Good Grades & Mystery Games (North University Series Book 2)
Good Grades & Mystery Games: Chapter 23

I’ve been in the den of Miles’ house for almost an hour, and I already want to leave. There aren’t that many people here, but with the amount of noise Miles and Xavier make you could have imagined at least twenty of us here.

Cobwebs decorate the ceilings and huge spiders lurk in the corners. The punch bowls are a strange green and orange colour, and all the snacks are some Halloween version of big brands. Honestly, it came together a lot better than I thought it would.

A few guys from the hockey team are all huddled in one corner of the room near the impromptu karaoke machine making a racket. Miles, Xavier, and Evan are all dressed in suit and ties, deciding to be the Men in Black as well as most of the hockey team. Their outfits are boring, but they’re men, so who’s surprised.

Wren is wearing a green dress and wings, tying her hair up into a bun so she can look like Tinkerbell whilst Michelle is Iridessa from the Tinkerbell movies. I was going to match with them, but as soon as I heard Kennedy was going rogue, I decided to be a devil instead. It’s hot and sexy and completely opposes Evan’s stupid nickname for me.

Kennedy helped Miles with planning the quiz section of tonight, so she’s off in the dining room meticulously planning about how tonight’s going to go. She’s dressed up as the mad hatter from Alice in Wonderland, naturally. Despite the gory looking games, all I know is we’re going to split into teams and compete with one another in a series of random party games. I’m a competitive person, so this will be fun. Especially if I’m playing against Evan.

“We need to start drafting a team name,” Wren says around a mouthful of pizza. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, rubbing the grease against her skirt.

“I agree,” Michelle says, tucking her box braids that fell out back into her bun. “We might even get points for a good name if Kennedy’s judging.”

“Wren, you’re the writer,” I say, nudging her in the shoulder. She blushes a little, sighing. “We need something that will win Ken over.”

“What about ‘Starbucks Lovers.’ It’s the name of our group chat,” Wren suggests.

Michelle laughs. “You mean the group chat I’m not a part of.”

“You’re in the better one. Most of our messages consist of asking where each other are. ‘Folkwhores’ sounds better, anyway.”

“I agree,” I say, laughing at the ridiculous name Ken came up with for our group chat with Michelle.

We all turn at the same time to the horrendous noise that’s coming from their boyfriends.

Miles is supposed to be leading the night with the first game being beer pong, but he seems to be engrossed in terribly singing ‘Sign of the Times.’ Wren’s watching him adoringly from beside me and Michelle watches Xavier add in his own ad libs, both of the boys standing, swaying with each other. Evan is sitting, shaking his head at them, but I can tell he’s laughing.

I love my friends and I love that they are happy, but there might be the tiniest bit of me that’s a little jealous. If I could get over the first trials and tribulations of an adult relationship, maybe I’d be just as happy as them. I’m fine on my own most of the time. Solitude has always been my thing. I enjoy being independent and doing things on my own. In fact, I hugely prefer it. Still, there’s that tiny part of me that wants what they have. To always have someone in my corner. Someone on my team who’s not going to make me feel like less than.

I take the opportunity to slip away to the other side of the huge room towards the pool table. I’ve always wanted to know how to play, but it’s one of the things that my brothers failed to teach me. No matter how many times they explained it, I still couldn’t get it.

I settle next to the empty table, my back away from the hysterical screaming that’s known as Miles’ singing. I pick up the cue, feeling it in my hand before settling it down, aiming it towards the white ball.

My first shot is terrible, and I laugh at myself, feeling pathetic. I’m about to put the cue back down, ready to walk away from something I’m not perfect at the first time, but then I feel a heavy weight behind me, pressing into my back.

Almost instantly I can tell it’s him.

My ass is perfectly nestled into his crotch, so I try to ease myself up and stand straighter. His huge hands come around mine, caging me in as he slowly runs them down my arms. The movement is so light, but I’m wearing a red short-sleeved corset top and jeans, so each brush of his hand feels like an inferno against my skin. He clasps his hands over mine on the cue, his breathing steady while I can hear my heart rattling against my ribcage.

