Uncomfortable

Krystal:

Buzz Buzz. Buzz Buzz. Buzz Buzz. My phone is in my backpack, but I’m pretty sure the whole class can hear it vibrating. The damn thing has been going off intermittently for the last twenty minutes. Even though someone is clearly desperate to get ahold of me, I’ve been ignoring it, not wanting to draw Professor McGee’s attention. I’m sitting near the back of the lecture hall, but still. I don’t want to tempt fate. Last week, she kicked a girl out of her class because she had her phone—facedown—on her desk. And I heard she failed a guy last semester because his phone rang during the midterm. Advanced Algebra is a pre-req for… well pretty much every class I need after this. If I fail this one class, it will set my entire college career back by a semester.

So, I ignore my phone, and ignore it again when it buzzes three minutes later. I pack my stuff up while Professor McGee is giving her closing instructions on the homework, and as soon as class finally ends, I grab my backpack and shoot out into the hall, pulling my phone out the second I clear the door.

Holy shit. Twelve missed calls, twenty-seven text messages, and ninety-six—my phone vibrates—ninety-seven Insta notifications. I consider myself a likable enough person, and I have a fair amount of friends, but my phone and social have never blown up like this. Before I can check any of my messages or notifications, my phone rings again, and my best friend’s picture and phone number take over my screen. I answer and press the phone to my ear.

“Hey, Mir. What’s going on?”

“Oh, Krys. Thank goodness! Are you okay?” Miranda’s voice is high-pitched and thick with worry.

“Uh… yeah… I’m fine.” Less fine than I was before I answered her call. What the hell is going on? “Why?”

“You don’t know?”

My heart speeds up at her words. My brain has finally picked up on the fact that something is most definitely wrong. And whatever it is, obviously has something to do with me.

“What’s going on, Miranda?”

Her muffled curse cuts through the phone, followed by a long pause before she answers. “You need to check your Insta.”

My heart sinks. “Hold on,” I tell her as I pull the phone away from my ear and open the social app. I’m up to 106 notifications now, most of them comments on a post I’m tagged in. I navigate to the post. The image loads quickly, and my stomach turns sour even quicker. It’s me. Naked. Sprawled across my ex-boyfriend’s bed. I know exactly when the photo was taken. I posed for it myself—back when Ryan and I were still together, back when I thought we’d be together forever.

He took several pictures that night, all with varying degrees of nudity. This was the only full frontal. I was spread-eagle on his bed in his room at the Zeta house, baring all and smiling sweetly for the camera.

The poster placed the tiniest of heart-eye emojis over my nipples and a slightly larger heart between my thighs, but enough of me is showing to leave me burning with adrenaline, panic, and shame. I don’t even bother looking at the comments. I don’t want to know what people are saying about me.

Why would Ryan post these? And not from his regular Insta account, I notice through the haze of embarrassment. He created a fake account just to post nude photos of me? And then he tagged me in them so all the world would know it was me.

“Krys… are you okay? Krys! Hello?” Miranda’s faint voice floats up from the phone in my hands. I all but forgot I was still on the phone with her. Tears prick my eyes as I lift the phone back to my ear and hurry away from the other students loitering in the hall. I am, for sure, going to be sick, and if I don’t get outside in the next twenty seconds, I’m going to blow chunks all over the linoleum floor of the Bradford building. I rush for the exit and barely make it to the edge of the sidewalk in time to heave my half-digested muffin and curdled latte into the grass.

“Where are you right now?” Miranda presses. “I’m coming to get you, and we’re going to get drunk.”

I stand up straight and wipe my mouth. Emptying my stomach settled it a little but did nothing to calm my nerves. The fingers of my free hand shake as I press them to my temples and close my eyes. How do I fix this?

Cutting off Ryan’s balls would be a good place to start.

“Wait an hour and pick me up outside the Zeta house. We’re going to have a body to hide.” I hang up on her and tuck my phone into my pocket. Then I square my shoulders and head for my ex-boyfriend’s frat house.

