Fair Game (The Rules Book 1) Read online

“We are?” I run my fingers through my still damp hair. I’d truly planned on laying low tonight. I have a paper due Tuesday I need to finish. Well, more like start.

  “Yeah. Saturday night. Party at one of the frat houses. I got us an in.” Kelli grins, looking pleased with herself.

  “What about Dane?” I ask warily.

  “What about him? We’re good. We’re solid. He has a birthday party to go to. Guys getting together and eating buffalo wings and drinking beer at someone’s house off campus. Bleh.”

  “Yeah, well we’re in for the same scenario. Minus the buffalo wings,” I point out.

  “Right, but we need to find you a new boyfriend since you dumped Joel.”

  “That is the absolute last thing I need.” I met Kelli a few days before school officially started, when we were moving into the dorms. We hit it off right away and I was so thankful since one of my biggest fears was that I would hate my roommate.

  We have a lot in common. We’re both sarcastic. We both like to study but aren’t fanatical about it. We’re both reasonably clean. But where we differ is our attitude toward guys. Kelli likes to keep them coming, one after the other. Not that she’s a slut or anything. Far from it. She just ends it with one and picks right up with another.

  Me? I take a long time to even find one that I click with. And once I find him, it takes me a while to come around. After I come around and I’m finally ready to say yeah, let’s do this, I like to settle in and consider him my somewhat boyfriend.

  So now that I’ve broken up with Joel—my only boyfriend thus far my freshman year and it’s already early April—it’s going to take me months to get back on the boyfriend train.

  Months. Like maybe not until my sophomore year because school’s almost finished and everyone will go home, including me.

  “You’re no fun.” Kelli mock pouts. “Have you ever thought how awesome a quick hookup would be?”

  “Ew.” I make a face. “I don’t do hookups. That's so gross.” My body is my temple, damn it.

  “You big prude.” Kelli throws her clean pair of underwear at me and I dodge them, practically tumbling off my bed. “I’m not talking blow jobs in a back bedroom or a quick screw against the wall—though there’s nothing wrong with either of those things. I meant like…flirting with a hot guy. Getting a little drunk. Dragging him to a secluded spot. Running your hands through his hair as he slides his hands down your back and you make out for a solid ten minutes. With lots and lots of tongue.” The dreamy look on Kelli’s face tells me she’s describing a personal interlude. I really hope she’s not talking about Dane, because I’ll never be able to look at him the same way again.

  Not that I’m going to be looking much at Dane. He and Joel are pretty close friends. So I’ll be avoiding the both of them, thank you very much.

  “Sounds lovely,” I say. “If I’m lucky, I’ll find some handsome prince type tonight who’ll sweep me off my feet and kiss me until I can’t feel my lips anymore. I can’t wait.” I toss Kelli’s underwear back at her and the royal blue scrap of silky fabric smacks her right in the face. “Go take your shower already. You reek of sex.”

  “I do?” She leans her head down and sniffs at the neckline of her shirt. “I can smell Dane’s cologne, but that’s it.”

  God. Her sexual afterglow is kind of annoying. More like it makes me jealous. With Joel…I shouldn’t fault him. He was eager. He always wanted to please me. And I appreciated that but…okay fine, the problem was me. I had the hang ups. I couldn’t let go. I get too nervous during sex. I worry about how I look, how I’m touching him, how he’s touching me, do I smell, do I look fat, can he see the cellulite on my butt, oh my God did I just fart?

  Do I give good blowjobs or bad? Ugh, does he want to lick me down there? Gross, don’t do it. I won’t come anyway. I’m sweaty. I’m smelly. I’m tired. My jaw hurts. Can’t he just come already and get it over with?

  Yeah. I have serious self-esteem issues when it comes to sex. I wish I could just relax and let loose and be free. Like Kelli, or like the rest of the girls on campus who are getting some on a regular basis. Performance anxiety really stresses me out. Sex is supposed to be fun, right? I feel like it’s a job. Or worse, I feel like it’s a test.

  Yes, a giant, everything depends on this moment epic test and I am always, always going to fail. I’ve gotten quite good at pretending. Faking orgasm. Faking interest. Faking everything.

