Looking to Score(13)

“You’re my publicist, right?” he asked. It was the first time he’d sounded unsure since I’d first spoken to him. The absence of cockiness in his voice made me even more apprehensive.

“Yeah?” I responded, kind of wishing someone else was his publicist instead.

“Well, I have a fucking mess for you to clean up. I’ll text you the address.” Oakley hung up, and I grumbled to myself as his text came through.

He was at a frat house. Perfect.





I held my breath the entire Uber ride to the frat house, having no idea what I was about to walk into. It was a little unsettling hearing Oakley sound like anything other than an arrogant ass. What the fuck had happened? The driver pulled up to the curb to let me out, and there were two drunk sorority girls sitting on the front lawn by the bushes. Drunk Girl One was holding Drunk Girl Two’s hair while she threw up. Oh gross, was that a fucking mushroom? Not only were they emptying the contents of their stomachs on the lawn, but their bodycon dresses were rolled up to their hips, flashing their neon thongs to the world.

Been there, done that. Solidarity, sister.

I walked past them into the house, scrunching my nose at the scent of sweat, booze, sex, and vomit. The bass was so loud that I could feel it vibrating in my teeth, and it was so crowded that I could barely push through. I used to live for this kind of party. It just wasn’t a fun night if you didn’t puke, sit on a random guy’s face, or post twenty-three pictures to Instagram to prove you were #LivingYourBestLife. Now, I just wanted to find Oakley and get the hell out of here.

I walked into the next room. Standing on my toes, I tried to pick Oakley out of the crowd, but it seemed that a requirement to get into the frat was to be tall and muscular. Everybody looked the same and was blending together. This was starting to feel impossible. I was about to walk into the next room when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned toward it and ran right into Dale’s chest. Smooth, Amanda.

Dale looked like every other cookie cutter frat daddy in this place. He wore boating shoes, and his button-down shirt was drenched in sweat from all the bodies slammed up against one another. His red hair was pushed back, like he’d been running his nasty-ass, greasy hand through it all night, and there was a bead of sweat perched on his plump upper lip.

“Come with me,” Dale shouted over the music. I couldn’t tell if he was drunk or not, but the cup in his hand was overflowing with beer. I followed him silently, mostly because he wouldn’t have been able to hear anything I said anyway. He led me up the stairs and then down a hallway. It was quieter upstairs, so I started to ask Dale what was going on. “Where is Oakley? If this is some fucking prank, then I’ll sign him up for volunteering on a Sunday morning, so help me Orlando Bloom.” I abruptly stopped, my voice coming to a complete halt when he opened the door.

The room was predictably messy, with dirty clothes and empty beer cans strewn across the stained carpet. There was what I assumed to be a sorority girl crying on the bed, her head in her hands and her brown hair falling forward like a curtain around her. Oakley was standing uncomfortably a few feet away from her. Oh fuck.

I immediately went to her. “Are you okay?” I asked, kneeling at her feet. Her head popped up, and I noted the smeared mascara trailing down her cheeks. A series of scenarios went through my mind. If Oakley hurt her, I’d end him. Client or not, there were certain lines I refused to cross—supporting a rapist was one of them.

“I just want to go home,” she choked out. Her voice sounded rough and clogged with emotion.

I looked up at Oakley and Dale, who were standing with their arms crossed and uneasy expressions on their face. “What happened?”

“Chantell here is sixteen,” Oakley grumbled. My eyes widened. Sixteen? Holy shit.

“You didn’t—”

“No!” Oakley snapped. “We were making out, then she just started crying. I didn’t know she was underage, I swear.” Staring at Oakley, I tried to gauge if he was telling the truth. His clothes were wrinkled, but he didn’t look like he’d just attacked the pink fortress.

I turned back to Chantell with a grimace. “Chantell, are you…”

“I didn’t mean to drink so much. My parents are going to kill me,” she sobbed, this time even louder.

“When is your curfew?” I asked.

“Two hours ago,” she croaked back. “I just wanted to make my boyfriend jealous. He cheated on me last week with Tammy fucking Tabernackle. As if fucking that stupid whore is something to brag about.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Oakley groaned at my back. I stood up and let out the breath I had been subconsciously holding. My mind was racing as I mentally went over what needed to happen. First, I needed to calm Chantell down. Then, I needed to figure out a way to make sure that she wasn’t going to lie to her boyfriend or anybody else and say that she and Oakley had been about to bop squiddles. And lastly, I had to start on damage control, who saw what and who were they telling?

I took a deep breath and turned my attention back to Chantell. I sat next to her on the bed and started rubbing her back in what I hoped was a comforting gesture. I didn’t have any actual siblings, but I had done this a thousand times, comforting my drunk sorority sisters back in California. “Chantell, sweetheart,” I cooed. “Everything is going to be ok. I’m going to help you. Your parents don’t need to know about tonight, ok? Do you have a friend you can go stay with?”