It's been about five minutes since the race started, and I'm still trying not to crack up thinking about that pledge who nearly faceplanted down the house stairs. The distance from Old Campus to White Plaza isn't short, especially when you're running naked with half the campus watching. I figured they'd get back quicker, but these guys are taking forever.
In the meantime, I'm hanging out in the main room of the house, the air thick with that stale beer smell. I share a laugh with my brothers. The Delta Kappa Delta girls are here, and I don't miss a chance to chat them up. Most of them know me already—I've spent more nights crashing in their Mayfield Avenue houses than in my own room, and even if I have to come up with excuses for my flirting, I always manage to pull it off.
Then I spot her: Amber, the Delta president, leaning against the wall with that effortless vibe that kills me. Her black hair shines under the lights, and her honey-colored eyes have this spark that hooks you right in. She's drop-dead gorgeous, and not just because of her killer body. It's that confidence, the way she owns the room, that drives me wild.
"How've you been?" I say, sauntering over with my best smile.
"Noah Whitman," she replies, flashing a grin that kicks my pulse up a notch. "What a miracle seeing you around!"
Damn, this girl is trouble. Beautiful, smart, with a vibe that makes you want to talk to her all night.
"Guess being on the committee ties me here, huh?" I say, leaning in a little closer.
"I suppose so," she says with a slight nod and a look that challenges me. "So, what are you doing here besides strutting around?"
"Just happened to pass by," I reply, turning on the charm. "And I spot this stunning girl, a little lonely, a little neglected… Couldn't leave her like that. What kind of Alpha Centauri brother would I be?"
"That'd be pretty rude of you," she says, with a half-smile that makes me want to kiss her right there.
I won't lie: Amber has me hooked. It's not just her smile or those eyes that undress you with a glance. It's the way she moves, talks—like she knows exactly what she wants. But I'm only human, not made of stone. Her presence lights me up, and even though I'm not the falling-in-love type, with her, I always end up second-guessing myself.
"Hey, by the way, I loved the messages the girls wrote on the pledges," I say, nodding toward the door. "The ones I caught were… creative."
"It was a great chance to raise some awareness," she says, looking pleased. "Plus," she adds with a mischievous grin, "you have no idea what it was like watching all those guys running around naked. I'm sure half the campus turned to read what was on their backs."
"Bet they did," I reply, the image of those bouncing asses still fresh in my mind—including that one from the dark-haired, green-eyed pledge I won't forget anytime soon.
"Listen," I say, stepping a bit closer. "Tonight, after this circus wraps up, I'm throwing a party to welcome the new brothers. And, I don't know… I'd love for you to be my date."
"Noah Whitman, inviting a Delta girl… what a shock," she says, with a dazzling smile that throws me off balance. "Sweet words, but tell me, are you just checking me off your list?"
Shit. Blood rushes to my face, and I feel it heat up. She laughs, clearly enjoying my squirm.
"I totally disagree, Amber," I defend myself, trying to play it cool. "I'm just saying I could use some great company, and you… you're the best I can think of."
"I'd love to," she says, with a sweetness that nearly melts me. "But I can't tonight. One of my Delta girls is going through a rough patch. I noticed it today, and I don't want to leave her hanging. I'm happy you guys are getting new brothers, but I'm the president—my girls come first."
Her loyalty impresses me. Amber's not just a pretty face; she's got heart, and that makes her even hotter. I admire how she puts her sorority first, even if it stings a little not having her tonight.
"Next time, gorgeous," I say, flashing her a smile back. "But don't think I'm giving up easy."
"You never do," she replies, winking before walking away.
Damn, what a woman. I watch her for a second before heading back to Chris, who's by the door, peering outside with a worried look.
"Hey, you think they're still alive?" he asks, sounding nervous.
"No clue, but I hope so," I say, trying to sound chill even though I'm feeling the same vibe. "But after that pledge who crashed into the bike at Memorial Church, I wouldn't be shocked if one doesn't make it back."
Minutes drag on, and the worry builds. It's been too long with no sign of anyone. Just as I'm thinking something went south, the door flies open. A pledge stumbles in, sweaty, face beet-red, with a couple of bloody scrapes. Looks like he took a few spills, but the thrill in his eyes is contagious. The house erupts in cheers and whoops. He's the first one back—our newest brother.
