Rushed (The Rushed Series) (2 page)

Some of the houses served refreshments and had a casual, friendly vibe. Not this house. A pitcher of ice water, beading with condensation, sat on the coffee table in front of us. Morgan made no move to offer me any. And I was too stubborn to ask for some. Something told me that if I poured myself a glass I would fail an important test. So, of course, I was tempted. I wanted water and I wanted to fail. But I resisted.

Morgan was totally pleasant and kept the conversation going almost effortlessly. Which made me wary—when would she strike? Yes, we were supposed to like our interviewers. For now. Until they axed us after acting like our best friend for half an hour.
 

I did think that we connected. I tried, anyway.

We chatted about almost nothing at all, just made small talk about home and majors and family. This is the way recruitment went. You talked and talked so the house could get to know you. But really, it was just one person's opinion that was going to make or break you in the first round. Just this one girl I had to impress.
 

She would act like all the rest—friendly, like she could be my new best friend. And then she'd use subterfuge and innocuous questions to find out whether I was Double Deltsie material or not.

"Why do you want to be part of the Greek system?" Morgan leaned forward like she really wanted to know.

"The sense of community! I love the sense of community." I repeated what my mom had told me to say. "Not just for now, but for life. I'm an only child. The idea of a sisterhood is simply thrilling. Sisters I've never had, hundreds of them!" My voice was full of exclamation points, my mother's exclamation points and inflection.

Morgan's smile grew more real as she listened.
 

"I also love the commitment to philanthropy and community service that the Greek system embodies. In high school I was president of the Key Club…" I went through my practiced talking points, saying all the right things like the good girl I was. Like the girl who would not disappoint her overly proud parents, no matter how much she wanted to.

I had just finished my get-into-the-best-sorority dissertation when a movement near the entrance to the living room caught my attention. I looked up. My breath caught and I had to fight to keep my mouth from popping open into an open gape of lust. The most gorgeous guy I had ever seen stood in the doorway, carrying a tray of tiny cupcakes. He was over six feet and broad shouldered, with dark, wavy hair and snapping blue eyes. He wore black slacks, dress shoes, and a white dress shirt with a bowtie at the collar. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing perfectly sculpted forearms and the hint of a tattoo on the inside of his arm. He was dressed, I realized, like a waiter. Or a piece of beefcake.

"Like what you see?" Morgan asked.

The real test had begun.

"What is a guy doing here?" During recruitment, the girls were forbidden from talking to a guy at all—no phoning or texting or IMing or Instagramming or emailing. No contact. You could get kicked out of recruitment for violating the rule.

What was this, a trick?

"That's just Zach," she whispered to me. There was an undertone to her voice I couldn't quite put my finger on. "He's just one of our live-in houseboys." The way she said it could have been a put-down, but wasn't. It was more like pride. "There are three more like him. Equally hot."
 

Definitely pride. She was bragging now. "We're the only house on campus with live-in houseboys." Her smile grew from devious to wicked. "They serve our
every
need." The innuendo in her voice was thick. And, if it wasn't my imagination, filled with longing.

Morgan waved Zach over with a flick of her wrist. "I bet you're thirsty." She picked up the pitcher of water and a clear plastic cup from a stack next to it. "And hungry."

I was keenly aware of Zach as he crossed the room and stopped in front of me with his tray of pink cupcakes. Up close, I got a whiff of his cologne. He evidently knew the rules about the girls being unable to speak to guys during recruitment. He didn't utter a word, but he was clearly studying me beneath the mask he put on. His eyes were sharp and intelligent and sparkled with a trace of rebellion and protest that was hinted at by the way he'd rolled up his sleeves.

A kindred spirit
, I thought as my awareness of him only heightened.
He doesn't want to be here any more than I do. He's trapped, too.

I don't know why I found that so exciting, but I did. Since I'd arrived on campus, it had been a constant feast for the eyes—I'd never seen so many totally hot guys in one place before. But what I felt now was something different than mere appreciation. This was that feeling you get only a handful of times, if you're lucky. That adrenaline rush of attraction that is inexplicable, unexpected, and so thrilling it makes you jittery and nervous. Like you don't want to blow it. It's that feeling you get when you read a book you can't put down.
 

There are a lot of good-looking men around. But only so many that totally thrill you with just a look. My head warned me to proceed cautiously. My heart pounded out of control. This was attraction at first sight at its finest.

I hoped Morgan misread the goosebumps on my arms as the result of the overactive air-conditioning, not a reaction to Zach. It took all my willpower, but I resisted anything but a benign smile.

I was dying to hear his voice. My skin prickled with awareness of him. If that voice matched the rest of him, I would have to melt into the sofa right there.
 

Morgan snapped her fingers. The rebellious look in his eye intensified. I wondered if Morgan knew how much he resented her. From the hungry way she looked at him, I guessed not.

He offered me a tea napkin and held the tray out for me to pick a cupcake, holding my gaze with his just long enough to be indecent and just short enough to avoid detection by Morgan. His reaction to me confused me. I felt misjudged by him and wanted to correct him.
I'm not like them!
I wouldn't act like a princess to your servant.

I would have screamed it if I could.

I had the strong feeling that if I refused this cupcake offering, I would be snubbing the house. And most particularly, Morgan. I had the feeling she would be a formidable enemy, one I had no desire to make.