I have no way of knowing exactly how long it takes me to walk to Greek Row. It feels like I fly there, fueled by anger and betrayal, and before I know it, I’m standing outside the frat house yelling for Ryan to “Come out and face me like a man.”

My shouting draws looks from people passing by, but I don’t care. At least they are staring at me with my clothes on.

Finally, one of Ryan’s fraternity brothers comes outside and stands, arms crossed, in front of the door. The message in his stance is clear: Get off my lawn. But I’m not going anywhere until I see Ryan and he takes those pictures down.

“Where’s Ryan?” I demand.

“Look I don’t know you or what’s going on, but you need to leave.” His voice is deep and calm and even, everything I am not right now.

“Not until he grows a pair and comes out here.”

A muscle in the guy’s square jaw ticks, but his stance and expression are impassive. He’s not budging.

“Listen, I’m sure you’re a decent guy. Or maybe you’re not. I don’t really care. But if he doesn’t come out here, I’m going in, and it’s going to get ugly.”

“Okay, crazy.” He says dismissively, and for the first time since I saw the picture of myself in the buff, I stop to take stock of the situation.

What is confronting Ryan really going to do? Do I really think he’s going to take the picture down? Maybe I’m hoping this whole thing is a misunderstanding. Maybe he was looking at the picture because he missed me and accidentally posted it.

Under a fake account.

I shake my head and glare at the guy standing between me and Ryan. He’s impossibly tall, almost as tall as the door frame, and muscled from head to toe. His dark jeans hang loosely around narrow hips, underlining his white T-shirt, which is molded to tight abs, solid chest muscles, and bulging biceps. Even the forearms crossed in front of his chest are well defined, and one sports a colorful tattoo sleeve. His golden-brown eyes are the exact color of his skin, accented by thick, dark lashes and a five o’clock shadow that matches his dark-as-midnight hair.

He’s watching me warily, muscles tense, like he’s waiting for me to completely lose it. And I can understand why. I may actually be on the verge of a complete meltdown.

I take a deep breath and smooth my hands down my sides to keep from balling them into fists. “Please, I need to talk to Ryan. It’s important.”

He considers me for a moment, then sighs. “Wait here. I’ll see if he wants to come out.” Then he steps back inside the house and slams the door in my face.

~

Jace:

Some girls are all drama, and this girl is 100 percent one of those girls. She’s not just drama, she’s got a touch of crazy in her too. Beautiful, but crazy. Poor Ryan. I don’t know the guy all that well; he only just pledged this year, a freshman I think.

I know where he is, though. He’s in the rec room, which is pretty much where all the freshmen hang out between classes. Part of the whole needing-to-be-seen-as-part-of-the-group thing that comes with being new to the fraternity.

I find him on the couch, gathered around one of the fifty or so martial arts video games we have. I know I’m betraying my gender here a bit, but I’ve never really seen the appeal. “Hey, Ryan, man, there’s a girl out front demanding to see you.”

He doesn’t look up from the screen. “Yeah? Is she hot?”

I roll my eyes, but he can’t see me from my place behind him, not that it would have stopped me if he could. Freshmen are so predictable. “She’s pissed.”

“Oh, that must be Krystal. She’s a bucketful of crazy.”

So I noticed. “You gonna go out there?”

“Nah, man. We broke up. She’s probably just pissed ‘cause someone probably told her I was dating a new chick. I can’t help it that the ladies love me. She needs to move on.”

Neither Ryan nor his ex-girlfriend are making a great impression on me right now, but I could see how a guy like him might bring out the crazy in a girl like her. “You should at least go talk to her so she’ll leave, man.”

“Or, I can just stay here, and she’ll get the hint and go away on her own eventually.”

That sounds like a horrible idea, leaving a crazy girl on our doorstep waiting for him. Sounds like a recipe for disaster. “Someone needs to tell her you aren’t going out there to talk to her,” I say because he can’t just leave her out there. That would be a dick move, no matter how messy their breakup was.

