Misadventures of a College Girl (Misadventures #9)(4)

Clarissa leans in to my ear and shouts to be heard over the loud music. “Lots of potential cherry-poppers here, huh? Wowzers!”

I nod effusively. That’s an understatement. There are more potential cherry-poppers in this one cramped room than attended my entire high school back home. “Pop, pop, pop!” I shout into Clarissa’s ear.

Clarissa taps her ear, telling me she didn’t understand the stupid thing I just said, and I swat at the air to tell her never mind.

“Anyone catch your eye?” Clarissa shouts into my ear.

Why, yes. Without hesitation, I indicate a tall, blond, muscular guy I’ve been drooling over for the past five minutes, ever since we arrived, though I’m certain he hasn’t noticed I exist. “The golden god!” I shout. “Blue shirt!”

Clarissa looks to where I’m pointing across the room, and her eyes bug out of her head. She nods effusively and gives me a thumbs-up with both hands. “He looks like a superhero!”

“Totally!” I peek at him again and swoon. “It’s wishful thinking, I know, but a girl can dream!”

Clarissa taps her ear, yet again, and I gesture, telling her to forget it.

Clarissa leans toward my ear. “Let’s talk in the kitchen!”

And off we go, working our way through the packed crowd. As we walk, I can’t help noticing more than one dude brazenly checking me out. Almost immediately, I lock eyes with a hottie with sparkling brown eyes…but then immediately look down, my cheeks bursting with heat. When I look up again, Brown Eyes is gone, supplanted by a different hottie who happens to be, at this moment, staring at my boobs. When the second hottie’s eyes migrate to mine, he flashes me a panty-melting smile…and I immediately look down again.

When I look up a third time, a Hawaiian-looking guy in a backward baseball cap is giving me the once-over. Wow. Clarissa didn’t over-promise when she said she could make me into a hottie-magnet tonight. Frankly, I don’t blame all these boys for checking me out. If I were a horny college guy, I’d check me out in this body-baring dress, too. But it’s not my revealing dress alone that’s transformed me into a hottie-magnet tonight. It’s my hair and makeup, too. I had no idea my face could be painted to look this mysteriously bitchy. Or that my curly hair could be straightened into the kind of smooth-as-silk mane I’ve always envied on models in shampoo commercials. If anyone back home saw me looking like this tonight, they wouldn’t even recognize me. Which suits me just fine, of course, considering my rather scandalous mission for the evening.

Clarissa and I enter the kitchen and begin chatting excitedly about all the potential cherry-poppers in the other room, especially the golden god. But before we’ve finished our conversation, an adorable, nerdy guy approaches and enthusiastically greets Clarissa. After introductions and small talk, I find out this sweet guy is the one who invited Clarissa to the party, and his name is Dimitri. A little more conversation and we learn he’s a third-year biochemistry major with a minor in creative writing.

“Clarissa told me you tutor a player on the team?” I say.

“Several.” Dimitri points out a couple of large guys standing around a keg on the far side of the kitchen. “And I also tutor the quarterback, Jake Grayson.” He looks around. “Hmm. I don’t see Jake in the kitchen. He must be in the other room.” Dimitri describes Jake, and it’s immediately clear he’s talking about the golden god.

“So is Jake single?” Clarissa asks, but when Dimitri’s darling face visibly falls, she quickly adds, “For Zooey. She saw him in the other room and went all weak in the knees.”

Dimitri smiles knowingly. “Yeah, that’s pretty much the universal female reaction to seeing Jake for the first time.” He looks at me. “He’s single, as far as I know. He was telling me a couple days ago that he’d just broken things off with his high school sweetheart from back home. I’d be happy to introduce you to him, if you’d like. He’s a junior. Great guy. Not a whiff of the usual athlete-womanizer-God-complex cliché with him. He’s definitely a humble, one-woman sort of guy.”

At that last comment, Clarissa and I exchange deflated looks that say, Dang it.

“I can’t say the same about some of the other guys on the team,” Dimitri continues, rolling his eyes. “I mean, lots of players are funny and entertaining, super-fun guys to hang out with and all. But when it comes to women, holy crap, they’re just shamelessly on the prowl twenty-four seven. The thing I don’t get is why otherwise sane girls throw themselves at guys like that when…”

I’ve stopped listening to Dimitri. And I’ve stopped breathing, too. A tall, dark-haired slab of male perfection just strutted into the kitchen and commanded my full attention. Oh, sweet Jesus. Who the hell is that? He’s gorgeous, though in a totally different way than the golden god in the other room. If Mr. Quarterback is Thor, then this hunk of brazen sexuality is Loki. If the golden god is sunshine, this dude is moonlight. If Jake in the other room is my future husband, then this guy blazing his way through the kitchen is the stripper I’d screw as my last hurrah during my bachelorette party in Vegas. Well, winner, winner, chicken dinner.

My future one-night stand has dark hair, muscles, and tattoos. A strong jawline with a hint of stubble. Not to mention a truly ridiculous body clad in jeans and a tight black T-shirt, which shows off his broad shoulders and bulging arms. Now, to be fair, the golden god in the other room has a ridiculous body, too. But something about the cocky way this guy carries his bountiful assets tells me and everyone within fifty yards of him he knows exactly how to use what the good lord gave him in ways the golden god doesn’t.