The next night, Lucas, Jesse, and I squish onto the campus tram, appropriately nicknamed the “Triple B”—the Briar Barf Bus—to take us across campus to the Epsilon Phi party. According to Jesse, this is the “it” fraternity, and every Saturday the party is bigger than the previous week.

Case in point: tonight’s theme is “Suds and Sips.” From the moment we step off the bus and onto the front lawn, there are bubbles everywhere. I’m not gonna lie; I’m über excited for this party, especially since the small college I attend has no Greek life whatsoever.

Much like the bus, the party is jam-packed, hundreds of bodies sandwiched together like sardines, so that it takes us nearly twenty minutes to make it past the front hall. So far, three people have stepped on my feet (only one apologized) and some girl wearing a too-small tube top sloshed her beer all down the sleeve of my blouse. #Rude

Jesse snakes his arm around my waist and leans in close to my ear, his breath whispering across my skin. “Want a beer?”

I nod my head, even though I can’t stand the smell of beer, let alone the taste.

“Yes.”

“Be right back.” His fingers squeeze my hip before he turns and walks toward the kitchen where the keg’s set up.

It’s loud and I know no one else, so I fish my phone out of my back jeans pocket to check my messages. I smile as a picture of Liza lights up my screen. It’s a selfie of her in our tiny dorm room wearing a low cut dress with the caption, “When the roommate’s away, Liza gets to play ;) Scott thanks you in advance.”

A shudder and giggle roll through me simultaneously. I’m equal parts relieved not to be there for her and Scott’s sexfest—I’ve been subjected to that particular treat one too many times—but I’m also amused by her straightforwardness.

“Why you smiling, Ry?” Jesse hands me a red Solo cup filled with pale gold liquid.

“It’s nothing.” I shake my head, but he grabs my phone anyway, so I explain the photo. “My roommate.”

His eyes assess the photo. “This is Liza?” He angles his head toward me, and when I confirm his suspicions, he continues, “Shit. She has tits for days.”

My nerves prickle, not in jealousy, per se, but in overall annoyance of his immaturity. “God.” I snatch the phone from his hands and shove it into my back pocket. “Do you have to be such a guy?”

He laughs. “I am a guy.”

“Clearly,” I grumble, as I press the cup against my lips and wince when the lukewarm froth hits my tongue. My face scrunches in distaste. “This is gross.”

He chuckles. “Miller Lite at its finest. Come on.” He slips his arm around me once again. “Let’s get this party started.”

* * *

By the time we make it back to the dorm, Jesse and I are both rocking a slight buzz. Okay, his may be more than slight. I stopped after two and a half beers, because even though the taste grew marginally more tolerable, it was still pretty disgusting.

Jesse lets me use the bathroom first. As I wash and change my clothes, my body takes on a loose quality. It’s as though I’m dreaming, the edges blurred and fuzzy, and my skin is so freakin’ hot that I think I may combust. Maybe this explains why I forget to put on my pajama bottoms, and emerge wearing only a thin camisole and panties.

Jesse’s eyes dilate as I enter the room, but I tell myself it’s due to the alcohol and not because of me. Or my lack of pants. I sink into the bed, and minutes later, when he crawls in beside me, his bare skin presses against my back. Holy shit. Is he naked?

Needing to know, I reach my hand against his hip and feel the smooth cotton of his boxer briefs. When I pull my hand back, my fingers accidentally drag across his… Oh my God. Is he hard?

He swallows a low groan in his throat.

“Sorry.” My voice squeaks and I snatch my hand away as though I’ve been scalded. I don’t know why, but something feels different tonight. Something feels less innocent. Maybe it’s because Lucas is still out. Or maybe it’s because Jesse snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me flush against him. Or maybe it’s because we’re nearly naked and his thick erection pokes my hip. Yeah, that could be why.

A shudder passes through me when his lips graze my ear, and he whispers, “I’m so glad you’re here, Ry.”

“Me, too.” I try to keep my voice calm as I ghost my fingers along his forearm. Isn’t it funny how you can know someone forever but still discover new things about him? For example, the thickness, the cut of Jesse’s muscles, so strong, so hard—how did I not notice until now?

My body quivers as soft lips graze my neck, and the hand that was firmly planted around my waist begins to move in slow, soft sweeping strokes, side to side.

I hold myself ramrod straight. My throat is tight and dry, making me unable to force any words out. I’m unsure of what is happening between us, but I’m feeling things. Things I shouldn’t. Things that can only lead to trouble.

He’s drunk. I remind myself. He’s horny—of that much I can be certain. He thinks I’m someone—

“Riley.” His voice groans, causing my skin to erupt in goose pimples.

His hand drifts lower, sweeps up my thigh.

And…I don’t stop him.

I.

Don’t.

Stop.

Him.

What the fuck am I doing? I’m not drunk. I should stop this. Stop him before we cross a line that can’t be uncrossed, but still I lie there, a prisoner to my own body. To its wants. Its needs. Because this feels good. He feels good.

He stops, rests the flat of his hand just above the top of my panties, waiting, seeking permission. Say something, Riley. Tell him to stop. He won’t even remember this tomorrow.

After a moment’s pause, when I’ve still said nothing, the pad of his finger drags across the center of my panties. My nails dig into his hard flesh and my toes curl. I gasp. “Jesse.” It never felt this way with Tod.

Two fingers now, thick and solid, smooth over the delicate fabric, the friction exquisite. My thighs clench together, trying to capture and hold onto the sensation, but his hand works between my legs, parting them.

I moan when his fingers slip underneath the band, touching me right there. My mind kicks into overdrive. This is wrong, no matter how good it feels. This is Jesse. My best friend. “Jesse.” My voice is meant to warn, but it sounds desperate and needy.

“Riley,” he murmurs my name again, lips latching onto my neck and biting gently. “Turn around.” His voice is eager. “Baby, please turn around.”

No. This has to stop. We’re gonna fuck it all up. I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut as my fingernails dig into his flesh.

His hand stills. “Do you…” He pauses, clears his throat. “Do you want me to stop?”

No. Please, don’t stop. “I think we should.”

I feel his body stiffen behind me as his hand falls away. The heat, that only moments ago flooded my body, turns ice cold. Our connection splinters, cracks apart, until we’re on opposing sides of an immense valley.

The silence is excruciating. Neither one of us speaks, and with every shift, every exhale, I feel the tension increasing. I try to fold into myself, to make myself smaller, the entire time praying that the morning sun will chase away the uncertainty. The doubt. The confusion. Praying that tomorrow when I wake, tonight’s memories will be erased.

For both of us.

Because I want my best friend in ways that I absolutely shouldn’t.

And I don’t know what the hell to do about it.