Joe and Chris throw a blanket over him, and the guy collapses onto a couch, gasping. In the next few minutes, the second, third, and fourth roll in, all banged up and wiped out. Good thing we let them keep their shoes—otherwise, their feet would be shredded. It's not unusual for pledges to end up bloody in these initiations. Happened to me too, and I've still got a scar on my knee to prove it. It's like our blood pact, minus the cheesy goblet-drinking crap.
I figured that was it. Four new guys isn't bad, even if we aimed for six. But just when I think we're done, the door swings open again. A guy stumbles in and faceplants right on the floor. I freeze. I recognize that ass instantly: it's the green-eyed kid, the one who was tenser than a wire before the race. Ethan, I think his name is. The bastard made it.
Grabbing a blanket, I head over with another brother and help haul him up. When he stands, his eyes lock on mine, and I can't help but flash a amused grin. He's a mess—sweaty, with a scrape on his arm—but those green eyes sparkle with a mix of anger and triumph that gets my pulse racing.
Minutes later, the sixth pledge shows up, even more beat up. He tells us he wrestled with security guards near Tresidder and barely escaped. There's probably gonna be an investigation over this, but that's Morgan's headache. He'll smooth things over with the dean.
For now, we've got six new brothers. Alpha Centauri's full again, and tonight, we're celebrating right.
****
This day has been a damn rollercoaster. First, the blowout with my dad, which left my guts churning and my wallet empty. Then, the crazy idea to chase a diversity scholarship by pretending to be gay, which still makes me break out in a cold sweat. I'm not confident about this. I know lying to snag a student benefit is a massive risk. If I get caught, I'm screwed: expulsion, public humiliation, and the chance my parents find out I'm running around campus claiming to be gay. We've never talked about that. My grandparents were conservative to the core, and while my parents aren't as extreme, I have no clue how they'd react. I'd rather not think about it now.
Despite it all, organizing the hazing was fun. That guy, Ethan, blew me away. He was scared shitless, nearly ate it on the house stairs, but he made it, battered and bruised, in second-to-last place. Damn, that grit inspires me. If he could drag himself to the finish line, maybe I can pull off this insane plan of mine. But that's for later. Right now, it's time to party.
The Alpha Centauri house, smack in the heart of Old Campus, is packed to the rafters. The moon glows over the backyard, lighting up the sandstone facade and the string lights we hung for the occasion. The music's blasting, a mix of 2000s and 2020s bangers—Sweet Caroline to Blinding Lights—making everyone shake their hips like lunatics. The air smells of beer, sweat, and pricey perfume. There's beer pong, shouting, laughter, and couples getting tangled up in every corner. Someone's chugging from a hose while the crowd chants, "Chug, chug, chug!"—classic. Tomorrow's hangovers are gonna be brutal, but tonight, no one cares.
I took a second before heading down to the party to change. I threw on a tight black tee with the Alpha Centauri logo in gold, dark jeans that hug just right, and a leather jacket that screams, "I own this shit." I check myself in the mirror, run a hand through my hair for that perfect messy look, and head downstairs with my best grin. If I'm running this party, I've gotta look like the damn king.
In the middle of the room, Morgan takes the floor, hopping onto a table with a beer in hand. The crowd quiets, though the vibe's still electric.
"Brothers, friends, this is a night to celebrate!" Morgan shouts, raising his glass. "We're welcoming six new Alpha Centauri brothers. And a shoutout to those who didn't make it. Some are here, some in the hospital… but nothing serious, so let's drink to that!"
The house erupts in laughter and cheers. Beers go up, splashing the pledges in the center, who are soaked in booze and euphoria. Morgan hops off the table, and a few brothers bring out black boxes decorated with the frat's gold initials. Others carry gray hoodies with the Alpha Centauri crest embroidered on them. One by one, Morgan hands the hoodies to the pledges, who take them like they're Olympic medals.
Then Joe opens the boxes, pulling out silver rings plated in gold, engraved with the frat's Greek letters. Morgan slides them onto each pledge's right ring finger with a seriousness that cuts through the party's chaos. It's an almost solemn moment, our ritual to seal the bond. I went through the same thing years ago, and I still feel the weight of that ring on my hand.
