romance.
Chapter 1
Taylor
Oh crap.
He’s here.
Robert. My other brother.
Technically, Robert isn’t my brother at all. He’s my brother’s best friend. But he’s always treated me like a brother…Correction, he used to treat me like a brother.
Lately, he’s been totally ignoring me. For no reason.
I don’t like it.
I glance his way.
What’s he doing here? He doesn’t even go to this college. My first weekend at school—my first college party—and he decides to show up? Coincidence?
Probably.
Maybe.
I decide to go find out.
I weave through the throng of beer-toting students, each of them holding a plastic cup of cheap beer dispensed from the keg, and in various stages of drunkenness. There’s not a stick of furniture in the place. Not a single chair, even for a staggering, sloppy-drunk girl to plunk onto. Me, I’m sober. Haven’t had a drop. Yet. It’s as good a time as any to fight my way through the crowd to the keg. It gives me a valid reason to pass Robert.
Robert. That name.
It used to be Rob. And he used to be nice. He used to take me to his races. He races stock cars. On dirt tracks. It’s so exciting. I loved watching, smelling the dust, the burning rubber and exhaust. He used to call me Princess. And Baby.
But not anymore.
I don’t know why everything has changed. The last time I saw him he insisted I call him Robert. Not Rob. Rob-ert. The name doesn’t suit him.
I shove through a wall of cute college boys and find myself in the center of a circle of them.
Hey,
one cutie shouts to me, grabbing my arm and giving it a tug. Haven’t seen you around before. Freshman?
I don my best flirty smile. Yes, I am.
The sad truth is I’m no good at flirting at all. In fact, I suck at it, thanks to my all-girl’s Catholic school education. I haven’t attended a school with boys in four years. And, outside of my occasional interaction with my brother Carl’s, friends, I’ve had very little exposure to guys. But a guy can’t tell that I’ve only been kissed twice and haven’t done much else, can he? I give my new friend an up and down lookover. He’s on the thin side for my taste, and a little under-developed. His facial hair is scant (and that’s being generous), and where he should be thickly muscled he isn’t. He’s still in that wiry, long-limbed teenager stage.
But who am I to judge? I’m no Victoria’s Secret model.
Where are you heading?
he asks.
To the keg to fill this.
I wave my cup.
The line’s a mile long. But I know the guys who live here. I can fill it for you.
Thanks!
I shuffle toward a little open space next to the wall where I won’t be trampled to wait for him to return. This puts me very close to Robert, who’s been holding up said wall since he arrived.
Hello, Rob-ert,
I say, giving him a faux cheery wave.
His brows scrunch. What’re you doing here?
I could ask you the same. After all, the guys in this house go to my school. You graduated a hundred years ago,
I say, exaggerating slightly. In reality, Robert’s only eleven years older than me. You don’t even belong at a college party.
Neither do you.
His gaze peruses my person. "Especially dressed like that."
I look down.
T-shirt. Skirt. Shoes. What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?
Okay, so my skirt is a smidge short.
And my t-shirt a bit snug, but I see plenty of girls wearing sluttier outfits than mine.
What’s wrong with—
I cut myself off. Never mind. What I wear is none of your business. Just like what I do.
His jaw clenches for a split second. It’s one of those micro expressions I’ve read about in psych class. In the next instant it’s gone, and I’m left wondering if I saw anything at all.
He looks…I don’t know. Disinterested. Bored, even.
If he’s bored, why doesn’t he leave?
Hunting for some fresh meat?
I ask, teasing him. There’s a part of me that