“Thanks man! Just tell her I’m taking a nap or not here or something.”

What the hell? He thinks I’m volunteering to be his errand boy? I bite back the words I really want to say. “You should really go out there and send her away yourself, man.”

He still refuses to look away from the TV screen, and I’m losing patience. “Nah, I’m busy.”

Clearly, I’m going to get nowhere with him. And since she’s pitching her fit right under my bedroom window, if I ever want to get back to studying for my business law exam, I’m going to have to get this girl to leave on my own. That’s fucking annoying, but I’m not going to make a big deal about it. I will, however, make it a point to avoid Ryan—and his crazy ex-girlfriend—as much as possible going forward.

I make my way back outside, and this Krystal girl is right where I left her, looking twice as angry as before. When I close the door behind me, her eyes narrow in suspicion.

“He’s not coming out here.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“No,” I answer. “He’s not.”

“Then I need to go in. He can’t get away with this.” Her voice is strained and cracks on the last word.

“Get away with what?”

Her eyes widen, like she’s surprised I would need to ask what the hell she’s talking about. Then her shoulders straighten. “Move out of my way. Please.” She adds that last part almost as an afterthought. Like adding please is going to magically convince me to let her in.

“Nope.” I cross my arms and widen my stance, blocking the entire doorway. I’m a big guy, and she might be five feet tall and a hundred pounds. No way is she getting by me. But she doesn’t seem deterred by our size difference.

She walks straight up to me, until we’re barely a foot apart, rises up on her tiptoes, and pokes me in the chest hard. “You should be ashamed of yourself, helping him. Are all you fraternity guys alike? Just using girls to get what you want and then treating them like garbage as soon as you’ve had your fill? You disgust me.” Her voice is quiet, and menacing, and despite her diminutive size, I’m actually a little intimidated for a moment. This girl is intense.

“Hey, I don’t know what happened, and I’m not defending the guy. But you need to leave before someone calls campus security.” I try to reason with her, but my words only seem to set her off more.

“Good! I hope someone does call them. Then he can answer to them.” Then she does her best to lean around me to shout, “You hear that, Ryan! You’re going to have to answer to campus security if you don’t get your sorry ass out here and talk to me. Ryan! I swear to God, you asshole, you’re going to pay for this!”

She’s still shouting through me—and the closed door—when a shiny blue Prius parks illegally in front of the house and a brunette woman jumps from the driver’s seat without even turning off the engine.

“Krys, let’s go. He’s not worth it,” the newcomer says, and Krystal deflates immediately, all of the fury in her small form dissipating. In a matter of seconds, she goes from high-strung and shouting to shoulders hunched and hugging herself tightly. She pins me with one last, pleading look, and her eyes are filled with unshed tears. One slips down her cheek as her friend makes it to her side and slips an arm around her.

“He’s not, Mir. But I am. I’m worth it.”

“I know you are, sweetie. We’ll find a different way to fix this. I promise.”

Krystal lets her friend lead her to the car and gets into the passenger seat. As they drive away, she looks out the window at me, and I don’t know why, but the hollowness in her expression makes me feel like I betrayed her somehow.

Krystal:

“Krys, you’ve got to get out of that bed.” My friend and roommate, Abby Kinkade stands over me, her face a mask of admonishment.

“No,” I grouse and roll toward the wall, tucking the blanket over my head. Two days have passed since the world saw me naked. I feel like I’ve earned the right to hide in my room for at least a week.

“Come on, it’s not that bad. The picture isn’t even up anymore.” Truth. Miranda and Abby both reported the post, and it was removed within an hour. The account that posted it has also been disabled, but I don’t know if that was Insta or Ryan’s doing.

“Yeah, but how many people probably took screenshots of it? The internet is forever, Abs.”

“So?” Miranda’s voice comes from somewhere near the doorway. She must have decided to drop by after Bio. Which I didn’t go to. I didn’t go to Algebra today either.

