Awakening (Covenant College #1) (3 page)

I was a little apprehensive about how things were going to go – especially given how uptight
Brittany
was in general – but everything went smoothly.

We got a simple rug for the middle of the room, a small refrigerator, a wicker chair and a futon couch. It wasn’t great furniture – but it was comfortable. I knew my dad wouldn’t care about how much money I spent either – he was good that way.

After transporting all the furniture back to the dorm and assembling things, everyone started making plans for the party later that night.

Since she was so nervous,
Brittany
showered first. While she was in the bathroom, Tara informed us that
Brittany
had already showered but she wanted to look “especially good” in case there were hot guys there.

Paris and I found the situation funny, but Tara warned us about pushing
Brittany
too far.

“I think she’s one of those girls
that’s
so uptight that she could snap in the middle of the night and kills us all,” Tara admitted.

“She wouldn’t kill us,” I disagreed. “She might cut all our hair off or something . . . or try to use the
Epilady
on us or something . . . but she wouldn’t kill us.”

Paris sat on the floor with us and dealt out a hand of three-handed euchre – not as much fun as regular euchre – but distracting enough to hold our attention. “What that girl needs is to get laid.”

I didn’t disagree with the sentiment. The night before,
Brittany
had said she’d slept with one guy one time but didn’t like it. Now she wanted to wait until she was in love.

“That was a lie,” Tara agreed.

“Nobody doesn’t like it,”
I said.

Paris smirked at me.

“What?”

“I’m just picturing you with a whip,” she said.

“Why?”

“You’re too bossy not to be the one in control.”

This was true.

“Sex can still be good even without an orgasm,” Tara offered.

I felt sorry for her. “That’s a load of crap.”

“It really is,” Paris said.

After finishing the game, Tara, Paris and I all went into the bedroom to get ready.

Since we weren’t as over-protected as
Brittany
, none of us were as worried about getting ready. I kept on the cutoffs I’d been wearing all day and switched out the tank top with a simple black V-neck. I then tied a flannel shirt around my waist in case I got cold later. I finished the outfit off with my Nike flip-flops.
Cute but comfortable.
We had about a half a mile walk to get to the party.

Paris put on a pair of denim capris and an Old Navy T-Shirt. I could tell she didn’t care about getting dressed up either. She finished off her outfit with a pair of cute boat shoes that I made a mental note to borrow at a later date. We’d already compared shoe size and were tickled to find out
we
both wore a size nine. That was going to expand the Converse selection by quite a bit for both of us.

Tara dressed in simple jean shorts and a Detroit Tigers T-shirt. She put on Chuck Taylor shoes without socks – something I generally frown upon – but still managed to look cute.

We were all ready and waiting for
Brittany
– who seemed to be in a blind panic.

“I don’t know what to wear,” she admitted.

We tried to tell her to wear anything she was comfortable in. When she came out in dress pants and a blazer Paris disgustedly followed her back into the bedroom.

“Haven’t you ever been to a party?”

Fifteen minutes later they came back out into the common room. Paris had forced
Brittany
into a pair of cargo pants and a T-shirt – and
Brittany
was complaining bitterly.

“I don’t feel comfortable in this,” she argued.

“Well, if you wear the other outfit people are going to think you’re a narc,” I offered.

“What do you mean a narc?”

“Like you’re there to dime them out to the cops because they’re smoking pot,” I explained.

“Is there going to be pot there?”
Brittany
looked panicked.

Paris was just annoyed at this point.

“Yes, there’s going to be pot there and you’re going to be fine. Other people smoking pot isn’t going to kill you.”

“I know that,”
Brittany
scoffed. “It’s a gateway drug, though, and if I get a contact high I could be date raped.”

“We won’t let you be date raped,” Tara soothed, looking to me for backup. I didn’t want her to get raped, but I thought a little sex might dislodge that big old stick . . . Tara kicked me in an effort to get me to comfort
Brittany
.

“We won’t let you get date raped,” I reluctantly agreed.

The walk to Paris’ boyfriend’s apartment – which was several blocks off campus – seemed a lot longer than it should have.
Brittany
was getting more and more amped up as we made the trek.

“Do you think there will be guys there?”

“It’s being thrown by my boyfriend and his roommates – so yes, there will be guys there.”

“Are they hot?”

“I’ve never met them,” Paris admitted.

“What if they’re not hot?”

“Then definitely don’t sleep with them,” I suggested.

“You’re not helping,” Paris growled.

I didn’t tell her that I wasn’t trying to help.

When we got to the apartment complex I followed Paris up the stairs. She didn’t bother knocking, pushing
open
the door and frowning slightly as she heard what music was playing. “I hate
Nickelback
,” she grumbled.

“Who doesn’t?”

Paris made her way across the crowded apartment to greet a blonde guy who was holding court around the keg. He wasn’t quite what I was expecting. Where Paris was exotic looking and beautiful, this guy – I think she said his name was Mike – was an example of all things ordinary. He had curly blonde hair, big glasses and was about 20 pounds overweight.

“He must be good in bed,” I said to Tara.

Tara smiled at me. “You’re awful judgmental.”

“I’m shallow,” I corrected her. “Paris is too pretty for him. It won’t last.”

Tara stifled a giggle. “You have no filter.”

“Nope.”

