Like a king perched on his throne, Dante reclined on a ratty, beer-stained couch that had been pushed up against the wall of the historic frat house. Except for the Greek letters mounted to the exterior, there was no indication of the debauchery going on inside the brown-brick structure. Throngs of people, lucky enough to be part of Dante's court, filled every nook and cranny.
It reeked of body odor, stale beer, and youthful bad intentions.
With his muscular arms draped over the shoulders of two coeds with barely-there tanks and miniskirts, Dante watched a third girl shimmy to the loud music vibrating the dirty floors. Lost in the trance the ebony beauty weaved with her undulating hips, Dante barely noticed when one of his minions scurried forward and pressed a plastic cup into his hand.
I'd only been at the party twenty minutes, but I already wanted to scratch the girl's mascara-laden eyes out. I was doing my best not to stare, but it was quite the private lap dance. Except it wasn't very private. There were at least two dozen drunk football players and their legions of loyal fans packed into the house.
If these people were Dante's court, then I was a mere pauper or court jester, I couldn't decide which. I toyed with the shoulder strap of my knee-length, yellow sun-dress, suddenly self-conscious over my dress choice. Compared to most girls here, I looked like I was on my way to Sunday school.
"Hey," Damian shouted from my side. Whether for the loud music or the fact I had been too busy glaring at the scene unfolding across the room, I hadn't even heard my brother's approach. "How are you holding up, Pip?"
"I'd be better if you let me have a beer," I said.
"You're underage."
"As are most of the girls here."
"Yeah, but they're not my sister. I'll be paying for it for the next twenty years if Mom and Dad found out I let you get drunk."
My parents had been opposed to the cross-country trip. Primarily because I had just turned eighteen, but mostly because it made them seem like shitty parents. They had never once bothered to come to Stanford to watch my brother play football and it was his senior year of college.
"Who said anything about getting drunk? I want one drink to take the edge off," I said.
"You need a drink to take the edge off of what?"
I glanced across the room, disgusted to see that a fourth girl had joined in the celebration. Damian's eyes followed mine and his mouth fell open.
"Don't let it get to you. It's always crazy after a big win," Damian mumbled. Even though I'd always tried to deny it, my brother knew how I felt about his best friend. I was about to beg off when a guy staggered up and slapped Damian on the back.
"Great game tonight. I can't believe you guys pulled it off," he spluttered.
"Thanks," Damian said, wiping the spit from his face. "Why don't you lay off the beer and get some water, Lance?"
"Nah, I'm good." Lance's lack of balance said otherwise and I couldn't help but stare. Except for my father, I hadn't been around many drunk men. I was curious to see how the implosion rates compared with guys my age. "That pass Dante caught in the third quarter was sick."
My brother and I both nodded because it had been sweet. The quarterback had thrown a wild, Hail-Mary pass that Dante had somehow caught in spite of the two corners who had been all over him like a cheap suit.
"And who is this fine piece of ass?" Lance asked, his eyes skimming every inch of my body in a way that felt the opposite of flattering.
Apparently, drinking-related implosion rates were accelerated in twenty-something-year-olds.
Damian's eyes narrowed and his jaw ticked in time with the hip-hop song blasting. I placed a hand on his forearm, because I had seen that look one too many times when he and my father would fight. "That's my little sister, you fuck."
Lance almost dropped his beer and shifted from side to side like he might piss himself. "Dude. I'm sorry. I had no idea. Maybe a drink of water is a good idea." Lance scampered off, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder.
"Relax. He didn't mean any harm," I said, nudging Damian's shoulder. It felt like bumping against a cement pillar.
"He obviously didn't get the text," Damian grumbled.
"What text?"
"I threatened bodily harm on anyone dumb enough to touch you."
"Well, that explains all of the terrified looks I've been getting tonight. I thought I had something stuck in my teeth."
"Nope," he said with an impish grin that almost forgave his overprotectiveness.
"So, you've cock-blocked me."
"Don't you ever say that word again," he hissed with an expression so grim, I laughed.
"What? Cock?"
"I told you not to say that." He put his hands over both ears, ignoring the beer spilling from his cup as he backed away.
"Cock, cock, cock."
"My ears are bleeding," Damian said with a groan as he slipped into the kitchen. Before I knew it, he disappeared into the mass of bodies loitering around the two kegs.
Turning around with a giggle, I nearly fell over when I saw Dante's dark eyes staring back at me. In spite of the melee of girls vying for his attention, he waved me over.
When he mouthed, Come here, I kept my face impassive even though I needed a defibrillator to restart my heart. He looked good in the simple white T-shirt and jeans he'd thrown on after his locker-room shower. Care of endless hours in the weight room, Dante had transformed his body into a work of art.