I throw my blanket back and glare at her. “So! Everyone has seen me naked!”

“Krystal Ann Matthews!” Abby chides. “How can you call yourself a feminist and sit in here sulking because people saw a naughty picture of you. First of all, you should be plotting your revenge on Ryan. Are we cutting off his testicles or what? Second… that picture has only as much power as you give it. By hiding in here, you’re giving Ryan, and that picture, power over you that you shouldn’t be. You know what I would do if I were in your shoes?”

I eye her skeptically. Abby isn’t exactly known for subtlety. “What?”

“I would take another photo of myself, one that I chose, and I would post it on my own account.” Her answer is confident and matter of fact, and I don’t doubt for one second that is exactly what she would do.

“I’m not doing that.”

“Yeah, don’t do that.” Miranda agrees.

Abby continues, “All I’m saying is, hold your head up. Don’t let the fact that people have seen you in the buff affect how you live your life. Don’t let Ryan hurt you with this. Own it.”

“Own it?” I ask unsurely. How can I possible own this… aside from posting more nude photos of myself online.

“Yes. Start by getting out of this bed, get dressed—in something sexy—and let’s go to the Phi Delta party tonight.” Miranda smacks my blanket-covered ass. “But seriously, take a shower first. You stink.”

Abby pokes Miranda in the arm. “How did you get invited to the Phi Delta party?”

“A girl in my Trig class invited me. She wants to introduce me to her brother or something.”

“How come no one ever tries to hook me up with their hot brother?” Abby laments.

Miranda snorts. “You don’t know that he’s hot. His sister is trying to find him a date. I’m thinking hot is not usually a word applied to him.

“A girl can dream though.”

I shake away a spark of irritation and wave my hand between my two friends. “Ladies, can we focus here? I’ve got a real problem.”

“Eh, do you though?” Abby challenges, and even Miranda looks confused.

“Huh?”

“This whole naked picture thing could work in your favor.” She doubles down on her original statement.

“How do you figure?” I’m not sure I want to know the answer to my question, but I ask it anyway.

“Well, it could actually be a blessing in a few ways.” She holds up three fingers and uses her other hand to tick off points on each finger as she continues, “One, it’s a great way to weed out all the creeps. Any guy who’s just out to get in your pants is going to ask you about the pics… and probably ask you if there are more. Two, you don’t need to worry about being nervous getting naked with guys now because, chances are, they’ve already seen you sans clothing, and the fact that they still want to get with you means they think you’re hot. And three,” She waves her hand sporting those three raised fingers in my face, “It’ll make for a great conversation opener.”

Oh jeez. Don’t ask. Don’t ask. I do not want to know what she means.

“Conversation—What? What do you mean?” I may not want to know, but apparently Miranda does.

Abby straightens her shoulders and flips her long, dark waves over one shoulder the way I usually wear my hair; then she bats her eyelashes at Miranda in mock flirting. “So… ever been naked on social media before? I have.” Her voice is just sultry enough to have me rolling my eyes at the same time I’m blushing furiously.

“There is something wrong with you,” I tell her and throw myself back under my blanket.

“So, I’ve been told. But if this is wrong, baby, then I don’t wanna be right.”

I choose to ignore her and say to Miranda instead, “I’m not going to the party.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m gonna remember that. The next time you tell me you want to go out and do something fun, I’ma be like, ‘I don’t know what that is, sorry.’” I don’t plan on leaving this dorm ever again anyway.

“I’ll probably just tell you I want to go to the library,” Miranda responds.

“The library? Apparently, you don’t know what fun is either.” Abby smacks my ass, and my mattress moves as she stands up. “Come on, Krys. Jokes aside, we’re going out. Don’t make me drag you to the showers and wash you myself. Because you know I will.”

Yeah, she definitely would.

I must move too slow for her because her fingers wrap around my ankle and she starts tugging me toward the edge of the bed.