  Maybe I should’ve become a nun. Bad thing is, I’m not Catholic.

  “While I’m taking a shower, you need to do your hair. Curl it like you do sometimes. It’s pretty like that.” Kelli waves a hand at the bright yellow, very expensive curling iron my mom had shipped to me for my birthday from Sephora. The thing works like magic. Considering its price tag, it should.

  Not sure where Mom got the money for it since we are most assuredly middle class, but I do know she’s been dating a new guy lately who I think she’s getting to foot all the bills. She says she’s been remodeling the house lately too, which is kind of strange but hey, he must really like her. And she’s a pretty awesome lady, I must say. So if her boyfriend Dex is funding the remodel, then good for her. Good for us. I should reap the benefits of this too since I’m coming home for the summer.

  At least there’s something to look forward to.

  “And wear that cute pale blue top. You know, the one that’s sleeveless and has the crisscross in the back?”

  “Kell. That shirt shows practically all my goods.” I bought it because Joel encouraged me to. I’ve worn it exactly once and felt so self-conscious the entire night I deemed it unwearable forevermore. “In fact, it’s yours now. You’re an owner.”

  “No way. I bought one just like it but in a different print. You are so wearing it tonight.” Kelli grins. “And you’re wearing it because it shows off all your goods. You have a hot bod, friend! Such a tiny waist and those boobs! Women pay good money for boobs like those.”

  I glance down at my chest. “You’re crazy.”

  “No, you’re crazy for not showing those ta-tas off more! You’re gonna curl your hair, I’m gonna do your makeup, you’ll wear that shirt that shows off your goods and we’re gonna get wasted, baby. We’re going to have the night of our lives!” Kelli dances out of our dorm room, slamming the door behind her.

  I stare at the door for a moment too long before I finally heave myself off the bed with a big sigh and go over to the makeshift vanity Kelli and I turned our one lone desk into and plug in the curling iron. Flopping into the chair, I settle in and flick on the lights of the three-way mirror Kelli brought with her from home, making a face at my reflection.

  I look crazy. Hair is whack since I let it dry naturally so it’s sort of all over the place. My skin looks pale, the freckles stark and too obvious for my liking. My brows need plucking and…I lean in closer, turn my chin to the right. Great. A pimple. I run my finger over the blemish right on my jawline, knowing that with a few dabs of foundation and one of those magic brushes Kelli’s always wielding, she can make it disappear.

  Thank God for friends. And moms that splurge on too expensive curling irons.

  Amen.

  Shep

  “A frat party? That’s so déclassé.” I’m lounging outside by the pool, soaking up the spring-but-it-almost-feels-like-summer heat. California is suffering a major drought, which means hot women in string bikinis hanging out by the pool comes that much earlier. I should have a poolside party tomorrow afternoon…

  “Quit with your bullshit fancy words and just agree to go with me,” Gabe gripes good naturedly, like he’s wont to do. Because nothing ever gets this asshole down, his life is perfect. Gabriel Walker should be one of those models in a Ralph Lauren ad, where they’re all beautiful, wearing perfect clothing and riding horses through a lush green field and laughing with children and a gorgeous woman is clinging to his side.

  Good thing he’s my best friend or I’d hate his guts.

  “And why are we going to a fra
t house again?” I sound bored because I am. I’ve been to enough frat parties to last a lifetime. I’m also frustrated. Last night had been…insane. I went from the incredible high of winning that crazy hand and getting the girl to having said girl slap me across the face in front of everyone.

  Everyone.

  Reaching up, I touch my face, wincing at the hint of pain when I probe my cheekbone. Bitch Face Jade has a solid swing. I’ll give her that.

  “Because I want to. We need to cut loose, man. I just turned in a major paper and it feels good to have that out of my hair. I’m going to be leaving for the summer and won’t see your ass for months. I’ll miss you.”

  “Aw,” I interrupt. “We can write each other. Send each other selfies so we don’t forget what we look like.”

  “Shut up,” he mutters. “Come on. We need to live it up before school’s out. Next year is our last. Then we gotta be all responsible and shit.” Gabe sounds melancholy. He has no problem sharing his feelings, getting sentimental. Me on the other hand? I show nothing. I keep everything, every emotion, every feeling, close to my chest.

