Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“You think I haven’t thought of everything? Well, I have.” I snap my fingers at the pledges in the corner. “It’s time, boys. Turn on the heat lamps.”
Jimmy scrambles to do my bidding. A moment later, the warm orange glow of heat lamps illuminates our faces.
Both Luke and Jako tilt their chins upward, admiring my handiwork. Jako actually whistles.
“For fuck’s sake,” Bailey complains. “Try not to look so impressed.”
His friend laughs. “Dude, we’re at the beach. In December.”
“How fucking original,” Luke says with a smirk. “A beach party at a fraternity house. Who would have thought?” He rolls his obnoxious eyes.
He’s half right. Lots of frats have beach parties—in the spring. Filling our yard with two dump truckloads of sand isn’t a new idea. But doing it at this time of year? Super fun.
“Look, Bailey. Thanks for the helpful feedback. But this is going to be a rager, the only winter party on campus with half-naked guests dancing till dawn. And it won’t even mess up our house, like most winter parties do. You’re welcome.”
Luke glances around, anger flickering in his expression. But I also glimpse a hint of envy.
And he should be envious. I’ve thought of everything. Besides the high-quality beer, there are punch drinks with little umbrellas in them. The steel drum band I hired is warming up, giving everything a tropical sound. When they finish their set, my DJ will step in and get the place rocking.
The brothers are already impressed. And because I know everyone so well, I chose my details carefully. Half those kegs are full of Paxton’s favorite ale. And the other half are full of Reed’s. The punch has rum in it, which Owen and Zimmer both love. And the DJ is Munsen’s favorite. I even got a bunch of hula hoops for a contest later, because Mithani loves to shake his hips around.
The best part is that I put this whole thing together in three days. Once I stopped panicking about how to throw a groundbreakingly original fete, and began asking myself what my friends like, it got easy.
Who doesn’t like the beach, right?
Everyone except Luke Bailey, apparently. But that dude doesn’t like anything, and I knew better than to try to impress him.
“You better get ready,” he threatens, “because you’ve got a hundred and fifty women outside.”
“I know.” I smirk.
“In their bathing suits,” he adds. “In the cold.”
Oh, fuck. I check my watch. “Tanner! Open those doors early. I can’t keep my public waiting.”
“Sure, dude,” my friend agrees. “But, uh, you’re not ready.”
“What?” I look around again. I am ready. The sand is perfect. The heat is cranking. The drinks are ready, and the music has begun.
“You made a big fucking deal that we all had to wear our bathing suits,” Luke says, stripping off his T-shirt to reveal that eight-pack he’s so fond of flashing around. “Where’s yours?”
I look down. I’m wearing track pants and running shoes.
Fuck.
“Be right back,” I say, and then jog toward the back of the tent.
I can hear that asshole Bailey laughing as I go. Whatever. This party is awesome, and he’s just a sore loser.
“Bathing suit?” Annika asks as I trot past the spot where she and her friend Lindy are hanging the last strand of chili pepper lights around the perimeter.
“Yup!” I call. “Back in a jif!”
“Great party, baby!” she calls. “Save me the first dance?”
“You know it!” I rocket across the lawn and then vault up the stairs, two at a time.
It’s like this for every big party I’ve planned at Alpha Delt—there’s always one little detail that gets lost in the shuffle. Even as I’m hastily unlocking the door to my room, I wonder where my swim trunks are. I haven’t worn them since the summer.
The moment I’m inside, I open the top drawer, pushing the boxers aside, looking for the red lobster print. But it’s not there. I open the next drawer, frantic now. And the next.
Nothing. But then all of a sudden it hits me—I’m looking for the wrong thing. That suit is at our Hamptons house. I yank the top drawer open again and pull out my other favorite pair of trunks on the first try. They’re blue, with yellow and white sailboats all over them.
I drop trou, yank on the blue suit, and heave a sigh of relief.
My party is a success by any measure. I come in fourth in the hula hoop contest, because the host has to make a good showing. The DJ is in a groove, and the pledges do a great job of serving everyone, and the compliments I’ve received tonight just keep piling up.
By one in the morning, I am cheerfully drunk, with sand between my toes. The punch is gone, but the beer is still flowing. The dance floor is packed, with Annika and me at the center.