“Alright. Alright! I’m going. Jeez, guys, can’t a girl just die from mortification in peace?”

“Not if we have anything to say about it,” Abby answers as I throw back my blanket and hang my feet over the side of my bed. She’s already at the closet rifling through my clothes. A minute later, she holds up my birthday dress from last year. The one I bought specifically to impress Ryan. And it worked. My eighteenth birthday party was the first time he really noticed me. Two weeks later, we were officially dating. Four months later, we were sleeping together.

My heart sinks. Another six weeks later, I was taking nude photos for him, and two months after that, we were broken up and I was a nude internet sensation. All in under a year, and all because of that dress.

“Fuck that dress!”

My outburst has Abby taking a step back and holding the dress out to survey it like she’s only just realized it is covered in plague germs.

“Okay, so not that dress,” Miranda stands and takes it from Abby, throws it and the hanger on the floor in the corner. “Hey, why don’t you wear one of Abby’s dresses?”

Abby and I aren’t exactly the same size. I’m a size two on my heavy days, and at least six inches shorter than Abby, who is closer to a size six. Plus I’m not even remotely interested in impressing anyone tonight. Miranda could probably cut head and arm holes into one of my pillowcases, and I would be fine with it.

She doesn’t wait for me to answer before disappearing into my roommate’s overflowing closet. I can see the clothing moving but can’t see Miranda around all the haphazardly hung garments. “Ah ha!” She reappears a few minutes later holding something white and lacy and sheer.

“I’m pretty sure that’s lingerie,” I respond.

“So?” Abby sounds almost offended. She would totally wear lingerie to a party.

“Why don’t I just print out a life-size cutout of the pic Ryan posted and wear that?” I snap.

Miranda takes my attitude in stride and rehangs the lingerie. “Point taken.” She goes to my closet. “Okay, so what do you have in here?”

“Can I please just wear jeans and a T-shirt?”

Both of my friends look at me like I’m crazy, then share a look between them.

“Fine,” Miranda gives in. “But I’m doing your hair and makeup.

“Fine, but only if you do me up like a drag queen with so much makeup no one will possibly recognize me.”

She snorts. “Deal.”

~

An hour later, we’re standing outside the Phi Delta house looking like the most unlikely group of friends. Miranda is elegant and lovely in a blue floral maxi dress and sandals, speaking to her home in Florida. Abby is wearing something remarkably, and unsurprisingly, close to lingerie—a tiny, strapless red dress with mesh cutouts at the stomach and along the hips. And I’m in tight jeans, a hoodie, and a pair of sneakers— covered from wrist to neck to toe. I may dress like this whenever I leave the dorms from now on.

Miranda did not, in fact, make me look like a drag queen. My makeup is understated and natural. The complete opposite of her gold eyeshadow, slight bronzer, and a coral lip. She looks like she just stepped off a beach photo shoot. And Abby’s makeup is a mood all its own with smokey cat eyes and heavy red lipstick.

“Okay, girls. Let’s do this,” Miranda announces and links arms with me and Abby. Then she practically drags me into the party. Inside, the house is crowded but not oppressively so. The rooms are big enough to accommodate a number of people gathered at one time. Despite the crowd of people here, I don’t recognize any faces, and I’m not surprised. I don’t know any members of Phi Delta. In fact, other than Ryan, I’m not really acquainted with anyone on Greek Row. That whole scene isn’t really my thing.

Not that I have anything against it. I know the statistics: 20 percent higher graduation rate, higher GPAs, yada yada. I’m just not much for large groups.

As soon as Miranda lets go of my arm, I break off from our little group in search of the kitchen. I hope they have bottled beer here because I could use a drink, but I’m smart enough not to take a cup of anything from some rando at a college party.

“Meet back here at ten!” Miranda calls, and I wave over my shoulder in acknowledgement. We probably won’t be leaving at ten, but that’s our routine when we go to parties, we meet up every hour on the hour to make sure we’re all safe, and if any one of us is too drunk, we all go home. Together. Here’s hoping I’m the lucky drunky tonight.