  It’s easier that way.

  “Besides it’s our frat asshole, not that you’ve been coming around lately,” Gabe continues. “They miss you. They want to hang out with the legendary Shepard Prescott.”

  “Bullshit.” I take a sip from my beer, set it down on the tiny metal table beside me with a loud clunk. The late afternoon sun is intense and I’m sweating. I should jump in the pool real quick to cool off, but it’s still ice cold so I’ll pass. “No gambling tonight,” I add. It’s Tristan’s night to work anyway so I don’t have to be there.

  “Why? You still mad over how the little redhead burned you?” Gabe laughs.

  I’m tempted to throw my phone in the pool but restrain myself. “My cheek still hurts,” I mutter.

  Gabe laughs harder. “She’s a firecracker, I’ll give her that. Bet she’s an amazing fuck.”

  “You thought about fucking her?” I feel vaguely possessive. Fine, more than vaguely possessive. More like, I’m venturing into she’s mine territory.

  “Well, yeah. Did you get a good look at her? I know you did. You couldn't keep your eyes off her. She’s hot, with all that hair and the tits and her mouth? Christ.”

  “What about her mouth?” Yeah. He has no business thinking of Jade like this. Talking about Jade like this.

  You don’t either asshole.

  “You sound jealous.”

  I snort. “Impossible. What could I be jealous of?”

  “Exactly. That’s why you need to come to the house tonight. Lots of girls will be there. You can have your pick and get that temperamental Jade out of your head for good,” Gabe says.

  “I won her fair and square. If I ever see her again, I’m collecting,” I say, feeling like a jerk the second the words fall from my mouth.

  “I think it’s in your best interest you never see her again. Right? She’s crazy, dude. She fucking slapped you. What the hell was her problem anyway?”

  Oh, I don’t know. Her boyfriend gave her up pretty damn easily. I was being a prick. Granted, she was being somewhat of a bitch and I was just leveling the playing field so to speak but…

  It was a tense night. An insane night. One I don’t want to repeat.

  So why’d I dream about her? About those bee-stung lips clinging to mine, and her tongue. About my hands buried in all that vibrant red hair, tugging on it, making her moan. About her ass filling my palms and her tits pressed against my chest and…

  “I’ll pick you up at ten,” Gabe says, crashing into the middle of my hot thoughts.

  “What time does the party start?”

  “Nine. We’ll make an epic entrance,” Gabe reassures me before we end the call.

  I’m tired of epic entrances too. I’m tired of…everything. It all bores me. I sound like a dick but I can’t help myself. I’ve been handed everything I could ever want. My family comes from old money. The Prescotts have been around for generations, originally making their money in real estate. Mother is a Shepard and their multigenerational fortune came from the stock market.

  Jade had been right. I’m a complete asshole with my rich guy name and my rich guy attitude. I know nothing else. I’ve never been anything else but the spoiled rich kid. The boy who went to boarding school because his parents were sick of dealing with his shit so they got him out of the house in the most legitimate way. The boy who shoplifted from various stores one too many times when he was thirteen so he got shoved into the back of a police car and questioned at the station in order to be taught a lesson. The high school student who was caught snorting coke in the chemistry lab with a couple of friends and almost got expelled.

  Thank God for Daddy who wrote a big check and got all that nastiness swept under the rug.

  I don’t really do drugs anymore. My vice of choice is alcohol and ever since I became of legal age to drink it, I’m not indulging as much. It’s not forbidden anymore so therefore, I’m over it.

  Oh, and my other vice—besides women—is gambling.

  It’s illegal, what we’re doing, what we’re running at Gabe’s. And that’s more than half the thrill. If I can’t push it to the very edge, then I’m not having any fun.

  Sick but true.

  I’m fairly sure that’s why I enjoyed toying with Jade so much, why I included her in our bet last night. It felt forbidden, asking Joel to bet his girl. I’ve pushed guys to bet their cars (and I’ve won two, sold them both on Craigslist), to bet their motorcycles (never won one), to bet their designer sunglasses (won more than my fair share), their gold necklaces, their fucking Nikes, their dogs (never won a pet either).