“Evan?” My voice no longer sounds like my own. His proximity, his smell, the conversation we had the other day about him wanting me. No answer was an answer enough. I just have no idea how to go about it now.

“Hm?” The noise travels straight from the back of my neck where his mouth is to the space between my legs. I can tell he needs to clear his throat. His voice is slightly raspy and deep and just the sound sends goosebumps across my arms. I shiver under his touch, which only causes me to back up into him more, feeling something very big and hard beneath my ass. I can’t tell which one of us gasps.

“What are you doing?” I ask. I could guess, but words and all coherent thoughts are failing me right now.

“Showing you how to play, Angel,” he answers simply. Like I guessed, his voice is low and raspy, the sound settling in my stomach. His hands tighten over mine for a split second before relaxing, but still holding them. I swear I can’t even see my hands now. It should be humanly impossible for him to be able to play piano with hands that big.

Stop thinking about his hands, you perv, no matter how hot they look.

Think with your head, not your tits.

“I can figure it out on my own,” I say, my voice wavering.

He tuts. “You can’t be showing the opposition weakness already. Come on, sweetheart. You know better than that.” I’m getting sick of these new nicknames. This one especially. What’s worse than that is the way it lights me up inside.

“Why are you helping me?” I ask when he’s not even showed me how to play yet, his hot heavy hands just hold onto mine.

“We might be playing against each other, but it would be downright embarrassing watching you struggle for the sake of a silly competition,” he answers, laughing a little. He’s testing me. It’s payback for what I did the other day. It has to be. I knew it was risky touching him like that, hoping that he’d crack. That’s the only reason he’s touching me so close now.

“For the sake of competition,” I mutter back to him, trying to get as comfortable as I can with him this close to me.

“Now,” he instructs gently. “Can you let go of the cue for me? You’re holding it too tight.” I take a deep breath, doing as he asks, and I let go of it, dropping into his hands.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

I don’t even have time to process those two words and the cobwebs I get in my stomach before he readjusts the cue in my hand, my grip looser, my right hand closer to the tip while my other rests somewhere closer to the top.

“Okay, now hold it like this.”

He takes a step back and I take a step back too, giving myself a second to breathe. It doesn’t do anything to relieve the tension because I can still feel his hands everywhere. He places his hand on my lower back while nudging me in the back of my knee a little, urging me to lean further forward and I do.

I like being in control. I like being the one who makes the other person unravel, but for some reason there’s this struggle between us where, depending on the situation, I end up being subservient to him and I actually listen to him. Like now.

I’m leaning over the table and his body heat is all over me, his front pressed into my back and my ass replaceing its way nestled into his lap again. His gigantic, veiny hands are covering mine again, adjusting my fingers one by one until they’re in a position he’s satisfied with.

It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. It isn’t that big of a deal, but his hands look so good. He instructs me to hit the white ball from the position it’s in, lined up next to the other balls. I hit it and his hands never leave mine.

I watch the balls rattle against each other, and I can’t tell if what I did was good or not. The rules of this really mess me up and he’s giving no indication if what I’m doing is even right.

Until his hands leave mine and they suddenly feel empty. The sensation is instantly eased by the weight of his hands on my shoulders instead and I stand up straighter. I’m so caught up with lust and his proximity that I don’t even have the energy to tell him to stop. He gently massages my shoulder, not speaking for a few beats until he leans his head closer to my neck, his hot breath setting my body on fire.

“That was a good shot, sweetheart,” he whispers into my neck. For a second I thought he was about to kiss me there or something, but he didn’t, his lips only a few inches away from my neck. “You’re doing such a good job.”

I don’t say anything. He pushes into me again, slightly urging me to go further so I can aim better, and I do, his bodyweight still behind me and his hands return back to their position over my hands.

I’m sure he’s talking to me now, but all I can hear is the steady beat of my heart gradually getting faster. I swear to God, I hope he can’t hear my heart beating right now.

Evan

I want to breathe her in.

No.

