"What?" is all I manage to choke out, my mouth dry and my heart pounding like a drum.
The Alpha Centauri house falls into a dead silence. Even Chris, who five minutes ago looked ready to rip my head off, goes quiet. But what Noah just said makes no damn sense. His boyfriend? Seriously?
"Wanna be my boyfriend, Ethan?" Noah repeats, with that infuriating confidence that drives me up the wall, stepping closer with that goddamn smirk.
"Are you fucking kidding me, Whitman?" I snap, my voice tight, as the crowd watches us like we're some reality TV show.
"No joke. I'm serious," he insists, moving closer, his blue eyes locked on mine like he's trying to read my soul.
"If you'd just hear me out—"
I don't let him finish. Rage boils inside me, and I shove him hard, nearly knocking him to the floor. Adrenaline clouds my head.
"Get the hell away from me, asshole!" I spit, letting out all the anger I've been holding in.
Before Noah can say another word, Morgan steps in, planting himself between us with an authority that demands attention.
"Noah," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I don't know what the hell you're playing at, but stop. Now."
"Morgan, you don't get it," Noah says, staring him down like he's about to drop another bomb.
"You're right, I don't," Morgan admits, putting a hand on Noah's chest to hold him back. "But what matters now is figuring out what happened between Ethan and Sarah."
I let out a sigh, trying to calm down, but the anger and humiliation are burning me up inside. "I already said it," I say, exhausted. "I didn't go near her. Sarah came onto me and kissed me. I don't know if she was drunk or what, but I couldn't stop her. I'm sorry, Chris, really."
Morgan sighs, glancing at the crowd circling us like vultures. The music's still off, and the vibe in the main room—with its polished wood walls and string lights flickering in the backyard—feels suffocating.
"Listen up, everyone," Morgan says, raising his voice. "We're getting back to the party. We're not letting this ruin the pledges' night. Chris, Ethan, come with me."
I'm fucking pissed. I didn't plan on screaming to the world that I'm gay. It's not like I was hiding it, but blurting it out like that, in front of all these people, just to defend myself from Chris? It's got me on edge. I don't want to be the "gay pledge" from day one, labeled like that's all I am. Especially not in this shitty frat, where I'm not even sure I want to stay.
I follow Morgan, shooting a glance at Noah. That asshole. I don't know what he's up to or why he said that stupid boyfriend thing. Is it a cruel joke? Some game to mess with me more? Ever since he saw me at the hazing, he's been poking at me with his comments and that damn smile. He tries to whisper something as we pass, but I ignore him, heading straight for the backyard. I don't want to hear it.
The crowd watches in silence as we step out the back door to the garden, where palm trees loom under the moonlight. The music kicks back on, Blinding Lights blasting from the speakers like nothing happened. But the air's still heavy. Chris keeps glaring at me, his anger practically burning my skin. I get it, I do. I'd be pissed too if someone kissed my partner. But, damn it, I don't have a partner, and I'm definitely not interested in Chris or Noah. Though… I don't know why Noah's proposal keeps echoing in my head like a stuck song.
Morgan leads us under a massive tree near a bonfire someone lit in the yard. The smell of smoke and beer mixes with the perfume from the Delta girls dancing nearby. The party's back on, but here in this corner, it feels like a damn court-martial.
"How are we sorting this out?" Morgan asks, looking at both of us with a calm that surprises me. I thought everyone here was an idiot, but he seems like he actually wants to hear us out.
Chris doesn't give me a chance to speak. "All I know is I saw him kissing Sarah. In front of everyone!" he yells, fists clenched.
"I told you, it wasn't me," I insist, fighting the urge to yell back. "I don't mess with anyone's girlfriend, especially not yours. I didn't even know she was your girlfriend, Chris. She was eyeing me since she painted my back during the hazing. Then she came up to congratulate me for making it through, and next thing I know, she's all over me. I didn't do anything, I swear."
Chris steps toward me, fuming, but Morgan stops him with a firm hand. "Enough, Chris," he says, his voice cutting through the tension. "There's a ton of drunk people at this party. It's possible Sarah acted on her own."
Then he looks at me, one eyebrow raised. "Is it true, Ethan? Are you gay, or did you just say that to get out of this?"
I let out a sigh that burns my throat. "It's true," I admit, my voice low but steady. "I didn't want to announce it to everyone, but I had no choice. This guy—" I point at Chris "—was about to kill me. The last thing I wanted was a fight. If you want to kick me out, go ahead. I don't care. But I didn't do anything wrong. And yeah, I'm gay. I don't know if that bothers anyone, but that's who I am."
Morgan studies me for a moment, sizing me up. "Listen, Ethan," he says, calmer now. "We don't discriminate here. Some guys might have their biases, but we've had gay brothers before. I'm pretty sure I saw Joe making out with a guy at a party once. I don't care, and it shouldn't matter to anyone else."
Chris cuts in, raising his voice. "What matters is what I saw! He was kissing my girlfriend!" he shouts, his anger spilling over.
