I was the happy sorority girl more interested in frat mixers and planning rush events.
Of course I had liked to party as much as the next slightly rebellious college girl. As I went through school I started to develop a bit of a reputation for being a crazy drunk. My wild side became the total antithesis of who I was the rest of the time. Because somewhere along the way, the prissy pretty girl who liked to match her lip-gloss with her handbag started to become notorious for getting wasted and making scenes. For dancing on top of bars and showing the room her crotch.
I made out with my girlfriends just to turn guys on. I reveled in the attention.
I couldn’t help myself. I loved people looking at me. I loved knowing I had the eyes of everyone in the room. It felt good. It felt powerful.
And it spelled disaster when my world crashed into the narcissistic Cole Brandt.
He liked to be the center of attention as well. He led his life as though he were always on stage. He was loud; he was funny; and he made sure everyone around him had a good time. He was utterly enticing.
I was attracted to him instantly.
He was molten hot.
Listening to him sing was something close to a religious experience. He was talented and amazing.
And he knew it.
People loved him.
Particularly women.
And I had been no exception.
We slept together not long after Jordan and Maysie got together. I had gone with Maysie to a party at Garrett’s. She had gone off with Jordan. I had proceeded to get drunk. And get loud. And Cole was drunk. And loud.
And we found each other irresistible.
After an evening of flirting and barely veiled innuendos, Cole had pulled me into the pantry off the kitchen and pushed my pants down.
There had been no foreplay. It was me, with my legs wrapped around his waist, my back pressed painfully against a shelf, boxes of crackers and pasta falling around us as he pounded into me.
And when we were finished, Cole had kissed the top of my head, said “Thanks,” and went back to the party.
I had been mortified. I wanted to crawl home with my dignity in tatters around me.
I had sworn never to let him touch me again. I had my pride. I wasn’t the type of girl a guy fucked and forgot.
I had gone home angry and vowing the worst kind of revenge.
And I had gotten it.
During the next Generation Rejects show, I announced to the packed room at Barton’s that Cole Brandt was the worst lay I had ever had. I grabbed the mic away from a fuming Cole and told them all that his dick was tiny and he could barely keep it up.
Maysie and her roommate, Riley Walker, had tried to pull me from the stage, but I wouldn’t leave. I knew I had pissed him off. He had been clenching his teeth so tightly it surprised me that they didn’t break.
But I hadn’t cared. This man had humiliated me. He had used me and thrown me away. I didn’t take that stuff lying down.
What had resulted was a very loud round of screaming and yelling. Cole had called me a crazy bitch. I had called him a self-centered jackass.
And somehow in the middle of hurling insults, we had ended up in the storage room at the back of the restaurant, our clothes on the floor and going at it for round two.
That had become our routine.
Cole did something douchey. I got pissed off and threw a fit. He got angry at my reaction. We screwed.
And any time we attempted to talk or engage in an interaction not defined by sex he ended up saying something rude and condescending. I would become infuriated and we would be back to where we started.
Naked.
The truth was Cole needed to stop using his mouth for anything other than kissing and singing. They were the only two things he was good at. Talking or, god forbid, trying to have a conversation with him, only got him into trouble.
And I was growing sick and tired of trouble.
But I could never get enough of the kissing.