I want to only breathe the air that she’s breathing. Just be hers and hers only. God, I’d give her all of me if she gave me the chance. I can feel her pulse racing all throughout her body, beating against my hands, against her neck and the way her back arches into mine slightly as she takes in deep breaths.

It can’t just be me that wants this. I had to get her back for teasing me the way she did the other day, knowing that it drove me up the wall. Still, I’m trying to see how far it would take her to finally do something to ease the sexual tension between us.

I let my body weight fall onto her slightly, loving the feel of the way her hands flinch beneath mine. God, they’re fucking tiny compared to mine. I don’t get a second to instruct her further before her friend’s voice makes her flinch.

“Hey, Scar,” Kennedy calls. “We’re getting into teams now.”

Scarlett clears her throat. “Okay, I’ll be there in a sec,” she replies. She turns back to me slowly, trying to twist out my grip but I keep her there. She sits halfway on the end of the pool table as I tower over her, setting my hands on both sides of her. She crosses her arms against her chest. It’s the first time I’ve really seen her face since I came over here and it’s redder than I thought it would be. She never blushes and now her face is a deep red. Some girls get embarrassed if they blush a lot, when she does it, I think it’s hot.

“Do you always get this close to the girls you teach pool?”

I know this is a trap, but I don’t care anymore. “No,” I say. “Just you.”

She smiles, holding her hand to her chest, feigning surprise. “Awh. Am I that special, Branson?”

“You’d be extraordinary, Scarlett,” I admit, leaning further into her. She leans back a little, her eyes flickering to my lips and then back to my eyes. “If your ego wasn’t so big.”

She snorts. “I am extraordinary, Branson. Hearing you say that shit only makes me realise that I’m even more amazing.”

I shake my head at her. “Only you would take an insult as a compliment.”

“Because it’s not an insult,” she says, pouting slightly. She’s cockier than half the guys I know. I just wish it wasn’t so fucking attractive.

I take a step back from her. “You’re ridiculous.”

“No,” she says, sighing as she jumps off the pool table, the horns on her head bobbing. “You’re ridiculous.”

Then she walks past me, shoving her shoulder into mine on purpose. I turn and watch her walk away, her ass swaying side to side as she greets Wren, Kennedy, and Michelle in one corner.

She’s going to ruin my life. And I think I’m going to let her.

* * *

We play beer pong first. I’m on a team with Miles and Xavier against Wren, Kennedy, and Scarlett. We’ve been drawing up until this point. I’m competitive at any game. If it involves Scarlett, I want to win. I don’t go easy on her just because she’s got a pretty face. I play to win, no matter what.

The last shot is down to Miles.

If he gets it in, we win and if he misses we lose. Xavier stands behind him, rubbing on his shoulders as if he’s about to run a marathon. I give the basic advice, telling him to focus and stay calm so we can win this round. The cups are covered in fake cobwebs, the ball with tiny black spiders’ hand-drawn across it.

It doesn’t help that he’s a lovesick puppy and his girlfriend is on the other side of the table, purposefully stretching her hands above her head so she can distract him.

Miles is an idiot, so he gets distracted easily.

“Wren’s cheating!” he shouts at his girlfriend. She laughs, dropping her arms. Scarlett watches Miles carefully, probably trying to psych him out with her intense staring.

“I’m not,” she replies defensively. “You’re just a sore loser, baby.”

“You’re trying to trick me by calling me ‘baby,’” he shouts back, sulking. “You know it’s my weakness.”

I groan at their constant bickering and all the girls laugh. Wren says, “I’m not doing anything,” while slowly shimmying off the wings to her costume, dropping it to the ground.

“Look at me like that one more time and I swear to god-”

“Just throw the damn ball, Davis,” I say, nudging him.

He throws it finally. It’s like watching it in slow motion. The split second before the ball leaves his hand, Wren winks at him. From that, I can tell the shot is going to be a miss. Still, I watch it play out. The ball bounces on the table once. Then twice. Then again and it rolls right off the table. The second it drops to the ground the girls all jump in unison, cheering loudly.