I can't take it anymore. The humiliation from the hazing, Sarah's kiss, Noah's proposal—it's all too much, crushing me like a ton of bricks. "You know what? I'm done," I snap, my voice shaking with rage. "I quit. I don't want to be here—not with you, not with anyone. This is bullshit."
I rip off the silver Alpha Centauri ring and shove it into Morgan's hand. The hoodie with the frat crest is still draped over my arm, but I don't bother taking it off. I turn and storm off, crossing the lawn toward Mayfield Avenue, heading for my dorm in Stern Hall. I hear Morgan calling after me, and I think Julie and Jackson too, but I don't stop. I don't want to hear it. Tonight's been a disaster, and I never should've gotten mixed up with this damn frat. I thought I was doing it for the credits and tutoring, but this isn't worth it.
As I walk across campus, the streetlights casting shadows on the paths and the party's noise fading behind me, I feel a mix of relief and rage. But, damn it, I can't get Noah out of my head. Why the hell did he say that? What does he want from me? Whatever it is, I'm not falling for his game.
****
"You feeling better?" Jackson asks, with that concern that always pulls a half-smile out of me, as I finish getting dressed.
I throw on a worn gray tee, jeans, and the black jacket my cousin gave me when I got into Stanford. I grab my backpack, double-check that my biochemistry and calculus books are inside, and get ready to head out for my shift at The Coffee House in Tresidder Memorial Union.
"I'm fine, don't worry," I say, though my voice sounds more tired than convincing. Last night's shitshow still weighs on me like a boulder.
"It's just… last night was weird," Jackson presses, flopping onto his bed with a sigh. "Were you really kissing a girl? I mean, you're gay, so what happened?"
"No, Jackson," I say, my voice rising with annoyance. "I didn't kiss her, I told you. Sarah threw herself at me, and everyone assumed I was the bad guy. Then I bailed, end of story. I hope I didn't ruin the night for you and Julie."
"Chill," he says, shrugging. "Julie was worried, so we left not long after. We looked for you all over Stern Hall, but nada. When I finally found you, you were passed out on your bed, snoring."
"Sorry," I mumble, looking down. "Didn't mean to wreck your party."
"No big deal, there'll be more," he says, hopping up with that endless energy of his. "Everything happens for a reason, right? You'll get another shot."
Jackson always knows what to say to lift my spirits, even if it doesn't quite work this time. Sharing a room with him has made us closer than I expected. He's a solid guy, always hyping me up, though when he brings a girl over, I'm stuck crashing on the lounge couch or, worse, sleeping in my car in the Tresidder parking lot. But other than that, he's a friend I trust.
"Gotta go," I say, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. "Work's calling, and my debts aren't gonna pay themselves."
"Wait," he says, stopping me with a curious grin. "What was that with the blond guy last night? Noah, right? Did he really ask you to be his boyfriend?"
"Ugh, don't bring it up," I groan, exhausted. "That idiot hasn't stopped messing with me since the hazing. When I shouted I was gay, he thought it'd be hilarious to keep screwing with me. I don't know what the hell he wants, but it's not my problem."
"I don't know, man," Jackson says, frowning. "He seemed serious. When the music came back on, everyone was looking at him weird, filming him, asking questions. I think he got cornered. That's not his usual style, at least not like that."
"Don't care, okay?" I snap, sharper than I meant to. "I've gotta get to work."
Without waiting for a reply, I head out, leaving behind the beige walls of Stern Hall and the hum of students in the hallway. Stanford's campus is quiet this morning, the sun warming the palm trees and sandstone buildings. But my head's a mess. Noah's proposal keeps buzzing in my mind like a fly that won't quit. What the hell was that about?
I get to The Coffee House in Tresidder, and I'm not there two minutes before Rose, my boss, hits me with that raised eyebrow I know too well. "Ethan, we need to talk," she says, arms crossed, as the smell of fresh coffee and warm bagels fills the air.
I knew this was coming. "I know, I know," I say, scratching the back of my neck. "Last night was stupid."
"Stupid?" she repeats, a mix of amusement and reproach in her voice. "Running naked across campus with paint on your ass is 'stupid'? I saw your butt streak by the window, Ethan. And that streak of paint on your arm—you think I didn't notice?"
I glance at my arm, where a faint trace of blue paint still lingers, despite scrubbing in the shower. "I tried to wash it off," I mumble, embarrassed.
"I'm not ashamed you got seen," she says, a half-smile creeping in. "But was it worth it?"
"For a minute, yeah," I admit, shrugging. "I thought Alpha Centauri would help with tutoring and credits to get through this semester. But it turned into a disaster."
"Interesting," she says, raising that eyebrow again. "Because all morning, girls have been coming in asking about the 'sexy pledge from the race.' Apparently, what you're packing made an impression. They said even with both hands, you couldn't cover it."
My jaw drops, and I let out an incredulous laugh. "What? Seriously?"
"Oh, yeah," she says, chuckling. "It could boost sales, you know. But don't get cocky—I'm not exploiting you. Have some self-respect, Ethan."
"So you're not firing me?" I ask cautiously.
"Fire you?" she says, shaking her head. "I need you here. I'll let this slide, and if you bring in more customers, I might even give you a raise."
"For real?" I say, surprised.
