Frayed (Connections #4)

Frayed (Connections #4) Page 3

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“Bonjour!” I said to the girl with a name tag that read Claire pinned to her white lace blouse.

Medium-brown hair tumbled to her shoulders in smooth waves and was held back by a black ribbon headband. She wore a very short plaid skirt with red tights and ankle boots. Flawless and polished, she was perfectly put together. I had to blink twice because she looked so much like the character Blair Waldorf from Gossip Girl. She stood with a huge grin on her face behind a pink-draped table with a golden triangle and the letter Z emblazoned across it in the student center at the University of Southern California. It had only been two weeks since I traded in the City of Lights for the City of Angels. The night was cool, but since the rain had let up I had decided to get out and stop by the recruitment fair. Clubs, fraternities, and sororities populated the room. With so many choices, I had no idea which booth to visit first. I stood back and watched and it was Claire’s enthusiasm that caught my attention. So I moved closer and stood in line as she talked to a group of girls about joining her sorority. They giggled and jumped up and down when she gave them a piece of paper with an address on it and told them she’d meet them there.

Her gaze lifted at my greeting and she quirked a smile. With a gleam in her eye she said, “Hi. Are you from France?”

I gave a slight laugh. “No, California but I spent my freshman year in Paris.”

“Ah . . . you’re new. I am too. I just transferred in from New York University.”

I felt a spark of excitement. “Are you a sophomore?”

She straightened her shoulders. “No, actually I’m a junior.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you look like a character from Gossip Girl?”

Her smile grew bright. “All the time and I love to hear it. She’s my idol. I fashion my wardrobe after her.”

I nodded. Not certain of what to add to that, I quickly glanced down at the table of pamphlets and asked, “So, you were in a sorority at NYU?”

I was somewhat curious only because she was obviously the quintessential prep school girl turned college sorority member. I knew them well. I had gone to a prep school and I was sure all the girls I graduated with had joined sororities. But for me, the preppy schoolgirl look was never my thing. I liked to think my look was more Kate Moss. I mixed fashion-forward clothing with vintage. I wasn’t afraid to throw any two pieces together and put my own spin on an outfit. My mother liked my edgy wardrobe but warned me to avoid anything too revealing. That made me laugh because guys never looked at me that way anyway. I was always just the cute little sister.

“How did you know? Delta Zeta!” She beamed with pride, pointing to the flattering propaganda spread out in front of her.

I bit my lip. I had considered joining a sorority for the sheer purpose of making friends, but I wasn’t certain if I had the time with my heavy course load.

She must have noticed my eyes flicker in contemplation because she asked, “You are a PNM, aren’t you?”

“A PNM?” I questioned.

“A potential new member,” she clarified, leaning closer to me.

I shrugged. “Well, yes. I guess I am.”

“Great,” she said, assessing my outfit—a short cropped jacket, skinny jeans, low-heeled boots, and my grandmother’s always-present layered gold necklaces.

“What does a PNM have to do?”

“Depends on what you can offer and who you know.”

“I’m new, so I haven’t met very many people.”

She frowned as if reconsidering if she should have asked me.

Not wanting to feel rejected, I threw out, “But I have a brother in a band and another brother who’s a graduate student here.”

Her eyes twinkled with excitement. “Are they hot?”

I shrugged again. “I guess so.”

“Then you’re a PNM.”

I clasped my hands together in excitement at having a title and making a new girlfriend.

“We need little sisters to help at the Kappa Sigma’s Pledge Night tonight.”

“I’m not really a little sister, though.”

“Oh, I’m giving you temporary membership. Raise your right hand and repeat after me to accept and we can move on to the hazing,” she said in a serious tone.

My mouth dropped open.

“I’m only kidding.”

Not quite sure I believed her, I did as she instructed, trying to recall movies I had watched with sororities, but my mind went blank. I finished repeating the words.

She skipped around the table. “Done!”

I felt nervous and excited at the same time.

She grabbed her materials up off the flat surface. “Let’s go.”

I patted my hair. “Now?”

“Yes. Inspiration period is about to begin.”

I slanted her a questioning look.

“Hell week,” she mumbled.

“Oh, but I’m not sure I . . .”

She put her hand up and ignored my concerns as she filled her purse with the brochures and swung it over her shoulder. “But first you need to change your outfit. Come with me; you look close to my size.”

She took me to her dorm room, gave me a change of clothes, and we were off. It was dark and streetlights lit our way. The shoes she had me change into weren’t exactly made for walking long distances. I wore heels all the time, but those must have been five or six inches high. My hair blew in my eyes and I pushed it behind my ears. Claire had tried to tame it, but it was still a frizzy mess.

“What am I supposed to do tonight?” I asked, trying to keep up with her pace.

She rolled some lipstick on her lips and smacked them. “Be bitchy and nice, ugly and pretty, stupid and smart, innocent and slutty, blond or brunette.”

I looked at her in confusion.

She laughed. “It’s easy. You just tend to one of the fraternity brothers’ needs.” With a silver tube in one hand she air-quoted the word needs.