I watch the sly smirk on Scarlett’s lips, and she turns to me. As they’re laughing, they make their way over to our side of the table. Wren goes up to Miles, laughing hysterically in his face and he takes it, letting her make fun of him.

“Are you done?” he asks her. She shakes her head, still laughing before he grabs her face and kisses her deeply, silencing her laughter.

“Very weird reaction for someone who just lost,” I mutter. Scarlett’s beside me now, leaning against the wall as she watches them make out before diverting her eyes to the ground.

“I don’t think he could ever lose if it came to her. Losing a game against Wren is just like winning to him,” she replies, a short laugh escaping her mouth.

“Doesn’t it get sickening?” I ask. She looks up at me, not understanding. “I mean being around them all the time, they’re constantly making out. Doesn’t it annoy you?”

She shrugs and then sighs deeply. “No,” she says simply. I hum in response. “I’d much prefer this…” She gestures to the Wren who is now sitting on the table, her legs wrapped around Miles’ waist as they make out. “Than pure silence.”

I laugh at that. “You’d prefer anything over silence. You talk too much.”

“I know.” She smiles at me for a second before dropping it and walking away.

* * *

We stay in the same teams for most of the night. I play against Scarlett at pool, and I actually go easy on her. She was struggling and after our impromptu lesson, she’s not exactly an expert.

I sit out on playing charades because it’s always such an awkward game when your teammates are shouting at you, so I don’t participate. The only time I play on her team is when we play a very butchered game of True American, which just ends with us getting buzzed from shot gunning too many beers.

Now, we’re ready for the final game of the night; trivia. Kennedy is the host for this one, leaving me on a team with Xavier and Miles against Scarlett, Wren, and Michelle. We beat the two other teams, so we’re in the final heat.

Our team won the sports round and the horror movie round while the girl’s team won the true crime knowledge and the song round. I think it’s rigged because most of the questions were relating to pop culture or inside jokes, which gave them an unfair advantage. There’s one round left and it’s a history round about NU.

Kennedy is standing on a makeshift podium (it’s a cardboard box with two bricks beneath it and an easel stand she stole from school) shuffling the index cards in her hand. It’s mostly quiet in here now as the teams that lost have now branched off into other parts of the house. To her left, me and the boys are sitting on plastic chairs while on the right the girls are sitting, each of them glaring at us.

“Can each team please select a candidate to represent your team in the final round,” she instructs. “In the meantime, I’ll play some elevator music.” She turns on her phone and instead of playing elevator music, she plays ‘High Enough’ by K.Flay adding to the already tense atmosphere.

I turn to my team and they’re already staring at me. I roll my eyes. “You can’t be serious,” I mutter.

“Come on. It’s history stuff. Miles and I won’t be any good,” Xavier says.

“He’s right,” Miles adds. “If we know anything we’ll give you a hint. It’ll be subtle. If you’re smart enough, you’ll figure it out.”

“Fine. You owe me for this,” I say, brushing off my jeans as I stand up.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Scarlett mutters and that’s when I see that she’s standing too, the nominee from her team. I beam at her, not giving her the satisfaction of thinking she’ll throw off my game just because I’m going against her.

Kennedy turns down her music. “Perfect,” she says, looking at the two of us. “So, I just decided on a new prize for the team captains. The loser has to ask the winner out on a date.”

Both of our teams laugh at us, and I just blink back at Ken, hoping she’s going to take back what she just said. She doesn’t. Scarlett rubs at her temples.

“That makes no sense,” she retorts.

“It’s my quiz night and my rules,” Kennedy argues.

“So, it’s a lose-lose situation. Regardless of who wins, I’ll have to go on a date with him.” Wren giggles from the other side of her. Scarlett shoots her a look and she tries to tamp down her smile.

I lean into Scar and whisper, “Don’t think of it as a date, sweetheart. We can do our casual detective stuff.”

She pulls away from me, turning so we’re facing each other. “I’m not going anywhere else with you.”