"Let's see how the week goes," she replies, winking. "Now put on your apron and get to work, kid."
"Got it, boss," I say, a lighter smile breaking through.
Rose is awesome. She's about thirty, with curly dreads falling over her shoulders and an energy that never quits. Life hasn't been easy for her, but she's carved out her spot as manager of The Coffee House. When I started here, I was a mess—spilling coffee, mixing up orders, and the supervisor at the time wanted to boot me. But Rose stepped in, saying newbies deserve a shot. Those words stuck with me. She's more than a boss; she's a friend.
I tie on the green café apron and start my shift, serving lattes and bagels as students come and go, some eyeing me curiously. But deep down, I can't shake Noah. What the hell was he after with that proposal? Was it a joke? A game? I don't know why it's bugging me so much, but that damn smirk of his is burned into my brain.
****
This day's been more exhausting than the last, no lie. Rose was right: all through my shift, girls kept coming up to the counter, and more than a few were way too interested in me. Normally, it's me, another barista, and Rose handling things, but today, they all wanted me to serve them. Some tried flirting, throwing smiles and comments that didn't do it for me. I guess they were hoping the "race champ" would give them more than coffee. Tough luck for them—I'm not interested, for obvious reasons.
Still, the day wasn't bad. I sold a ton, and the tips were solid, which lifted my mood a bit. Everything was fine until the café door jingled.
"Cold americano, please," says a familiar voice.
I let out a groan, holding back a sigh. It's Joe, strolling up to the counter with that chill vibe that puts me on edge.
"You're not here for Chris, are you?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.
"Relax, I come in peace. Just want my coffee," he says, raising his hands with a smile.
I eye him for a second, sizing him up. I won't lie—he's good-looking. His hair, somewhere between straight and curly, falls just over his dark brown eyes, and that chiseled jaw screams hours in the gym. I'd bet he boxes or something, because his build is intense, bigger than mine, and I played football… for a while. I pour the coffee and slide it across the counter.
"And I'm here for this too," Joe says, setting the silver Alpha Centauri ring in front of me.
I freeze. "I was clear with Morgan when I gave it back," I say, trying to keep my cool, though I'm thrown off inside.
"You're a frat member now," Joe insists, taking a sip of his coffee. "Morgan asked me to remind you. And he told me to bring you the ring."
I pick up the ring, turning it over in my fingers, thinking. "No… I don't want it anymore," I say, handing it back firmly.
Joe shakes his head, staying calm. "Listen. After you left last night, I talked to Chris. Then we talked to Sarah."
I look at him warily, expecting a trap. "She admitted she kissed you," he continues, serious. "Said you didn't do anything, that she came onto you."
I'm speechless, processing his words. "And even though Chris was pissed, I think he got it," Joe adds, holding my gaze. "I talked to Morgan and the others. We all agreed it's only fair you come back. You ran the race. You earned your spot. It's what's right."
Before I can respond, the door swings open again, and Jackson barrels up to the counter. "Yo, I need a strong coffee, man," he says, panting.
"Don't you have a game today?" I ask, starting to prep his drink.
"Yeah, but I don't play without caffeine," he says with a half-smile. "Hurry up, I'm late."
"You on the team?" Joe asks, leaning on the counter.
"Yup, been playing since I got to Stanford," Jackson replies, still catching his breath. He flashes a grin, and Joe returns one that's… different, with a spark I can't quite read.
"Nice! I'm Joe, by the way," he says, extending his hand.
"Jackson," he replies, shaking it firmly.
I set the coffee on the counter, and Jackson grabs it, taking a long gulp. "What're you guys talking about?" he asks, looking between us.
"I'm trying to convince your buddy to drop the grudge and take his place in the frat," Joe says, his tone serious but relaxed.
"That's awesome! So you're in?" Jackson asks, locking eyes with me.
"No…" I start, but Jackson cuts me off.
"Come on, you need this, man," he says. "You'll make new friends, and it sounds like they cleared things up. They want you in. Just do it."
"Listen to your friend," Joe adds, pushing the ring toward me again. "What do you say? Accept our apology and take your spot?"
I stare at the ring, hesitating. "I don't know… maybe," I mumble, taking it again.
"That's the spirit!" Joe says, satisfied. "Your room's ready whenever you want to move in, you lucky bastard."
"Alright, I'm out," Jackson says, rushing toward the door.
"Straight to the game?" Joe asks, curious.
"Yeah, I'm a starter, so I'm hauling ass," Jackson replies.
"Can I come with? I'd love to check it out," Joe says, with an enthusiasm that feels… intriguing.
"Sure, let's go," Jackson says, and they head out together.
I'm left with a weird feeling. Not about Jackson—he's straight as they come—but about Joe. There's something in the way he looked at him, that smile, that makes me raise an eyebrow. Whatever, that's their deal.
I slip the ring into my pocket. I'm not ready to put it on. Just then, the counter bell dings again.
"One macchiato," says a voice I recognize instantly.
I turn, and there he is. Noah. With that damn smirk, leaning on the counter like he owns the place. I didn't expect to see him here, and I've got no clue how he knew where I work.