He didn’t shrink or fidget under Brock’s scrutiny. Most people did, and I couldn’t decide if that made him stupid, brave, or foolish. Perhaps all three.
“Yeah,” I assured. “I’m fine, but I don’t think I’ll make it to my first class.” I pulled my bag around in front of me, unzipped the pocket, and pulled out a soggy pack of cigarettes.
Damn it.
“Here.” The guy I’d rather forget offered me a smoke, which I gladly took with a sheepish smile and a mumbled “Thanks.”
Micah’s eyes flared. He folded his arms and faced the reason behind my bad habit with an inferior scowl. “Hey, I’m Micah, herboyfriend. Who the hell are you?”
“Micah,” I gritted through my teeth, sending him a look that warned him to be nice.
“Boyfriend?” my past echoed, then flicked the lighter he pulled out of his pocket. “Interesting.”
I leaned forward, letting the end of the cigarette hover over the flame as I dragged in my first puff. How the fuck was the fact that I had a boyfriend interesting? Did that mean he’d hoped I didn’t have one?
Micah didn’t particularly like that I smoked, but I didn’t particularly like that he slept with countless girls whose names he never bothered to ask. It didn’t matter that we hadn’t been together. I never agreed with the Elite’s carelessness and disregard for girls. Josie had been the only exception until me.
Micah’s lip curved up, but there was nothing friendly about the smile. Tension suddenly sparked in the air. “You still haven’t told me who you are.”
I had been around the Elite long enough to almost be desensitized from their ploys, their mistrust, and their fierce protectiveness. Almost, but not quite. They were notorious for not letting new people into their lives. This guy never really had a chance at receiving a warm welcome from either Brock or Micah.
Taking a long drag on my cigarette, I let the smoke trickle into my lungs, eased by the familiar feeling and taste of nicotine.
“Sterling Weston,” he stated, his lips twisting at the corners, a tinge of arrogance in his amber eyes.
“Why do I know that name?” Micah muttered, the wheels in his head turning as he searched his brain.
Even Brock looked like he was trying to figure out the same thing.
And I didn’t really give a shit. I just wanted to get away from here and out of my wet clothes. It was such an uncomfortable feeling, the damp and heaviness of them against my skin.
“Yo, Sterling.” A group of guys was passing by, and one of them clasped Sterling on the back. “You still having the first party of the year tonight?”
“When don’t I?” Sterling replied aloofly, pulling a cigarette out of the pack before shoving it in his back pocket.
“You never disappoint, man.” The whole conversation happened as the guys continued to walk by, never missing a beat. Excitement buzzed between them but not on Sterling’s face. A speck of boredom dulled his eyes at the idea of throwing a party, like it was a duty rather than a pleasure.
Micah’s eyes brightened under the sun as the answer came to him. “That’s it. Frat house. You’re the president of Chi Sigma.”
I blinked at Micah, taking another inhale. How the hell did he know that? I hadn’t thought he was interested in fraternities, which, now that I considered it, was ridiculous. Why wouldn’t Micah be interested in the part of college that majored in parties? He was literally the quintessence of a party boy. If Micah wasn’t at one of the parties in Elmwood, then it hadn’t been a party at all.
“Of course you’re in a frat. You look like the epitome of a rich, pompous, selfish, frat asshat.” The thought came tumbling out of my mouth, and I cringed inside.
“Wow, grudges much?” Sterling commented, grinning. “You guys should come tonight,” he offered. His gaze slid to me in a way that suggested the invitation was for me, but he included Micah and Brock out of politeness.
Warning bells went off in my head. Had I not made it clear that I had a boyfriend? That I was unavailable? Or did he want to take a stroll down memory lane, reminiscing about the girl who had kissed him at a party, dragged him to his car, and then dashed off, never to be seen again?
Uh, no, thank you.
Sterling hooked a thumb to his right. “I need to get to class. It’s been… interesting.” He pivoted to leave but then snapped his fingers and faced me. “Oh, now I remember. I never did get your name that night. Mads, is it?”
Mads was a nickname. My birth name was Madeline Clarke, and if a person really wanted to get under my skin, they called me Maddy.
My pulse skipped, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that Sterling was playing with me. He hadn’t just remembered where he saw me but chose this moment to pretend that he had. Why? What was this guy's deal?
Of all the college campuses, he would have to go to this school.
Micah lifted his hand to tuck a damp piece of hair behind my ear, but his hand halted midair at Sterling’s jogged memory. “What is he talking about? You’ve met before? When?” His tone sharpened with each question, but I knew it wasn’t me he was irked with. Sterling had ruffled Micah’s boxers; jealousy and something else flared in those light blue eyes.