“Drive down together?” I can’t help the way my eyes widen.

“Yup! If that’s okay? Just makes sense.”

Holy shit. Hours in a car with Professor Hottie. “No, yeah. That’s perfect. Where would we stay?”

“The school pays for a hotel. I’ll let the dean know you’re interested, and he’ll make sure they book another room for you.”

“Dope. That sounds cool. Thanks for thinking to invite me.”

“Of course. It’s a good learning experience, and they’re surprisingly kind of fun. I think you’ll enjoy yourself.”

Yeah. Bet I will. “Right on. I’ll talk to you later. Let me know the dates.”

“You bet. Have a great rest of your day, Cash.” He flashes me a toothy grin before returning to his chair and bringing his attention back to his laptop.

An entire weekend with Stone, outside of school?! What kind of fuckery is this, and how did I deserve it?! And then, to top it off, we will be riding in a fucking car together. Alone!

Hell fucking yes. Next month couldn’t come soon enough.

With a pep in my step and a goofy ass grin on my face, I begin the trek home. At the start of my sophomore year, I pledged with Alpha Tau Omega and have been a part of it since, so home is really the frat house.

It’s made for some killer memories over the last few years. The parties are insane and the amount of ass that comes with being a frat brother is comical. When you think of the stereotypical frat guy, though, it’s a much different image than me. Preppy bro-dudes, misogyny dripping from their personalities, heads filled with more air and beer than actual brains. And can’t forget the bright-colored polo shirts and khaki shorts.

Then there’s me, with a much more laid back, edgy vibe to my style, that always has me standing out amongst the group. I’m also not sleeping with a different girl every night. Not to mention, I’m actually quite intelligent and enjoy more than just binge drinking, which goes against the stereotype. Don’t get me wrong, I love my frat brothers, and we get along well, but I won’t miss the frat house one bit once I’m gone. This is my last year here. When I start my first year of the master’s program, I’m getting my own house off campus. I’ll have a roommate, but it’ll be nice to have a less crowded, quieter space to come home to.

It takes me about fifteen minutes to walk home, and as I’m crossing the lawn, my frat brother, Brody, is exiting the house. He notices me, lifting his hand to wave. “’Sup, bro!”

“Hey, hey. Where ya headed?”

“Stassia’s house. I won’t be home tonight.”