“You won’t be saying that when I’m done with you,” I murmur, intent on changing the way she feels about me. She’s got to give up this ‘I hate Evan’ game at some point. Her nostrils flare as she crosses her arms akimbo.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

I don’t say anything because Kennedy has stepped down from her little podium as she gently pushes us apart to our respective sides of the easel. She writes our team names on each side of the sheet; the Folkwhores and Nacho Average Team. Guess who came up with our team’s name.

And why did you guess Miles?

The rules are simple: Kennedy will ask a question, you have five seconds to answer, the first one to write it down on the board wins and if you don’t write anything in five seconds, the other team gets the point.

“Folkwhores, are you ready?” Kennedy asks Scarlett. She pins me with a glare, opening her pen with a pop, not letting her eyes leave mine. Kennedy turns to me. “Nacho Average Team, are you ready?”

I nod and the game begins. The first two rounds are easy. The first question is about how many sports NU covers and the closest answer wins. I guess eight and Scarlett guessed seven. I got the point.

The second question is about who the Dean before Ms Hackerly was, Wren’s mom, took over. Scarlett had an advantage on that one, so she won, leaving us to draw.

“How many years has Ryan Redmond been at NU?” she asks, and I smirk. I went to the same middle school as Ryan, and he was a few grades older. I was confused as to how he was still at NU by the time I started. Hell, he’s still here now.

I write down my answer quickly, my handwriting barely eligible as Scarlett pauses. “Seven and a half,” I say for extra emphasis.

“A point to N.A.T. Well done, Branson,” Kennedy coos and I smile. Scarlett sticks her tongue out at me. “Okay. We only have two more questions left. If Scarlett gets this one right, you’ll be in for a draw, making the last question the tiebreaker. If Evan wins this question, there will be no chance at victory for the Folkwhores.”

We both nod, getting ready in game position. She licks her lips, and it distracts me for a second. I need to win this round. I want her to be the one who has to ask me out. Not the other way around.

“Taylor Swift released a new album a few days ago. How many songs are on the track list?” Kennedy asks.

“That’s an unfair question. It’s not even related to NU,” I blurt out as Scarlett starts writing. I give up. There’s no way I’d be able to get that quick enough without thinking about it for a minute.

“Thirteen!” Scarlett screams and her team cheer for her, including Kennedy. I knew having her as the judge would be a conflict of interest. Scarlett holds up two of her fingers in an L shape. “How does it feel to lose, loser?”

“We’re drawing, dumbass,” I retort. Still, she’s smiling, waiting for Kennedy to ask the tie-breaking question. She did that on purpose. She wanted Scarlett to win, and she knew I would never get the answer. The rules for this game are very loose.

“The million-dollar question,” Kennedy begins dramatically. If I win, she’ll have to ask me on a date. If she wins, I’ll have to ask her on a date. “Now, the mascot for North is a bear. What was it before?”

Everything happens in slow motion again.

As the words leave Kennedy’s mouth, I hear the faint sound of meowing coming from the boys. Then I remember what they said about helping me out discreetly if the question came up. They must be doing it on purpose to trip Scarlett up. She looks over at them, forgetting the strict time limit, smirking as she thinks she’s got the right answer and I use the opportunity to write ‘dog’ on the sheet.

“And time!” Kennedy shouts. “Please step away from your board.” We do as she asks, each of us taking a step back. I can’t help but grin at the proud look on Scarlett’s face, the way she’s standing tall, her head held high. “So, we have opposing answers here. Folkwhores believe it was a cat while the Nacho Averagers believe it’s a dog. I’m delighted to announce that the correct answer is…” There’s a dramatic pause of silence. Scarlett’s eyes zone in on me and she still wears that victorious smirk on her face. God, I can’t wait for it to wipe right off. “A dog. Congratulations, Nacho Average Team. You have won tonight’s trivia.”

The boys get up from their seats cheering as the girl’s sulk in their seats. I’m about to step down to join them, but Scarlett barrels past Kennedy and straight into me. She almost trips in the process, her foot getting caught on the cardboard. I grab onto her arm.

“Careful, sweetheart,” I whisper, laughing. She drags her arm away from mine and instead jabs her index finger in my chest.

