From somewhere within the walls of my fraternity house, there was a girl deep in orgasm.

“Dude, you’d think he was fucking her so hard her eyeballs were about to fall out.”

Baker plops down next to me on the couch, two beers in his huge mitts. He hands one to me, and even though it’s only eleven a.m., I take it. School isn’t in session, yet, and even though we’re in the middle of basketball season, I’ve never been the kind of player to go sober. They’d never drug test or suspend their star athlete, and I’m cocky enough to not worry that I might be partying too much.

See, that was what my golden boy status secured me, and that was really all there was to it. I played the part well, taking Jade Mountain University to two consecutive College Basketball Championships … and winning. I’d covered Sports Illustrated as a freshman, all six feet five inches of my carved body, and it brought so many booster donations to the school that I now basically walked on water.

I wasn’t bragging … these were just facts. And instead of fighting them, I starred in the role brilliantly.

“Actually, I think there are technically two guys in there. Or in her, should I say.” I took a long swig of sudsy brown ale.

“Ah, gotta love hoop hunnies. Speaking of that, are we going to The Croc tonight?” Baker polishes off his beer in two seconds flat, and is already up to grab another.

That’s just how life is here in Keil House, the top male social club on campus. While Jade Mountain won’t actually label the “infamous houses” dotting the south drive of campus as Greek life, we all call them fraternities and sororities anyway.

And Keil was the most exclusive of them all … for men anyway. Comprised of the wealthiest, most athletic, most connected guys currently attending Jade Mountain, we threw the most epic parties, scored the hottest girls, and in general just caused debauchery … in the best way possible.

Honestly, the quaintness of Thistle, Vermont hid the taboo shenanigans happening behind the scenes.

“I’m in. It will probably be less crowded because not everyone is back yet, but I think some of the Charter House girls are here, so it’ll be a good time.”

The Crocodile Tavern was our favorite off-campus bar to frequent, and we’d spent almost every night of winter break there. With its dimly-lit corners, original wooden walls, and cheap liquor, it was every college student’s escape.

“I love the smell of a new semester. It means new Charter girls; fresh meat.” Griffin, the center on our basketball team, and one of my closest friends here, walks into the room.

He and Baker fist bump one and other as they load the PlayStation, arguing over whether to play NBA 2017 or Madden. Baker, a defenseman on the college’s football team, is constantly arguing with us over which sport is better. We let him think he wins most of the time, even though we know the real answer.

The start of a new semester always meant new pledges in each of the six houses on campus. Three for boys, Keil, Evans and Rowan, and three for girls, Charter, Yardsley and Whitman. While the other four houses were exclusive, no one compared to Keil and Charter. I wasn’t much a part of our pledge process, but I respected the tradition.

Out of all of the pledges, the Charter girls had it the worst. There was something about gorgeous females and power struggles that made everyone hot and bothered … and fucking nasty. Gretchen Bauer and her band of diamond-clad minions were seriously beautiful, and brutal as hell.

“Maybe some of them will already have arrived on campus. Or at least I can grab Nina if there is no other option.” Griffin shrugs, referring to his on-again, off-again fling who was number two over at Charter.

“Hopefully there are some new faces. I’m getting bored.” I pouted, finishing off my beer.

The winter had been a cold one thus far, and while there was more than enough tits and ass to keep me warm, I was growing tired of the same old girls. I needed someone spicy, a girl with a great rack but a mouth on her as well. It wasn’t enough for them to just fall onto their back and let me have my way … because that could happen any night of the week.

Multiple times a night, if I felt like it.

The last two years had been much the same, but to keep up appearances, I’d screw and play until no one saw past the thick coat of varnish I’d painted on myself.

Because in reality, the clock on my good luck was a ticking time bomb. I could only pull off my secret dealings for much longer … always feeling as if I was outrunning a train about to slam into me. No one knew the burden I carried, the secrets I’d strapped to my back and pulled across the snowy landscape of Vermont like a cross nailed to it.

Baker pulls me out of the darkness. “Chin up, you’re Colton fucking Reiter. Badass, basketball god with a head of hair to rival that dude on that doctor show where everyone is either dying or fucking.”

“I’m shocked you’ve actually seen Grey’s Anatomy. Actually, on second thought, I’m really not.” Griffin rubs his chin and looks at our roommate.

“What? A lot of the girls on that show are hot. Or they’re showing blood and guts. I’m a sucker for nudity or gore.” He hits a couple of buttons on the controller, making Griffin groan in annoyance when he scores a touchdown.

Maybe Baker is right, although the fact that I’m listening to inspirational speeches from a guy who insists on eating breakfast at the family-style dining table in his tighty whities is somewhat crazy.

And even if he isn’t right, I can keep convincing myself that my secrets aren’t slowly dragging me under; the weight of reality isn’t shattering the ground beneath my feet.