Check, Please (Book #2)

Seven.

I spent the rest of the day in a horrible mood, ignoring Gemma's texts and Parker's invitation to grab a late lunch. I sat through my lectures without taking any notes and stormed out of class as soon as we were dismissed. I knew that I was acting like a child but I couldn't help it; I was annoyed. My relationship -- or whatever she wanted to call it -- with Gemma was annoying and the more I thought about it, the more annoyed I became with myself for not moving on. What really got me was the fact that she'd been the one to rekindle things this time, not me. I'd meant it when I told Fersan that I was looking forward to being single for once. Hell, there'd even been a month over the summer when I'd gone out with different girls each weekend. None of those dates had turned into anything serious but at least I was putting myself out there.

At least I was trying.

But, of course, I'd messed up my Gemma-free streak, first by answering her call the week before school started, and then by sleeping with her shortly after. She told me after the first time that she didn't want anything serious this time around but I'd ignored her. Maybe I'd convinced myself that I could change her mind, or maybe Gemma was right; maybe I was terrible at listening. It wasn't the first time that we'd argued over my tendency to only hear what I wanted to hear, and I knew that drove her crazy. It was a personality flaw and one that I tried to keep in check, but was it really my fault that no one ever taught me how to communicate properly?

I was still feeling sorry for myself when I arrived at the house in time for the week's first rush event, though my sullenness lessened when I bumped into Parker in the foyer. Bright red in the face and chewing frantically on his nails, he was trying to teach Yakob and two of the younger guys how to knot a bow tie. Although I knew he was trying not to lose his cool, there were so many worry lines on Parker's forehead that I doubted he'd ever be able to get rid of the creases.

"No, Motor, look, it's like this," Parker said, removing his thumb from his mouth long enough to demonstrate on the bow tie that he'd already fastened around his neck. Parker watched Yakob fumble to form a knot before stepping forward and fixing the tie for the sophomore. "It's not that hard, right?"

Yakob's acne-scarred cheeks turned scarlet. "Sorry, I've never worn one of these before. Can't I just wear a clip-on tomorrow?"

"No clip-ons!" Corey shouted from his position halfway up the stairs. Startled, Yak turned to look at our recruitment chair. Dressed and accessorized to the nines, Corey stared back at Yak as if the younger boy had suggested murdering a pledge and using his corpse as a lawn ornament. "Never, ever clip-ons. Okay?"

"But, why?" Yak asked, and the younger member next to him nodded in agreement.

Corey's expression hardened. "Hey, Motor, who's the rush chair? You or me?"

"Well, you are, but--"

"Exactly."

Corey spoke with such finality that the single word almost sounded threatening. I glanced at the trio of sophomores and, sure enough, just as quickly as he'd blushed, Yak paled until his skin resembled curdled milk. Sweat gathering on his brow, he mumbled something beneath his breath as he scurried off to join the rest of the spring pledge class. Beside me, I heard Parker let out a low groan and I glanced around until I realized the source of his discontent. Wearing a crisply pressed jacket, Phil Thorne, a senior and a constant source of ire for Parker, wandered over to us, clapping his hands while he walked.

"What's good?" Phil asked, and Parker grunted.

"Nothing, actually."

"What's up?"

I could hear the sound of Parker's teeth grinding together as he pieced together a response. From the look on his face, I had a hunch that Parker's irritation stemmed from more than Yakob's battle with his tie. "You screwed up the budget."