One of them steps forward, his palm warm and strong as he pulls me up with ease.
I dust myself off with all the poise I can muster—which, let’s be honest, isn’t much when you’re surrounded by living, breathing Calvin Klein ads.
A few of them don’t even bother to hide it, their eyes dragging slowly from my sneakers up to my hair, lingering in places that make my skin prickle. Lazy grins spread across their faces.
God, they’re even hotter this close—heat radiates off them, the scent of sweat and soap wrapping around me until my thoughts get fuzzy.
Be cool, Charlotte. It’s just boys.
Chase deliberately takes a step back, retreating until he’s leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, watching me from a calculated distance like he wants no part of this—or like he wants me to notice that he’s staying apart.
One of the guys says, “Party’s not till tonight, doll face.”
Doll face? Oh, hell no.
“‘Doll face’ is unacceptable and downright sexist. I am not a crazed feminist, but there are some things I just won’t allow. And I’m not here for the party. I’m your new roommate. The office lady was supposed to call? Ringing any bells?”
“Old lady Martha said we were getting a student by the name of Charley,” one of them says. “We assumed it was a guy.”
“You shouldn’t assume things, and my nickname is Charley, short for Charlotte.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
“I’m Darren Reed. You must know who I am…” Darren’s blond and muscular, but that doesn’t exactly make him stand out in this crowd. Off my blank stare, he looks back at the rest of the guys. “Hell, you ought to know who we all are.”
Yes, I’ve ~seen~ them around campus, the cheerleaders hanging onto them for dear life. I know they are football players, but that’s where it ends.
I major in culinary arts. If I’m not in class or doing homework, I’m in the school kitchen or at home cooking, coming up with new recipes.
“I’m sorry, I don’t.” I put my hand back to my side. It’s mostly the truth—I don’t actually ~know~ them.
The guys’ faces scrunch up, not believing me. Eighty percent of the female population has been with at least one of the seven, that is a fact. They think the rest are just waiting in line for their turn.
“Can you show me to my room now, please?” I ask.
“First, meet the guys,” Darren says. “You should know our names if we’re going to be roommates.”
“Fine,” I say with a sigh.
A guy with shaggy brown hair who’s on his phone talks first.
“Everett Sawyer at your service. I’m majoring in business, and I’m a linebacker,” he says without stopping his texting.
I tap the screen of his phone, grabbing his attention.
“What the hell?” he says, looking up at me.
“Learn some manners and put the phone away.”
“I like her,” the guy next to him says. “Tristan Beckett, majoring in business as well, with my twin brother here.” He looks to his left. They are identical.
“Vincent.” He just nods. I am assuming he is the quiet twin. “I would tell you our positions, but I doubt you would know it.” Tristan shrugs.
“And over here to your left…” Darren redirects my attention to the last three guys, Chase and two other guys I don’t know.
Chase stands up and extends his hand. We shake and the moment our skin touches, a jolt of electricity shoots up my arm. I hate that I feel it—~that spark~. It’s been years, and still, he has this ridiculous hold on me. Why does Chase do this to me?
“I am Chase Tucker, quarterback, team captain, and head of this household.”
Why is he introducing himself, like we don’t know each other? I yank my hand back like it burns. The nerve of him.
“Yeah, I know who you are, Chase. We went to middle school together,” I say, crossing my arms.
Chase gives a shrug, eyes cool. “I forgot.”
Get over yourself, dude.
“This housing mistake is very... unfortunate. But you are here now, I guess,” he says, as if it’s the worst thing that ever happened in the history of the universe. He motions to the guys on either side of him and says, “Miguel Jackson and Austin Kramer. Also major in business and on the football team.”
“I’m SO impressed,” I say.
“Let’s go over the house rules. One, knock on every door before entering. Two, don’t touch my stuff. Three, stay quiet at night, because we train early and need our sleep. Four, no pink shit in the house. Five, no overnight guests. Six…”
I cut in, raising an eyebrow. “So, you guys never have girls over at night? Sure…”
Chase scoffs. “Of course we do. That rule’s for you—no strange dudes in the house.”
“Very fair rule,” I say with as much disdain as possible.
“Rule six, clean up after yourself.”
I nod at a moldy pizza box in the corner of the lawn and ask, “Does anyone follow that one?”
“Rule seven,” Chase says, “no dating anyone in the house. We don’t need the drama or the distraction from football.”
Chase casts a long glance at the guys flanking him—Miguel nods once, Austin smirks like he already knows something I don’t. Then Chase turns back to me with an infuriating smirk.
Then he claps and points toward the house. “Everyone head to practice. I’ll be five minutes behind you after I help our SURPRISE guest find her room.”
The guys stand up and practically march out, following Chase’s orders like he’s a general. Chase leads me upstairs in silence, not bothering to glance back or offer to help with my bag.
He stops at a door, pushes it open, and gestures inside with all the enthusiasm of someone introducing a dungeon. “Here you go,” he says flatly.
The bed inside looks like it might collapse if I breathe too hard, and I already have claustrophobia from the low ceiling.
“Home sweet home,” I mutter under my breath.
“The bathroom is right through that door. We’ll be sharing it.”
“What? Can I get another one? I don’t want to share a bathroom with you. Is there even any room in the cabinet or is it packed full of condoms and body spray?”
Chase glares at me and says, “Oh yeah, another rule, try not to leave your tampons out.”
“Aren’t frat houses supposed to be fun?” I mutter. “What’s with all the military-grade rules?”
“We might be a frat house, but we take our football and our studies seriously. So you should take our rules seriously. Especially the last one—no dating a housemate.”
“That won’t be a problem,” I say, crossing my arms.
Chase grins, clearly not buying it. “You sure? A house full of hot football players might not be as easy to resist as you think.”
“Trust me,” I say with a wrinkle of my nose, “the protein farts alone will keep me at bay.”
“Picture this,” Chase says, leaning casually against the hallway wall next to me. “You spend every day with one of us, maybe Miguel or Austin. Late nights, close quarters, constant proximity—suddenly, you start to catch feelings.”
I scoff. “The only feeling I’m catching is dread.”
He shrugs, unfazed. “Then one night, you both end up in the hallway, like now. It’s late. It’s quiet. He leans in…”
Chase shifts, putting his arm against the wall right next to my head. His voice drops to a whisper. “And the guy starts telling you how he has a crush on you. Says he loves seeing you around the house. Maybe…”—he leans closer, his breath warm against my ear—“maybe he loves how you smell.”
Then he actually leans in and sniffs my hair, slow and exaggerated. His exhale brushes against my neck, sending a jolt down my spine that I do my best to hide.
“And what would you do,” Chase murmurs, more intimate, “if that guy asked to kiss you?”
He leans in so his lips are just inches from mine.
Is this still part of his little scenario? Or am I about to kiss my middle school crush on my first day in a frat house?