"I think you should stop being so mean to me, Zahed."
"Why would I ever do that?"
Aryan grins, a bright, wicked thing.
"Because I kiss you like this."
•
Mira Zahed and Aryan Shankar are at war.
When her best friend and his cousin decide to fall in...
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♥ ♥ ♥
KAPPA KAPPA ALPHA HAS TEETH AND THEY snap at me in the form of about a dozen doe-eyed girls sticking their head out of a cracked kitchen doorway to peer curiously at me.
I crane my neck up at the white spiral staircase that occupies a corner of the black and white tiled foyer. The setup of this sorority house looks like it's straight out of Keeping up With the Kardashians.
The girls follow my movement, their heads moving as one.
I clear my throat. Compared to Mira Zahed's slicing glares, the appreciative glances of the sorority girls are welcome, if not a little terrifying. "Ladies," I say with a nod.
It was the blondest of them all who stepped forward. I say blondest because her hair was basically white, a rather stark contrast to the spray tan complexion of her skin. Other than the slight orange hues, she was hot and she knew it. I could tell from the way her eyes rove me up and down.
The blonde flicks a section of her hair over her shoulder and tilts her head at me. I politely keep my eyes on her face, even though her neon pink tube top hugs her skin generously— because, contrary to Zahed's accusations, I was not here for a booty call.
"Aryan, is it?" She asks and I internally wince at the mispronunciation. Airy-an. "How can I help you?"
I offer her a short smile, eyes glittering as I watch her bite her lip, and incline my chin up the spiral staircase. "I'm here for a rescue, I'm afraid."
Her expression flattens.
And right on time, a pounding of footsteps sounds from upstairs and an angry blonde girl with a box tucked under her arm stomps down the stairs.
"Aryan!" Kenna Westbrooke snaps, pronouncing my name properly, unlike her sorority sister. Or ex sorority sister, I supposed. Are-yan. "Don't talk to those bitches."
The hot blonde girl's expression blackens in distaste as Kenna storms down the staircase towards me. She shoves the box into my arms and shoots a hot glare at her fellow blonde.
"Back the fuck up, bitch," she almost snarls. "He doesn't like fake blondes."
The girl steps back as if Kenna had hit her. I tighten my grip on the box, while all I want to do is laugh because Kenna's glare is near comical. I glance down at the box to keep my composure, only to see that it's filled with college detritus and none of which included books. A sparkly pink bong peers up at me though.