After several wrong turns and false alarms, I find the kitchen, complete with keg and a counter full of liquor. The kitchen sink is full of ice and heavily populated with bottles. I grab one without bothering to check what it is. I don’t really care. As long as it has alcohol, it will do. I try to screw the top off, but just my luck, it won’t budge. Not a screw top. I search the countertops for a bottle opener, and when I come up empty, I move on to the drawers. Nothing.

“Need a hand?” A male voice sounds from behind me.

I plaster on a fake smile and turn. And come face-to-face with the guy from Zeta. The one who refused to let me into the house to talk to—okay yell at—Ryan.

“You.” My voice is colder than the beer in my hand.

“Me.” He nods gravely as if confirming some dire fact. But his eyes twinkle. He’s laughing at me. He motions to my beer. “I can open that for you if you want.”

I consider telling him no, but I’d only be punishing myself. Reluctantly, I hand my bottle over and watch as he uses a bottle-opener ring on his middle finger to pop the top off. He hands the beer back and drops the cap into the nearby trash can.

“You drink so much you wear a bottle-opener ring?”

“Never know when I might need it.” He shrugs.

“Classy,” I mutter and brush by him on my way out of the kitchen.

“What, no thank you?” He says to my back.

“Byeee,” I answer without turning. Like I’m going to thank him for opening my beer. As far as I’m concerned, he’s as big a douche as Ryan for not letting me into the frat house the other day.

“What a sweet girl.” I hear him mumble behind me, and it makes my spine itch with the desire to react.

“Woman,” I snap, turning to face him. He raises his eyebrows in question but doesn’t say anything. “I’m a woman, not a girl, and the fact that I possess a vagina does not require me to be sweet to you or anyone else.”

His lips quirk. I’m amusing him. And somehow that makes me even more annoyed. “Ugh!” I grumble as I spin on my heel and continue out of the kitchen toward the dining room. Or what would have been the dining room. Instead of a dining table, the Phi Delts have a pool table. It’s currently in use, two guys playing and a blonde girl watching from a pub table on the far wall.

I approach her, even though I don’t know her. She looks nice enough. And I’m not here to be social. I just need to look like I’m trying so my friends will get off my back and let me go back to hiding in my bed. “Mind if I sit here?” I ask her even as I slide onto the empty chair on the opposite side of the table from her.

“Go for it,” she answers cheerfully. “I’m Aubrey.”

“Krystal.” I take a long, hard pull from my beer.

Aubrey points to the guy closest to her, a halfway-decent-looking guy whose dark skin glows enough to make me jealous of whatever skincare routine he uses. “That’s Justin.” Then she points to the blond guy across the table. “That’s Pete.”

“Hi.” I give a soft wave to both and take another sip from my beer.

Justin nods a greeting before going back to the game and taking his shot. Pete pays me considerably more attention, though. Sidling up next to me and crossing one leg over the other, leaning on his pool cue. “You look familiar. Have we met?” He asks with a smile.

Shit. I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t know very many people yet.” But I’m pretty sure I know exactly where he recognizes me from.

“Are you a freshman?”

“Yep, this is my first semester.” And it was supposed to go completely different.

He studies my face as if looking for clues. Then his eyes widen.

Double shit. He’s figured it out. I can almost see the gears turning in his brain as he pulls up the mental image of me on my ex-boyfriend’s bed, clothed in nothing but emojis. He rakes his gaze down my body, lingering first on my breasts, then at the juncture of my crossed thighs as if he’s picturing those heart-eyed faces at this very moment. His smile turns into more of a leer, and I take another hard pull from my beer and stand. “It was nice to meet you,” I say insincerely and move to go around him.

He grabs my upper arm, not tight enough to hurt, but it gets my attention. “Now, hold on. What’s the rush? You should stay and chat for a bit. We can get to know each other.”