I dodged several drunk couples gyrating off-beat to the music as I made my way across the room. Dante followed my progress with his obsidian eyes, and I had to give myself a silent pep talk to keep my legs moving across the sticky floors.
I may have been Damian's kid sister, but I wasn't a child anymore. I had plans that involved Dante. Plans I had been obsessing over for the last four years.
The girls on the couch glanced at me with disgust and nestled further into Dante, laying claim to something that wasn't theirs. The two girls dancing spun around and nearly stumbled into me, before leaning back to glare. Even in my flats, I had several inches on them.
"Who the hell are you?" asked the closest one, her fake eyelashes flapping. Under all the heavy makeup, she was gorgeous. Huge boobs spilled from her black bra; her discarded shirt lay on Dante's lap.
"This is Damian's little sister, Erica," Dante replied. "And possibly the new face of Hot Shot Cosmetics."
He took a slow sip of beer and watched with interest as all four girls gave me a scathing once-over.
Erica Wood is a fatty, fatty two-by-four.
Heat rose in my cheeks as the taunts from my youth echoed in my head. It didn't matter what I looked like now. It didn't matter that I had been "discovered" by a modeling scout. Some part of me would always be that chubby, little girl who got picked last for dodgeball.
Chesty placed her hands on her hips. "Why don't you leave entertaining to the real ladies? I'm sure there's a nice wall for you to hold up somewhere." The other three snickered.
I had no intention of competing for Dante's attention and spun on my heels to leave.
"Come here, Erica." The sound of Dante's whiskey-smooth voice stopped me in my tracks. I turned back around, but Chesty still blocked me. He placed his hand on her hip and gently pushed her aside.
"What the hell?" Her high-pitched voice grated on my nerves, but Dante seemed to take it all in stride.
"All of you, go," he said, his delivery so mild-mannered he managed not to come off like a jerk. All, but Chesty, skulked away without a word.
"You want this skinny-ass bitch when you could have all this?" She ran her hands over her hips, an ugly sneer marring her face.
Besides a slight nose flare, Dante remained unaffected by her little tantrum, but his next words came out frosty. "Thanks for the dance, Keandra. Now, get the fuck away, or I'll have you thrown out."
"You're an asshole, Dante."
He arched one eyebrow, but remained silent, sipping his beer and watching her over the rim of his cup. She seemed to sense his slipping control and grabbed her shirt off his lap, giving me one last nasty look before huffing off.
I watched her sidle up to her next drunk victim across the room. "You sure know how to pick them."
"I didn't pick her. I picked you."
His words were like a tuning fork and my body was humming. With his bottom lip tugged between his teeth, he patted the spot next to him. I considered bolting, because I was completely out of my element. I had to remind myself that I came to California for a reason. And attending the Stanford homecoming game had only been the excuse.
I slumped down beside him and caught a whiff of Ivory soap and the heady scent I'd associated with masculinity ever since Dante had breezed into my life four years ago. His hand dropped to my shoulder and I tried to shift away, but he pulled me closer with a gentle squeeze.
"Did you enjoy the game?"
"Yeah. You played really well. But you don't need me to tell you that." Watching Dante dominate the football field, front row in a stadium filled with captivated fans had been nothing short of a spiritual experience.
His full, sensual lips lifted into a broad smile. "Maybe you're the only one I want to impress."
"Please. You have screaming fans and scouts to impress. I can't imagine I register high up on your list."
"If I had a list, you'd be the only one on it."
Was he drunk? I perused his face for the truth. In all the years we'd known each other, Dante had never flirted so openly. Putting my plan into action might be easier than I had anticipated. I grabbed the red cup out of his hand and downed the lukewarm beer before he could stop me.
"Babe, slow down. I don't want you to get sick."
"You're as bad as my brother. I'm not a child anymore."
"No. You. Are. Not," Dante said, his eyes caressing every inch of my body. My face warmed under his inspection.
"Are you flirting with me?"
A low rumble vibrated up his chest, and he threw his head back to laugh. I wanted to trail my tongue up his neck and across the stubble peppering his chin. Would it tickle or scrape my tongue raw?
"And if I am?"
"Then you must have a death wish," I said, only half-joking.
He reached over and rubbed a strand of my hair between two fingers. My breath caught in my throat. He wasn't even touching me, but liquid, hot lust boiled between my legs. "I'm not scared of your big bad brother."
"Well, you seem to be the only one. Every guy here is avoiding me like I have the plague and not one person is willing to give me a drink."
"Come on, let's get you a beer," Dante said as he pulled me to my feet.
"Really?"
"Sure."
Something told me I was going to need all the liquid courage I could get, and I trailed after him, his firm hand wrapped around mine.