Among the pledges, I spot Ethan. He's nervous, shoulders tense, eyes darting around. He's not soaking up the moment like the others. His friends are around him: a stunning redhead who throws an arm over his shoulder to cheer him up, and a blond guy, not as hot as me but with a charm that stands out. At least he's not alone in this whirlwind.
The ceremony wraps, and the party explodes again. The music cranks up, and Despacito by Luis Fonsi and Daddy Yankee hits, sending everyone onto the dance floor. I lose myself in the crowd for a bit, flirting with a couple of Tri Delta girls, until I find Joe near the makeshift bar in the kitchen.
"Hey, where's Chris?" I ask, grabbing a beer.
"No clue, he vanished a while ago," Joe replies, shrugging.
Then I see him. Ethan, in a corner, holding a beer, staring at the dance floor like he'd rather be anywhere else. But what stops me dead isn't him—it's who's with him.
"Holy shit," Joe says, as shocked as I am.
Sarah, Chris's girlfriend, is all over Ethan, kissing him like she's trying to devour him. Chris has always been crazy about her, but everyone in the frat knows Sarah's not exactly a poster child for fidelity. The rumors have always been there, but Chris refuses to see them. And now, this? In our own house?
"What do we do?" Joe asks, nervous.
"Nothing," I say firmly. "I'm not covering for Sarah or the pledge. If Chris sees this, it's their problem, not mine."
Joe nods, and we dive back into the party for a moment. I get caught up with a gorgeous brunette with dark eyes. We start dancing to Despacito, her hips pressed against mine, moving in a way that sets me on fire. I grab her waist, my lips grazing her neck, and she pulls me toward a room down the hall. The second we're inside, she's on me, kissing me with an intensity that leaves me breathless. I kiss her back just as hard, our tongues tangling, her fingers in my hair, mine gripping her ass. I feel myself straining against my jeans, on the verge of losing control.
But then the music cuts off. The happy chaos turns into a messy uproar. I stop, a bad feeling settling in my chest, and head out of the room with the brunette trailing behind.
What I see is a disaster. Chris has Ethan by the shirt, eyes blazing with rage, yelling in his face: "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
A few brothers try to pull them apart, but Chris is unhinged. Ethan throws his hands up, defending himself: "I didn't do anything!" he yells. "She came onto me, I didn't want this, got it?"
"You expect me to believe you were making out with her for no reason, you damn idiot?" Chris roars as Joe holds him back.
It's a mess. Brothers are shouting, Ethan's friends try to push through, but the crowd shoves them back. Chris swings a punch, but Ethan's quick, dodging and shoving him to the floor with a sharp move. The silence lasts a split second before every brother glares at Ethan like he's public enemy number one. In Alpha Centauri, messing with a brother's girl is a cardinal sin.
Morgan steps forward, his authority silencing the room. I look at him, knowing he's about to kick Ethan out. The tension's so thick you could cut it with a knife.
"You just got here, and you're already going after one of our brother's girls," Morgan says, his voice ice-cold. "We don't touch a brother's partner. You can do whatever you want with whoever you want, just not one of ours."
Murmurs swell. Some call for Ethan's immediate expulsion. But then, Ethan drops a bomb that leaves us all stunned: "I'm gay!" he shouts, his voice cracking, green eyes blazing with a mix of fear and defiance.
The room goes dead silent. Ethan's trembling, face red, but his gaze is steady. I don't see a trace of a lie in him. It's like he just ripped off a mask in front of everyone.
"I didn't go after her," he continues, calmer but still intense. "She came onto me. I was just talking to her, as a friend. Then she threw herself at me—I think she was drunk."
I believe him. We all know how Sarah is. The rumors have always been there, and Chris is the only one who won't see it. Morgan eyes him, sizing him up. Kicking him out would be easy, but not fair. Ethan doesn't seem like he's lying, and that fire in his voice makes everyone hesitate.
And then, it hits me. Ethan. He's perfect. Openly gay, hot, with that intensity that makes him stand out. He's exactly what I need for my plan. He could be my perfect fake boyfriend.
I push through the crowd, flashing my best trouble-dodging grin. I lock eyes with him, and his body tenses, like he knows something big's coming.
"Wanna be my boyfriend, Ethan Bennett?" I say loud and clear, as the entire room freezes in shock.