I took a napkin embossed with the Delta Delta Psi logo, narrowly avoiding a brush with his fingers. Even still I felt the heat radiating from him. I could have sat there all day deciding between chocolate and pink lemonade cupcakes just so he wouldn't leave. But I also didn't want him to think I was lording his servitude over him. I grabbed a cupcake with a swirl of pink frosting and a gorgeous gum paste pink rose, the house flower, on top, looking into his eyes as I did.
 

And then the real dilemma set in. I had to show him I wasn't a stuck-up bitch. But if I even said something as benignly polite as thank you, I was in violation of the rules. If I said nothing, I was rude to this enigma of a guy.
 

Something about him made me fight to come up with a solution. Beneath his calm exterior pulsed a strong sense of pride. The look in his eyes challenged me to either defy Morgan or snub him. The last thing I wanted to do was insult this guy. Suddenly, the Double Deltsie house was looking a lot better than it had five minutes ago. All because of him.

What did the Double Deltsies expect? When presented with the unwinnable scenario, stretch the rules. That's my motto. The smart thing to do might have been to ask Morgan to pass along my thanks. But I wasn't the type to beg for favors.

I set the cupcake on the coffee table in front of me and signed the word for thank you to him. Nothing in the rules said you couldn't sign. Or send smoke signals. Or use semaphore code. Or Morse code, for that matter. Frankly, if he didn't know sign language, it wouldn't be communication at all.

He simply stared back at me with a blank, uninterested look. Not a crack of a smile. Almost like I was beneath his notice. But his eyes sparkled with admiration for my guts.

Call me crazy, but I was both intrigued and angered by him. He turned and held the tray out for Morgan.
 

She took her time choosing. When she finally made her choice, she intentionally brushed his hand with hers. "Thank you, Zach."

He nodded and walked off without saying anything, even to her.

I sensed her seething at him. Longing for him.

But as soon as he disappeared from sight, Morgan smiled like I'd passed some kind of test. "How many years of sign language did you take?"

"Three years."

"Excellent! We do some work with a deaf class at the local elementary school. Your skills will come in handy."
 

I couldn't tell what she was so happy about, but she kept smiling. I got the feeling that I was going to get top marks when she reported to the president and the selection committee. I'd passed the philanthropy test and it wasn't even philanthropy day yet.

Morgan leaned in and whispered to me, "You'll be making a suicide bid for us, I hope." Her eyes danced with amused malice and the excitement of putting a prospective pledge on the hot seat.

"If that's what it takes to get into the house, absolutely." I kept my game face on, but beneath it, I was seething now, too. I picked my cupcake up and casually pulled the paper back from it.

Asking for a suicide bid was supremely arrogant. And against the rules. The girls at the houses weren't allowed to talk about bids, not even to hint about them. Saying something as innocuous as "I'll see you later" was a violation. Morgan knew there was no way I could rat on her. Who would believe my word against hers, anyway?

A suicide bid meant that when it came time to select a house, I would put in that I would only accept an offer from the Double Deltsies. And take the chance they'd screw me over and not offer back. She thought she was scaring me. But she wasn't. For me, a suicide bid could be the perfect out.

I took a bite of my cupcake. "Delicious!"

When the interview was finally over, Morgan led me to the lobby and made a point of introducing me to Kelly, the house president. I had been anointed.
 

After my quick interview with Kelly, I met up with Emily and the rest of my group. Molly was scowling at Kelly like she was poaching in her territory.
 

The Double Deltsies ended our visit with their house chant. "Delta Delta Psi, my, oh, my! Delta Delta Psi!"

Molly led us into the heat of the day to the front walk of the house that ambled past a row of basement windows on its way to the main sidewalk. As we walked away, I caught a glimpse of a guy in the basement window.
Zach.
Watching us. Watching me with a look that me made me hot and flushed all over.
 

I looked away from him, feeling exposed and elated, hoping he couldn't get a glimpse up my skirt and wondering if he sat there because of the view during rush. Or had he been watching for me?

"There's a guy in the house!" A girl named Caitlin giggled and pointed. The surprise was evident in her voice—she had no idea there were men in there.

The entire group, except for me, came to a halt and looked. From the corner of my eye, I caught the movement of Zach looking away. Conversation and speculation about guys living in sorority houses, particularly the Delta Delta Psi house, erupted around us.

Molly grimaced and hurried us along. "The Double Deltsies are the only house that has live-in houseboys. The others have houseboys that come in for the day."
 

She nodded toward the house we were walking away from. "They choose theirs based on looks, not skills. Any girl in that house should be warned to stay away from them. Those houseboys have a bad reputation and are beneath a girl in the Greek system."

Molly's sense of class entitlement shocked me. A guy as hot as Zach would never notice her, but he was beneath her because he was working as a houseboy? In her dreams.

I realized something else, too—not every girl had gotten the cupcake treatment, or they would have known about Zach or one of the other houseboys.
 

I turned to Em. "Did they offer you a cupcake?"

"Cupcake? Are you joking?" She rolled her eyes in a way that made me laugh. "Feed the masses? Let them eat cake? Ha-ha!

"I barely got water. And they withheld that until my throat was so dry I could barely talk. It's like they were torturing us in there."

"You got water?" someone else asked Em with admiration in her voice. "Lucky! You must have had one of the nice interviewers."