I wasn’t quite sure what she meant, but I suddenly felt like a call girl in her short skirt and tight top and I started to think twice about going. My stomach lurched. I wasn’t really a partyer. I’d lived with my aunt in Paris and didn’t often participate in the college extracurricular activities. I always had tons of guys who were friends and I called them boyfriends, but I don’t think I ever had one in the true sense of the meaning. Girlfriends, on the other hand, those were harder to make and I wondered if I was a bit too quirky for most girls’ liking. But since Claire had brought me under her wing, I didn’t want to blow my opportunity.

“Ne . . . needs?” I stuttered.

She peered at herself in a compact mirror. “You be whatever he wants you to be. You know, make sure his cup is full, flirt with him, tell him what he wants to hear. Make yourself his dream girl for the night. But never, ever let him know it’s your job. It should seem natural and real—like you really like him.”

I stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk.

She looked over at me. “You can do that, can’t you?”

“Of course.” I swallowed, thinking maybe my silver tongue had gotten me in over my head this time, but then I thought no, I had read many books where girls molded themselves to be what the guy wanted and ended up liking who she became. With that thought I knew I could be the kind of girl she was talking about—strong and confident in her sexual prowess. I could be just like one of the heroines of my romance novels.

“Great! Just relax. Enjoy the free booze and man candy. I promise it’ll be fun.”

I bit my lip, hoping my brother Xander wouldn’t be there. He’d kill me not only for not telling him where I was going or for what I was wearing, but more so for what I was going to be doing.

She pushed her boobs up. “Oh, and if he wants a bl*w j*b, make sure you give him one.”

My eyes widened and my mouth fell open.

“Only kidding. But you should have seen what I had to do!”

“What?” I asked, once again stifling the urge to turn back around.

“I was forced to dance on tables for all the fraternities on campus to absurdly sexual songs.”

Oh God, I thought.

“So, tell me about that brother of yours that’s in the band.”

I couldn’t look at her. I was still trying to process what I had gotten myself into. I finally took a deep breath and said, “His name is River and he’s coming to visit in a few weeks. His band is actually going to play on campus.”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Oh, I love rock stars. You have to introduce me to him.”

“Um . . . sure, I can do that.” But I already knew she wasn’t his type.

“Does he have a girlfriend?”

I laughed. “No, he says he doesn’t do girlfriends.” And I air-quoted my last word as she had earlier.

“He sounds dreamy,” she said.

Again I cursed my silver tongue.

When she opened the door to the frat house, all I could do was stare. People were everywhere. Music played loudly from the speakers in every corner, silver kegs lined one wall, and large plastic bowls overflowed with food on the tables. She led the way and when she stopped abruptly, I ran right into her.

“Sorry,” I hollered over the pulsing music.

She ignored me and moved forward, but I stood glued to the spot I had stopped in. My pulse was racing. My cheeks prickled with heat. There he stood, Ben Covington, just a few feet away—tall, beautiful, messy blond hair, a body that made mine tingle everywhere, and a smile that caused me to melt without even knowing why it formed on his lips.

Claire doubled back. She noticed my stare.

“Can I be assigned to him?” I pointed, my stomach fluttering.

She made a low dismissive noise. Waving her hand, she said, “He has a girlfriend.”

“So you don’t assign guys with girlfriends?” I asked a little too sharply.

She raised an eyebrow. “Sure, he’s all yours. But you should know he never really pays attention to any of us.”

I shrugged and resumed my staring.

She shook her head at me. “I have to say you really are a strange one.”

Lightly laughing at her comment and trying not to take offense, I kept my eyes glued on him. He was across the room talking to some younger guy rather animatedly, and when he stretched out his hand with a red Solo cup in it, I straightened my shoulders. “I’m off.”

She pursed her lips and grabbed my arm. “Do you want any pointers?”

Knowing I must seem like a contradiction, I met her eyes. “I got this, Claire.”

She grabbed my elbow as I started to walk toward him.

I twisted to look at her.

“Honey, my name is Stacy. Claire is my dream girl name. What’s your name, by the way?”

“Bell Wilde.”

“Oh, I like it. Is that your dream girl or real name?”

I gave her a blank look. “Real.”

“So what’s your dream girl name?”

A smile crossed my lips as I looked over to the guy who had captured my attention since I first saw him just a few weeks ago. Xander had taken me to a frat party but made me leave when he saw me drinking a beer and staring at Ben. The guy across the room was also the same guy I had been obsessing over since he talked to me in the library a few days ago. I couldn’t believe he was here.

“S’belle,” I said to her, more sure of that than anything I had since I met her. At that moment, I stood tall and strode across the room chanting, I can be his dream girl for the night over and over.

My insides froze when I stopped in front of him. I was so nervous that when I wrapped my trembling hand around his cup, I thought I might be sick. Then I thought, I can do this. It’s my job, after all. But when our fingers touched and a heat spread throughout my body, my nerves were back.

He grinned down at me with eyes that had to make every girl look twice. He shuffled his feet and for a second I thought maybe he was nervous too, but only for a second because when I looked up into the smoldering heat of those blue eyes, I saw nothing but confidence. That one look gave me strength and I suddenly found my words. “I’ve been assigned as your little sister,” I said, feeling as if my tone came out more little girl than dream girl. But the way he looked at me, I didn’t think that was what he thought at all.