  I’ve never asked for a girl though. Her anger had fueled me. Her smart mouth had turned me on. Touching the bare skin of her arm…she’s incredibly soft. The scent of her hair, those big eyes, those bigger tits.

  Christ.

  I have it bad. Maybe I need to find another hot redhead tonight and fuck her. Fuck Bitch Face Jade right out of my system so I’ll quit thinking about her.

  But first, I’m gonna take a shower and jerk off to thoughts of her lips wrapped tight around my cock. Just to take the edge off.

  “This sucks,” I yell in Gabe’s ear.

  “What are you? An old man?” Gabe looks incredulous, then flashes a giant smile at me as he clutches his bottleneck beer tight. “Look. How can this even begin to suck?”

  I let my gaze cast out to where Gabe is indicating with the wide sweep of his hand. It’s mayhem in the backyard. White lights are strung between the trees, zigzagging over our heads. A DJ is at the backend of the yard, his equipment on a stage as he clutches a pair of headphones in one hand and waves his other hand in the air to the beat of the song, his face lit up by his laptop’s screen. The yard is jam packed with bodies hopping up and down to the latest by Katy Perry, some sickeningly upbeat song that makes me want to gauge out my ears with extra sharp knives.

  Gabe and I stand on the back patio at the top of the stairs, like kings surveying their land. A few stragglers linger up here as well and there’s a particular girl watching us from afar, though she seems to only have eyes for Gabe. Fine with me, considering she’s not a redhead.

  Yeah. The shower beat off session hasn’t taken the edge off whatsoever.

  “Nothing but girls dressed in their skimpiest clothes as far as the eye can see,” Gabe says. “I think we’ll find good fortune tonight, my friend.”

  “What the hell? Have you turned into a pirate?” I take a giant swig of my beer, polishing it off. I need another to make it through the next half hour, let alone the rest of the night.

  “Aye, in hunt of gorgeous, sexy women.” Gabe squints one eye and makes a variety of pirate noises, causing the girl staring at him from afar to giggle flirtatiously. He turns, notices the girl and leaves me in the dust, not bothering to look back.

  Typical.

  “You need another?”

  I glance to my right to see a gir
l with strawberry blonde hair smiling at me, a beer bottle clutched in each hand. She’s wearing extremely short black shorts and a white lace top. Without a bra.

  Damn.

  “Yeah. Thanks.” I take the beer she offers and tip it to my lips, keeping my gaze on her the entire time. She weaves on her feet, teetering on the extremely high heel sandals she’s wearing. “You all right?” I ask after I swallow.

  “Ss’ fine.” She smiles crookedly, her blue eyes going a little hazy and I reach out, gripping her by her arm before she falls. “You’re Shep Prescott right?”

  “Yeah,” I say warily. I hate it when they already know me. Makes them feel stalkerish even though that might not be their intent.

  “I’ve heard of you.” She takes a step closer, her tits brushing against my arm. They’re small. She’s small in general, doesn’t even come up to my shoulder and I’m a solid six-one. “I hear you have a big dick.”

  Thank Christ I wasn’t taking a drink when she said that. “Is that so? And where did you hear this bit of info from?”

  She smiles, revealing teeth covered in metal. How old is she anyway? “My name’s Manda. Amanda. Mandy. Whatever you want to call me. My sister is Lacy Douglas. You dated her last year.”

  Lacy Douglas. I don’t recognize the name. And I don’t ‘date’ anyone. If I supposedly went out with Lacy that means I fucked her once, maybe twice, and then never called her again. I guess I made an impression though, what with the big dick remark.

  “Lacy said you’re a prick.” She curls her arm around mine. “I’m more intrigued with the idea of your big dick though. I’m a professional blow jobber.”

  I try my best to keep a straight face. No way in hell am I letting brace face get anywhere near my dick. “So you’re saying you get paid to suck dick?”

  She frowns. “Nooo. I’m no prostitute.”

  “But you said you were a professional,” I point out.

  Manda, Mandy, Amanda rolls her eyes and releases her hold on my arm. “I said that I’m a professional blow jobber. As in I’ve given lots of BJs. I have skills. Skills you wouldn’t know what to do with.”