“You’re such a…fuckwaffle!” She digs her finger into my chest harder, her chest rising and falling. Seeing her pissed off is my absolute favourite thing.

“What the hell is a fuckwaffle?” I ask, laughing. She stands there, opening and closing her mouth and fucking hell, watching those round pink lips open and close like that is driving me crazy.

She blinks at me. “I- You- That’s what you are.”

“A fuckwaffle?’ I ask curiously. She nods. “You think I’m a waffle you want to fuck?”

“That is not what I said,” she challenges. Her face is almost entirely red now.

I tilt my head, grinning as I ask, “But it’s what you meant, no?”

“Shut your pie hole,” is all she can come up with.

“Make me.”

She steps closer to me, and everyone is still watching. She takes me by my loose tie, tightening it before pulling it until my face is right in front of her. Her breathing pattern changes, as she wets her bottom lip before looking at me. She pushes herself against my chest, stepping between my feet. She’s basically strangling me with this tie, but if she’s going to kiss me right now, it’ll be worth it.

What would she do if I leaned down and pressed my lips to hers? If I kissed that smug smirk right off her face. If pressed myself closer to her and she could feel how fucking hard I am by just being near her. What would she do then?

She tugs on my tie again. “If you think I’m about to kiss you right now, Branson, you’ve got another thing coming. Because what I really want to do is rip your balls from your body, shove them in a blender and make you drink it.’

I swallow. Hard.

“Stop thinking about my balls, you perv,” I say.

She doesn’t laugh and my joke was pretty funny. Instead, she tugs onto my tie harder, almost causing me to choke.

“Brilliant but scary,” I mutter. I think she catches the Harry Potter reference because she almost smiles. She lets go of my tie, but she tries to turn away from me, so I grab her elbow, pulling her right back into me where she belongs. “Hey, loser. I think you’re forgetting something.”

She crosses her arms against her chest. “I’m not asking you out.”

“Don’t worry,” Kennedy says, reaching into her back pocket as she pulls out a handwritten note, handing it to Scarlett. She winks at me. “I’ve got you covered.”

Scarlett scans the sheet, frowning. “Ken. You pre-wrote this? You knew he was going to win, didn’t you?”

She shrugs innocently. “I had a feeling.” Kennedy is such a meddler. I guess that’s why they love her so much unless she’s meddling in their business.

“Our names are literally written on the sheet,” Scarlett groans, flapping the white paper around. She looks up to me as she scoffs, “Can you believe this?”

“No, Angel, I can’t. You’re going to have to read it out to me,” I say, trying to hide my laugh.

“Read it,” Kennedy urges. It takes three seconds before the room all erupt in chants, telling Scar to read it out loud. I’m standing, waiting for her with the biggest smile on my face. “Okay! Quiet, everyone.”

Scarlett looks at me now, sighing as she pushes her hair behind her shoulder. She starts to read. “‘I, Scarlett Evangeline Voss, have the absolute pleasure of asking you, Evan No-Middle-Name Branson, out on a date.” She continues reading before glancing at Kennedy who’s beaming like a proud parent. “I’m not doing that.”

“You’ve got to do what it says,” Kennedy explains. I try to take a peek at the sheet, but she holds it away from me.

“I’m not holding his hand,” she murmurs.

“You’re holding my hand,” I correct for her, prying her steel fingers off the sheet. She’s absolutely hating this, and I love it. My cheeks hurt from smiling too much.

She groans. “I promise to not complain and be a good date,” she reads before adding, “I’m not making that promise, but fine.” Kennedy frowns. Scarlett rolls her eyes before she continues reading. “I solemnly swear that I will go on this date within the next two to five business days and will not bail unless there are unforeseen circumstances that will result in my failure to attend.” She rushes the last bit of the sentence before looking back up at me. “So, will you, Evan Branson, the winner of this quiz, go on a date with me?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” I coo.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head, ready to repeat her words back to her. I reach out and flick her headband with the horns on it. “You’re ridiculous.”

I don’t think either of us even realise we’re still holding hands.