Lucky Kisses(2)

By: Addison Moore

“Here they come,” Harper muses as Ava and Grant head this way, hand in hand, equally goofy grins plastered to their faces, and ten bucks says they’re not even inebriated.

Ava is my roommate, and thus my insta best friend right along with Harper. It’s strange having two girls in my life that I’m suddenly close to after spending my entire scholastic career honing the art of avoiding people in general. It’s not that I have anything against other people. It’s just that I usually don’t get along with them. I don’t usually get along with any living creature, and quite honestly, that’s the way I like it.

“Get out there, girls.” Ava bumps her hip into both Harper and me. Ava is Katy Perry gorgeous—same dark hair, same day-glow blue eyes, and as sweet as the girl next door, a perfect dichotomy that every boy at WB finds charming. But she doesn’t require the attention of every boy at the university. Ava has already found The One. “You don’t need a man to dance with. Kick off those heels and shake what your mommas gave you.” She winks up at Grant, her tall, rather studly basketball star of a boy toy. Ava and Grant had a hell of a time last semester when they found out the truth of who they were in one another’s lives, but they seem to have overcome what ailed them. And I’m glad about it. I really do care for Ava as if she were my own sister. Of course, I want her to be happy. And if Grant ever breaks her heart, he’s going to have more than one pissed-off girl to deal with. I’m coming at him with a vengeance. And considering that I have a natural inclination to be unusually cruel to the opposite sex, this would not bode well for him.

Ava leans in. “Why are you glaring at my boyfriend?”

“No reason.” I’m quick to look the other way and spot the tools from Beta Kappa Phi congregating around a group of my own sorority sisters. Harper, Ava, and I rushed Kappa Gamma Gamma last fall. We won’t get beds until next year, so, for now, we’re sequestered at Cutler Tower along with the other plebs at WB.

“Get out there.” Ava gives both Harper and me a shove in their direction. “It’s a mixer. You’re supposed to mix.”

Harper is the first to huff at this male-centric thinking. “I don’t need to mix with the opposite gender just to have a good—” She stops short at the sight of a group of fresh meat that just walked through the door and gasps. “Never mind—I think I see someone I suddenly want to mix with.” She speeds in that male-centric direction as if Zeus himself descended from Mount Olympus. Truly, he would be the only Greek, living or dead, to garner my attention.

Grant laughs right along with Ava. “They’re falling like dominos.”

“You’re next.” Ava gives my shoulder a tweak. “What about Rush?” She offers up the first Beta boy she sees on an unappetizing penis platter.

“Rush is my big unofficial brother.” I openly frown at the two of them. “Some of us still adhere to the brother/sister rules the Greeks have piled on us.” Ava and Grant were also a part of the big brother/little sister mentorship program, but since they’ve broken the one and only cardinal—carnal—rule, they’ve since been unceremoniously dumped from the program.

I glance over at Rush, my own big brother who coerced me into signing up for the Greeks’ community interaction project earlier today. That’s where Greeks bleed their goodness into the heart of the community and we all walk away with the warm fuzzies afterward—not to mention that it will look stellar on my grad school app. Sure, Rush is cute and well-built, not to mention bulging in all the right places—God knows those basketball shorts don’t hide how the cucumber lies, or how large that veggie is for the picking. But no, Rushford Knight is most certainly not the boy for me. None of them are when you get right down to the bulging brass tacks. Every boy in this room is interchangeable with one another as far as I’m concerned. Whomever I happen to haul into my life will simply be a means to a sexual end. Sure, we might have a laugh or two—mostly it will be me doing the laughing—oh hell, all of it, but I plan on keeping my relationships, if you can call them that, short and sweet—read nonexistent.

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