Goddess Rising (5 page)

“I’d like to see you try,” Sam drawled.

“I will go straight up hood on your ass, Sammy,” Rita threatened, working her neck and her finger. She pointed at Sam’s bedroom. “Go put a dress on—
now!”

Sam sighed, running a hand through her still-damp hair. “Rita, I have to take shit seriously. This year is a game changer, and you know I want to make it onto the Challenge—”

Sam chewed her lip. Rita wouldn’t back down. And Sam really didn’t want her going to any of the frat parties on her own. That was just an invitation for trouble, especially the first big party weekend of the year. She and Rita had made a pact freshman year they would never got to parties alone. Too many opportunities for mishaps, too much potential for danger. She was in between a rock and a hard place, and Rita knew it.

Sam crossed her arms. “I will go with you to
one
party—”

“Three,” Rita rebutted.

“
Two
,” Sam replied firmly. “And we are out of there by no later than eleven.”

“Two a.m.”

“Midnight,” Sam countered. “And that’s my final offer.”

“You’ll wear a dress?” Rita asked hopefully.

“Simmer down, hot sauce.” Sam rolled her eyes. “I’ll wear what I usually wear—
jeans
.”

“Then I get to do your makeup.”

“Dear God,
fine
,” Sam sighed. “Let’s just get this over with.”

*

August—Friday Night, a Few Hours Later

Sigma Tau Fraternity House, College Station, Texas

S A M A N T H A

The Sig Chapter
House was a massive brick structure with gaudy neoclassical touches that would have horrified the true Greeks. It was jam-packed full of sweaty, writhing, beer-soaked underclassmen scented with body spray, patchouli, and several layers of smoke—some layers pure nicotine, and others, well,
not
. Sam wondered briefly if she’d be getting a contact high.

Music blared from big, black speakers stacked on top of each other like robotic towers, and the house was covered in enough strobe and blinking Christmas lights to induce a seizure. People flowed in and out of the building, spilling drinks, pawing at each other, laughing, and shouting greetings as they squeezed passed people dancing inside or mingling on the deck outside.

Sam never understood the appeal of frat parties. She’d rather drink good shit under the stars any day of the week than have some jackass rub up against her like a frisky dog. But she loved Rita, and there was no way in hell she was leaving her alone in this frenetic, pheromone-induced debauchery. She glanced down at her watch. First party down; this one was the last to go. She’d give Rita maybe another twenty minutes before dragging her out.

“Dance with me.”

Sam suppressed an eye-roll before turning around to shut down whatever drunken idiot was propositioning her now. But the tall blonde grinning at her wasn’t drunk. Plus, she recognized him.

“Chris Fields,” he introduced, blue eyes hopeful. Chris had the even-featured good looks of a farm boy and the adorable aw-shucks grin to match. Even his blonde hair stuck up adorably, like he had a couple of cowlicks he couldn’t quite tame.

Sam tilted her head back as she considered him. She had to. He was a big beast of a boy. Easily 6’5” with broad shoulders and hands the size of dinner plates. Made sense for a guy who could be drafted into the NFL one day. A linebacker, for sure.

“We’ve got Criminal Psychology together,” she said by way of introduction, surprising him. “You’re a football player, right?”

His smile moved from
damn-you-make-me-nervous
to
yeah-right-baby-that’s-me
. Chris stood a little taller, reflecting his pride at being recognized off the field. “You’re Samantha Wyatt, right?”

“Got it in one,” she nodded, a little surprised he recognized her. She wasn’t exactly known for being social. “You a member of this house?”

“Nah,” Chris shook his head, moving closer. “Just know a bunch of them. We can’t party hard in season, but I like to show my face once in a while.”

Sam glanced out at the dance floor. Rita was grinding one out with a drunken frat boy who looked like he had multiple sets of hands.

“Social—?” she drawled. “That what they call this?”

“Is she your friend?” Chris asked, watching Rita as she threw her head back and laughed hard, arm looped around the frat boy’s shoulders. There was
no way
that guy was that funny, so Sam figured all the tequila had finally caught up to her.

“Unfortunately,” Sam admitted, sheepish. “I’m not sure if she’s dancing or trying to get laid.”

“Probably a bit of both?” Chris replied. “Either way, it’s not a bad way to start the year, is it?” he added with a grin, that hopeful look back in his eyes.

Sam considered him with a wry smile. “I’ll give you points for boldness and optimism, Chris. But that’s about it.”

“So you won’t dance with me?”

“I don’t make a habit of dating classmates, sorry.”

“Word is you don’t make a habit of dating anybody,” he replied. “And it’s just a dance besides.”

Sam’s brows rose. “Been checking up on me, Chris?”

“You’re the one who knew I was a football player.”

“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror?” she taunted. “What the hell else would you be?”

“Stereotype much?” he replied, though he looked more amused than put off.

“Is it a stereotype if it’s true?” she countered. “Besides, you’re not the only one I’ve paid attention to in that class.”

Chris’s brow lifted. “So I
do
have competition.”

“Maybe.” She shrugged, smiling.

“Tell me the name of this other guy, and I’ll tackle him so hard, he’ll never get up again,” Chris joked, playfully smashing his fist into his other hand.