“Actually, I’m supposed to meet up with a couple friends in a few minutes. I don’t want them to worry about me.” I look back at Aubrey, hoping she notices how pushy her friend is being, but she and Justin are heavily engaged in close conversation, and he’s leaning in for a kiss. I’m not sure they’re even aware other people are around right now.

Pete looks skeptical. He’s not buying my excuse one bit. “You just got here.”

“And now I’m leaving.” I stare pointedly at his hand still wrapped around my bicep.

“Maybe we can meet up later, then. I’d like to see you again.” I don’t miss the double meaning in his words.

I bet you would.

“Or better yet, why don’t I come with you to meet your friends. I bet they’re a lot of fun.”

Ew. I mentally run through my options for getting away from this guy. I take a step away, hoping he’ll let me go if I pull, but his fingers tighten slightly on my arm. The situation is shaping up to look like I’m only going to be able to make a quick escape if I make a scene.

“You’re hurting me.” It’s a lie, but he doesn’t know that.

Pete looks down at his hand and then back up at my face as if trying to gauge the truth in my words. Finally, he releases me, but before I can move away, he wraps an arm around my shoulder. His hand dangles offensively close to my breast, and I instinctively hunch my shoulders to protect myself from an impromptu groping.

I try again to step away from him, but he moves forward with me now. I keep walking. Maybe I’ll get lucky and Miranda or Abby will be nearby. “What about your game?” I ask in a last-ditch effort to deter him from trying come with me.

“Eh, I was losing anyway.” He turns and calls over his shoulder to Justin, “I’ll catch you later man.” Justin just nods and moves closer to Aubrey, if that’s even possible. Neither one of them is remotely interested in what’s happening here, and I feel a little sick about how easily a guy can force his attention on a girl, even with other people around.

My options are to go back through the doorway I came through into the kitchen, which was completely empty except for Ryan’s frat buddy, or through the other opening into a hallway. The idea of being in the tight quarters of the hall with this guy makes me a little queasy and has me immediately aiming away from the hallway in favor of the kitchen. I down the rest of my beer and raise it up before saying. “I’m going to get another drink.” I try again to duck out of his hold, but his arm is stuck around my shoulders, like he’s trying for some weird conjoined-twin role-play.

“Awesome, I could use another myself,” he says.

Why won’t this guy take a hint?

As we step back into the kitchen, relief floods my body at the sight of not just Ryan’s fraternity brother, whose name I still don’t know, but another guy in there talking to him. They’re leaning against opposite counters, each with a beer in hand, and both turn to look our way as Pete and I enter.

Fraternity guy’s gaze narrows first at me, then at Pete, and I try to convey with my eyes alone that I could really use some assistance right now. Five minutes ago, I’d been hoping to never see this guy again. Now I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have come across. He’s big, both tall and muscular, and if I can get his help, I have no doubt Pete will give up and go away.

“Hey, Krystal,” Frat guy says slowly, a question in his voice and his gaze. “How’s it going?”

He’s asking me if I’m alright. I don’t know how I know—he’s certainly not the easiest guy to read—but I know that’s what he’s doing.

And no, I’m absolutely not alright.

“Heeey, honey!” I say in an overly cheerful voice and try again to duck out of Pete’s hold. This time, he lets me go, and I waste no time sidling up next to Frat Guy, wrapping my arm around his waist. The muscles in his back tighten with tension at my touch, but to his credit, he doesn’t push me away, just looks down at me with an unreadable expression. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I’m so glad you made it to the party. I thought you had a lot of homework.”

I’m talking too much. Pete is going to see right through my acting; I’m sure of it. But I still silently beg this near stranger to play along.

He takes a pull from his beer, then returns my embrace, wrapping his arm around my shoulders in a side hug. “Homework can wait,” he says simply.

Still standing at the doorway, Pete gapes at us. “You have a boyfriend?” His tone is so offended, like I’ve somehow betrayed him.

