

But I won’t do anything that makes me uncomfortable.

After setting the cups back on the table, I grab Isabelle’s hand, and we move through the crowd. As we wander around the house, I get a clear picture of the rest of my university life: sisterhood, fellowship, responsibility, and never-ending parties.

I could get used to this.

Isabelle and I spend the next who knows how long chatting and toasting with every sister we come across. We are our best selves, and we refill our Bacardi and Cokes, only with more Coke.

I smile, greet, chat, and toast—rinse and repeat—until my brain is as soft as my drink.

Plopping down onto a dining chair, I rest my elbow on the table and my head on my hand. “I have never spoken so much in my life. I need a break.” My gaze drifts to the sweaty bodies in front of the DJ booth in the living room. “Wanna dance?”

“You go ahead. I need the bathroom,” she says, nodding toward the stairs. “I’ll meet you out there.” She turns and squeezes her way through the crowd.

The DJ is on fire tonight, and I quickly get lost in the rhythm of the music. My body moves on its own, and I close my eyes, enjoying the lingering warm tingles of the alcohol still coursing through my veins.

A pair of hands wrapping around my stomach brings me back to the dance floor, and my eyes open when a hard body presses against my back. The arms that hold me secure are muscled and tan with sleeve cuffs that show the school colors.

My heart flutters from the thought that this is Jake, and when lips plant a kiss on my cheek, my insides rejoice that it probably is him.

We sway to the music as my fingers dance across his skin, but when they travel up to his head and snag in his curly hair, I gasp.

Jake doesn’t have curly hair!

Prying his arms away, I spin to face this stranger, who immediately pulls me in for a hard and rough kiss. He holds me tight, and I am unable to push him off as his tongue tries to gain entrance to my mouth.

Only when I begin to squeal does he let me go, and I shove him back.

“Hey, sweetheart, it’s okay.” The guy, who is a football player but not in my brother’s frat, wavers as his glossy, hungry eyes rake over my body. “Don’t you want to have some fun?”

“Not with you, asshole!” I wipe my mouth and push past him, and he grabs my wrist—the one that should be in its brace but isn’t because I didn’t want to show weakness in front of my potential future sisters. I yelp from his grip.

“I know you liked it,” he slurs, sending rank beer breath straight into my nostrils.

“Let me go!” I manage to rip out of his grasp before running upstairs to find Isabelle and get the hell out of here, but the bathroom is empty. I go inside to have a moment to collect myself and get my body to stop shaking.

I should’ve known that wasn’t Jake, I think as I stare into the reflection of my fear-filled blue eyes. Avery told me he wasn’t going to let any of the guys leave the frat tonight because of the game on Saturday.

After some deep breaths, cold water to the face, and fixing my dirty-blonde hair in its high ponytail, I am ready to go back and find Isabelle.

Blocking my exit, however, is the guy from downstairs, whose hands are pressed against both sides of the doorframe. As soon as our gazes meet, he shifts his left hand to grasp the edge of the door, preventing me from closing it again.

“I’m ready for round two, sweetheart,” he says with a sneer. A darkness has cleared away the gloss in his eyes; he knows exactly what he is doing, what he is about to do.

A cold tingle shoots down my spine, but I don’t even have time to panic because his forceful shove swings open the door, slamming the knob into my sprained wrist.

I snatch my arm back and move to defend myself, but he is on me in a flash, slamming and locking the door behind him.

With his mouth over mine, he claws at my dress and shoves me against the sink. When his knee pries my thighs apart, he bends to lift me onto the cold porcelain, positioning himself between my legs. His strong fingers then dig into my hips as he breaks his kiss.

He hovers above me with a sickening grin. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll make it quick.”