“No one in particular—I’ve just been paying attention,” she shrugged. “Are you aware that most of our projects this year will be in groups? I figure I might as well know who’s who if my classmates are going to have a hand in determining my grade.”

“And you don’t want to partner with me because you think I’m a dumb jock?” he guessed.

“No,” Sam shook her head. “That
would
be an unfair stereotype. You have a high GPA from what I’ve heard. It’s just that if I do decide to partner with you on a project, I don’t want you focused on my chest instead of my mind.”

He grinned. “Now I
definitely
want to dance with you.”

Sam smiled at his boldness.

Chris scratched his chin as he considered her. “I never met a girl who’d reconned a room of over fifty students for the sole purpose of engineering a better grade.”

“What did you think I was doing when the TA was droning on and on about the syllabus?” she asked, brows raised.

“Guess I was kind of hoping you were drawing those little hearts and curlicues around my name.” He drew a heart in the air with a blunt fingertip. “Chris and Samantha—
forever
.”

Sam smiled, enjoying the flirty banter. She liked Chris. He had a laid-back, easy-going way about him. He was clearly bright. Looking at the heavy slabs of muscles clearly visible on his broad frame, she could see he worked hard to maintain his shape and physique, so he had discipline too—a trait she admired.

“I’ve got a proposal for you,” she said after a moment.

Chris leaned closer, eyes twinkling. “Shoot.”

“You and me team up on this upcoming project.”

“Okay… ?” Chris replied quizzically. “And?” he prompted.

Sam sipped her water. “We get an A, and you just might get that dance.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Samantha.”

“Call me Sam,” she replied casually. “And I prefer to think of it as a win-win.”

Chris extended his giant paw of a hand. “You got a deal, Sam.”

“Perfect.” She smiled as they shook on it. “I’ll see you on Monday, then.”

“Wait, you’re leaving?” he protested, glancing at his watch. “It’s barely midnight.”

Sam looked over at Rita. Her friend was clearly two sheets to the wind as the frat boy groped her, both of them sloppy. “I’ve gotta rescue my friend before she wakes up with a hangover and VD.”

Chris followed her line of sight. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” he agreed begrudgingly. “I can’t tell if that guy’s trying to feel your friend up or if he’s looking for loose change.”

“Probably a bit of both.”

“Can I help?” Chris offered as she stepped forward.

“Nah, I’ve got it covered. It was nice meeting you, Chris,” she called over her shoulder.

“Likewise, Sam,” he called back, grinning. “Good luck with your friend.”

“I’ll need it,” she muttered, squeezing through the crowd.

*

August—Friday Night

Sigma Tau Fraternity House, College Station, Texas

W E S L E Y

The Sigs were
some of his best customers, and tonight he’d be handing over ten freshly minted driver’s licenses at two hundred bucks a pop. Wes had a strict policy regarding his customers. He only accepted referrals from upperclassmen guys or girls who sponsored a freshman or a sophomore in need of a seriously good ID and had the cash to pay for it. That way, Wes knew his contact had skin in the game, and if any underager got caught with one of his fakes, they wouldn’t know who had supplied it.

The fraternities and sororities gifted legacy pledges with the fake IDs once they made it through Rush, making fall Wes’s best earning season by far. It was seconded only by spring breakers desperate to get into the bars down in Padre Island, if they weren’t lucky enough to make it to Cancun.

So in addition to enjoying a good party with plenty of beer and plenty of hook-up prospects, Wes would be pocketing some good cash tonight, and his mood couldn’t be better as he stepped into the fraternity house.

He spotted Chris quickly—easy to do with a guy his size. His roommate was leaving the dance floor when he saw Wes and waved him over to the bar area.

“You doing all right, buddy?” Wes asked, slapping Chris on the back.

“Hell yeah, I am,” Chris replied with a grin. “Met the girl of my dreams.”

“Where is she?” Wes asked, glancing around.

“Saving her friend,” Chris sighed mournfully. “She’s heading out early.”

“Hos before bros?” Wes teased.

“Hey, don’t call my future wife a ‘ho,’” Chris replied.

Wes rolled his eyes. “You say that about
every
girl,” he remarked, thanking one of the Sigs who handed him a fresh beer from the bar. “If you’d married each of the girls you’ve been in love with, you’d have a harem by now.”

“Yeah, well, this one’s different,” Chris insisted. “She’s smart, sexy, and she’s got a little edge to her.”

“Stay away from those edges, man. The last thing you need is to fall off a cliff.” Wes sipped his beer, amused at Chris’s longing stare across the room. He had no idea who Chris was hankering after in the throng of bodies he saw undulating and grinding to the heavy beat. Not that it much mattered. Chris was usually in love with a new girl each semester. By New Year’s, it’d be someone new.

“Hey, Wes.” A pretty sorority girl sidled up to him, tossing her arms around his shoulders. “Long time no see.”

“Well, hello there, angel,” he murmured, not bothering to try to place her face or name but liking what he saw. He slipped his free hand around her back, his thumb rubbing the warm flesh where her skimpy top rode up.

“You have a good summer?” she purred, her breath warm and sweet against his cheek as she pressed up against him.

“No way—Missed you too much,” he answered, smiling down at her.