“I kind of find it refreshing,” she said.

“It will get old pretty quick,” I admitted.

“Probably.”

After being introduced to Mike and his roommates – all who looked like they were in their mid-20s and tried get a sneak peek down my V-neck – I pumped a glass of beer and wandered out onto the balcony to get away from the cloud of pot smoke that was making it hard to breathe in the other room.

I’m not a pot hater – in fact I like to partake a little too often if I’m being honest – but I never smoke with people I don’t know. I’m nothing if not safety oriented.

There was only one other person out on the balcony – and he was dressed all in black.

I sat down in one of the plastic chairs that was positioned slightly behind him and eyed him carefully. I’m not a big fan of the Goth scene – and this guy screamed Goth. He was wearing black cargo pants, a black T-shirt and black Doc Marten boots. Luckily, it didn’t look like he was wearing makeup.

Most Goth fans weren’t as ripped as him, though, or as tan. I couldn’t help but notice his darker coloring. The tan looked nice with his tropically blessed skin.

He must have felt me looking at him because he slowly turned to face me. It was then that I noticed that his face was as good as his body. High cheek bones, dark brown eyes, a hint of a crease in his cheeks that I was almost
positive housed dimples. All this was framed with shoulder length black hair that screamed “cool” instead of “1980s reject.”

He was hot.

Still, I’d seen hot guys before. I wasn’t going to fall over myself for some guy on a balcony. I mean, I was in a committed relationship with . . . Christ, what was that guy’s name again?

Mr. Sexy in the corner offered me a warm smile – yep, I was right, he had dimples
--  as
he looked me up and down. I tried to act cool. He may be hot, but I definitely wasn’t interested. Since that usually backfires on me, this time was no different, and instead of nonchalantly sipping on my beer I coughed as it went down the wrong hole.

Mr. Sexy smiled as he saw me sputter.

“Are you alright?”

Okay, like any other self-respecting woman, I’m turned on by a nice accent. South African accents are the best, but this guy’s Latin accent was a nice second.

“I’m fine,” I said once I regained my bearings. I was mortally embarrassed, but I was fine.

“I’m Rafael,” he held his hand out in greeting.

I’m not someone that usually shakes people’s hands, but something compelled me to this time. I think it was the small voice in my mind that was wondering what he would look like naked. The minute I touched his hand it was like nothing in the world existed besides him.

He stepped in even closer – invading my personal space.

Okay, it wasn’t so cute anymore.

He peered deep into my eyes, clasping my hand with both of his and stared hard into my eyes.

“And you are?”

“Oh,” my cheeks burned red in embarrassment. Thank god it was nighttime. I was flustered, but I hadn’t lost sense of myself.  “Zoe.”

“Zoe what?”

“Zoe Lake.”

Rafael seemed to take the information in, but he didn’t respond.  I was slowly starting to regain my wits, though. I pulled my hand out of his and took a step back, narrowing my eyes dangerously at him.

“What’s your deal?”

“What?” Rafael looked surprised.

“What’s your deal?” I repeated.

“I don’t know what you mean?” Rafael unleashed the dimples again.

Finally, I got it. It was like my mind was climbing out of a hole. “You’re used to women swooning, I get that, but it’s not okay to invade my personal space like that.”

Rafael looked momentarily flummoxed. “What do you mean?”

“It’s like ‘Dirty Dancing,’” I gestured. “This is my dance space. That is your dance space.”

Rafael openly frowned now.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Listen, you’re cute, I’ll give you that,” I acknowledged. “You’re no Chris
Hemsworth
, though, so you might not want to crowd people.”

“Who is Chris
Hemsworth
?” The accent was still intoxicating.

Playing dumb, however, wasn’t. “You know, Thor?”

“The Norse god?”

“No, the actor who played the Norse god?”
Maybe he wasn’t playing dumb.

Rafael still looked confused.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, waving my hand dismissively. “I was just trying to explain to you that I’m not impressed by your dimples.”

Rafael didn’t seem convinced.

I stood my ground, not returning his smile.

Rafael started to move closer. “I think you just need to relax.”

I took a step back. “Thanks, I’m good.”

Rafael furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. I started to wonder if maybe there was a language barrier or something.

“No
interested.
. .
comprende
?”

Now Rafael looked irritated. “I’m not stupid.”

“Then stop acting like it,” I snapped.

Rafael pulled away in obvious irritation this time. He started to move back towards the apartment before stopping abruptly and turning back to me.

“Be careful going home.”

I thought that was a weird thing to say to someone you’d just met. “Is that a threat?” This guy was unbelievable.

“No.”

Rafael slid back into the apartment, shutting the door behind him as he went.

It took me a full 30 seconds to recover and follow him inside. I wasn’t sure what his deal was, but I wanted to just forget about it and have some fun. That was what we had come here for, after all.

I rejoined Paris by the keg, but kept a keen eye out for Rafael. To my relief, it appeared he had left. Okay, maybe I was a little disappointed, too.

I silently admonished myself for even thinking about him. After all, Will and I were finally on the same page – and in the same place – I wasn’t going to throw that away for some random guy. No matter how hot he was.
Or how sexy that accent was.
Or how great he looked in that T-shirt.
I reminded myself he was creepy, too, because he was definitely creepy.

“Did you even hear me?”