“Yep!” I say cheerily. “This is my boyfriend…” I wish I knew the guy’s name. It would be so much more believable if I could introduce them.

My faux beau must think the same thing because he steps forward and extends his hand. “Jace.”

Pete stares at Jace’s hand like he wants to smack it instead of shake it, but eventually, he places his hand in Jace’s and gives it one solid shake before retracting his arm quickly. Then he turns to me. “You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.” His tone holds a sour note that makes me so glad Jace played along. This guy clearly doesn’t take perceived rejection well.

“You didn’t ask,” I answer, my cheery tone dimming a little in response to his anger.

“That’s the kind of thing you should tell someone.” Now his voice isn’t just sour; it’s downright bitter.

Jace’s hand on my shoulder tightens into a fist, then relaxes. “Well, she’s telling you now,” he says, a warning in his tone.

Pete isn’t heeding the warning. “So… what… you thought your boyfriend wasn’t going to be here, so you were just going to slut it up with me?”

I jerk back in surprise, and anger heats my cheeks. “Hold on. I wasn’t slutting it up with anyone, and I sure as hell wasn’t doing anything with you. You followed me in here.”

Jace drops his arms from around my shoulders and steps in front of me ever so slightly, like he’s preparing to protect me. If I wasn’t so riled with anger and adrenaline, I might have taken a moment to stop and appreciate the sweetness of the gesture.

“You were practically begging for it!” Pete spits the words at me. “What kind of a girl flirts with one guy when she’s with another?”

“Hey, man, I think you need to calm down.” Jace attempts to defuse the situation, even as his friend steps away from the counter and sets down his beer.

“I was not flirting with you. I was trying to get away from you!” I exclaim. So much for avoiding a scene.

“You’re just saying that so your boyfriend doesn’t figure out you’re a whore.”

Holy shit. This guy is downright delusional.

Before I can tell him as much, Jace takes one step forward, plants his foot and swings a solid fist into Pete’s jaw. The sound of Jace’s punch landing on Pete’s face is a crack of thunder in the otherwise quiet room. Pete’s eyes widen, and he grabs the side of his face as he stumbles backward into the wall and slides down. He is still for a moment, and when he starts to move again, his movements are slow, careful.

The other guy steps between Jace and Pete, looking down at the smaller man. “Stay down.” He orders, his voice deep and menacing.

With Pete sufficiently cowed, Jace turns back to me and holds out a hand. “Let’s go.”

I set my hand in his and let him lead me through the house to the front door and out into the crisp October air.

“Thank you.” I whisper the words as he takes a seat on one of the porch steps and motions for me to join him. I stay on my feet, preferring to stand facing him rather than sit next to him. My body is still tight with energy and frustration, and I’m not interested in sitting right now.

“I take it you didn’t know that guy?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Never met him before tonight.” Then Pete’s words, his accusation that I had been flirting with him, echo through my head. “I didn’t flirt with him.”

“I know.”

“You do?” I shouldn’t be surprised. Jace seems like a fairly perceptive guy.

“If you’d been flirting with him, you wouldn’t have come into the kitchen looking like you were being abducted, and you certainly wouldn’t have pretended I was your boyfriend to get away from him.”

“True.” I turn and pace away from Jace, then back, trying to dispel more of the stress lingering in my muscles from the confrontation a few moments ago. He stays still, motionless through my pacing, and eventually I start to feel less tense, the fight-or-flight feeling lessening with every step I take. Finally, I feel calm enough to sit. I take a seat next to Jace, but I don’t face him. I might be calmer, but I’m still fuming, still absorbing the knowledge that things could have gone so much differently if he hadn’t been there.

He leans back on his hands and stares out at the night, like he has nowhere else he’d rather be. Honestly, I barely know the guy, and he’s anything but warm and fuzzy, but I can’t think of anywhere I might feel safer right now. I lean against the railing next to me and close my eyes, breathe in deep.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“Ah, you do know how to say it.” He chuckles, and just like that, I’m back to being annoyed with him.