“You’re welcome,” I say dryly. “And don’t worry, there are plenty of non-Greeks here tonight. Donovan will be fine.” I made it clear months ago that I don’t enjoy parties where my besties aren’t with me.

I lead them around the sidewalk to the kitchen entrance of the house. We parked three blocks over since the street and parking lot were full. We’re late. Big time. I worked a five-to-ten shift at the bar, flew home, saw June, then threw my outfit together. Donovan sent several texts asking when I was coming, even though he knows I work on Fridays.

“Love the mini toga. Strapless works with your boobs. And you’re wearing your red lipstick. Shit is about to go down,” Lila murmurs as she takes in the outfit I shortened with my sewing machine. Made from a white sheet, the bodice is gathered, and a silver chain belt dangles around my waist, cinching it. My hair is pulled up on the sides with silver leaf-shaped combs, the strands cascading down my bare back. Wide metal cuffs wrap around my upper arms, and the silver stilettos on my feet put me close to six feet.

We walk in the door, and the kitchen is wall-to-wall with people. Music thumps from speakers in the ceiling and people pour into the hallway, waiting in line to get down to the basement where the majority congregates.

“I’m going on a Mason hunt,” Lila calls out as she grabs a Solo cup of punch from the bar and dashes down the hall.

“Stay safe!” I yell.

“I think I see a guy from class,” Colette says as she peers out the window to the pool.

“Go on,” I say. “I’m going to find Donovan.”

She gives me an arm squeeze then takes off.

I exhale a long breath as I look around the kitchen. I debated even coming tonight, but I didn’t want to disappoint my roomies, and I need to talk to Donovan.

Benji swoops in and swings me around, cutting off my thoughts. “Ana! Where you been this week? This party is LIT! Every house representing. You drinking? What can I get you?”

His toga is black satin (fitting), his blond hair messy. There’s a giant lizard thing curled on his shoulder. How it didn’t fall off when he twirled me, I have no idea.

I laugh. “I’m the DD tonight. What the heck is that monster?”

He smirks. “River nixed my wish for a parakeet, said it would be loud, but he bought me a bearded dragon this week. Dude—I have the best big bro.” The dragon twitches his tail and looks at me with beady pale brown eyes. His throat puffs up. “He’s fucking awesome. Full grown. Named him Spike. See the prickly things on his head?”

“Um, yeah.”

The creature licks at the air then tucks his head into Benji’s throat.

“Sweet boy,” he croons at the dragon. “We’ve bonded. I’ve got a tank for him in my room, but he likes people.”

“Does he?” I laugh.

“He’s an honorary Kappa. I’m calling him my emotional support animal. For real. He calms me. Go on and pet him, but not near his mouth—his teeth are sharp. Their venom is similar to a rattlesnake, but they’re only lethal to mice and stuff.”

I laugh. “I’ll pass.”

“Chicken. He slept on my pillow last night, all curled up under a fleece blanket. You have to keep them warm. Oh, he eats crickets. Live ones. Holy shit, you put them in his cage, and he pounces. He doesn’t look like he can move fast, but he does. Funny. He only eats like five crickets at once, and the rest of them just walk around the cage all terrified, waiting for their death sentence. Dead cricket walking. It’s a riot.”

“Murder and mayhem in the Kappa house.”

“True dat.”

A random girl walks by and is about to give Benji a kiss on the cheek, then rears back and walks away.

“Not a chick magnet,” I muse.

“Maybe he’s not great for mojo, but he’s great, not slimy at all,” he says, clearly excited. “I miss all the animals I grew up with. Roscoe died. I had him for fifteen years.” He sighs.

“I’m sorry.” Benji moped around the house for a week after his mom told him.

“Bearded dragons live a long time too. Come on, hold him.” He eases him up and offers, and I squeak. He chuckles and puts him back on his shoulder as he rubs his head. “Don’t let it hurt your feelings, Spike.” He glances at me. “Where did your roomies go?”

“Off to see people they know.”

He hands me a water from the island as my eyes search the kitchen. It’s hard to see everyone with the press of students, and I frown.

“Looking for Donovan?”

A guilty pang flits through my head. Actually, I was checking for River’s dark hair, but I nod. Today before class, things went a little haywire between us.

I’ve seen Donovan twice since our showdown in the apartment. We met for quick dinners on Tuesday and Wednesday before I went to work. He was apologetic, sweet, and attentive. We discussed nothing important, avoiding the hard topics.

Yesterday, he spent his free time studying and finalizing the toga party. This morning I texted him after what Harper said outside the elevator. He vehemently denied telling her. The thing is, only a handful of people knew: June, Crazy Carl from the bar, Lila and Colette, a girl in one of my classes who also got rejected, and a few professors. He mentioned that Harper and I have the same advisor, so perhaps he told her, but that feels unlikely and unprofessional.

A hollow feeling gnaws at my gut.

It’s not like word isn’t going to get out, I get that, but still…

Water in hand, I tell Benji bye and head to the basement. It’s a madhouse and takes me at least ten minutes to get through the throng of people. “Hot in Herre” by Nelly blasts from the speakers. Students dance near the stage where the DJ is set up.

Just as I reach the edge of the dancers, my neck tingles. I turn my head and meet River’s gaze. He’s leaned against a support column near the back.

Wearing a white toga tied on his shoulder, he looks hot AF, tall and muscled, the guns on his arms flexing under the strobe lights as he rakes a hand through his hair. Small gold leaves form a laurel around his head.

I stick my tongue out like I did in the elevator; it’s childish and involuntary, and I smile.

He raises an eyebrow, his stoic expression cracking just a little. I’m not sure exactly what we are right now…not friends, but not the enemies from before either. Audrey sidles up to him, beckoning him out to the dance floor. He says no as she trails her hands over his broad shoulders.

A sharp breath escapes me. Jealousy? Yes. Oh, yes.

Completely irrational.

Someone shoot me.

Ignoring Audrey, his eyes roam over me, pausing on my cleavage, then my legs, before coming back to my face. Even in the dim light, his gaze is a physical touch. Hot and slick. Stroking me.

Heat washes over me. It’s not often he checks me out so blatantly.

I remember the last time his eyes glittered with that kind of emotion.

* * *

“Put some damn clothes on in this house,” comes a terse voice. “I don’t need pledges panting over a little sister.”

I flip around from the fridge, an unopened beer in my hand as I tug my cover-up around my white bikini. It’s skimpy, yes, with cutouts that I love, but—Jesus, I have a mid-thigh-length terrycloth robe on over it.