His jaw clenched again. “He will.” He took my face in his hands and repeated, “He will leave you alone. I’ll make sure of it.” And then he kissed me.
The feel of his mouth was as familiar as the items I’d catalogued when I walked into his room. The books in the bookshelf. The comforter under my hand. The rock-climbing equipment in the corner. The hoodie I used to borrow. The smell of his cologne.
Unwittingly, I registered the feel of his lips, moving a little too roughly. I reasoned that his anger at Buck made his kiss less tender, but I knew better. Because this, too, was familiar. This kiss—it was how he’d always kissed me. His tongue snaked into my mouth, possessively, and it was familiar and fine and not Lucas.
I jerked back.
His hands dropped. “God, Jackie, I’m sorry—that was so inappropriate—”
I ignored his slip. “No. It’s okay, I just… I don’t…” I cast about in my head, trying to define what I didn’t want. We’d been broken up for seven weeks. Seven weeks, and I was done. I stared at my palm, turned up on my lap; the realization and the finality were something of a shock.
“I understand. You still need time.” He stood, and I stood, wanting out of this familiar room and this conversation.
Time would not change what I was feeling—or not feeling. I’d had time, and though the ache from his desertion hadn’t disappeared, it was decreasing. My future was blurry, yes, but I was beginning to imagine a future when I would no longer miss him at all.
“Let’s go find Erin for you. And I’m going to have a talk with Buck.”
I froze, halfway to the door. “Kennedy, I don’t expect you to—”
He turned. “I know. Doesn’t matter. I’m handling this. Handling him.”
I took a deep breath and followed him from the room, hoping his intentions sprung from a determination to do the right thing, and not just because he wanted to win me back.
Erin and I watched from the window as Buck and Kennedy faced off in the lot behind the house. It was too cold for anyone to party outside, so they were alone. We couldn’t hear the words, but the body language was unmistakable. Buck was taller and bigger, but my ex possessed an innate superiority that refused to cede control to anyone he deemed unworthy of it. Buck’s face was a veneer of annoyance overlaying absolute fury as Kennedy spoke, stabbing a finger at him one, two, three times, never touching him but showing no fear.
I envied him that ability. I always had.
We turned away from the window when Kennedy spun to come back into the house, but not before Buck glanced at the window and fixed me with a look of pure hatred.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Erin murmured, taking my arm. “Time for a drink.”
We found Maggie in a group of people playing quarters. “Errrrrrin!” she slurred. “Come be on my team!”
Erin crooked a brow. “We’re playing teams?”
“Yes.” She grabbed Erin’s arm and pulled her onto her lap. “J, you be partners with Mindi here! Erin and me are gonna kick y’all’s asses.” Mindi was a petite blonde pledge. She smiled and blinked big green eyes, unable to focus on me.
“Your name is Jay?” Her drawl was very pronounced and her lashes fluttered up and down like a cartoon character, making her seem younger and more vulnerable than eighteen. She was the reverse of Maggie’s sarcastic demeanor and dark pixie looks. “Like a boy’s name, Jay?”
The guys across the table chuckled and Maggie rolled her eyes disgustedly. It was clear why she wanted me to take her partner. “Um, no. J as in Jacqueline.” One of the boys grabbed two folding chairs from against the wall, wedging them on either side of Mindi and Maggie. I took the one next to Mindi and Erin slid into the other.
“Oh.” Mindi frowned and blinked. “So can I just call you Jacqueline?” My name was almost unrecognizable between the accent and the drunken slurring.
Maggie started to mumble under her breath so I said, “Sure, that’s great,” and looked around the table. “So, are we winning?”
The boys on the other side grinned. We definitely weren’t winning.
Chapter 18
By the time our designated driver dropped us back at the dorm, Erin and I had quartered and beer ponged our way to a night of spinning walls at best and toilet-hugging at worst. Neither of us spoke above a whisper until after 3:00 pm Sunday afternoon. There was a scheduled sorority meeting four hours later, and Erin cursed the lineage of whoever put that on the calendar the day after the Brotherhood Bash.
“We won’t get a damned thing decided—and at least half of us will kill the first person to bang that gavel.” We were still conversing at half-volume.