Page 50 of Real Dirty
“What do you want me to do, Boone? Have Charity spin this as some sort of love-at-first-sight shit?”
I choke on the suggestion. “How about spinning it as two consenting adults doing something that’s no one’s goddamned business?”
Nick laughs, but there’s no trace of humor in it. “We both know that won’t work. If we want to get the press to drop this, we have to give them something bigger.”
“Like what?”
I spot the house number on the license and pull off to park on the side of the street behind a new Camaro.Shit. It’s a frigging frat house.
“I don’t know. I’m working on it,” Nick says, and I can hear him clicking on his computer keys.
“You do your shit. I’m off to go kick some college kid’s ass if he’s already sold a picture of me and Ripley to the tabloids.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Nick’s voice turns into a yell.
“Sorry, man. Promised the lady I’d defend her honor.”
“Boone—”
I hang up on him and silence my phone as he calls back. I shove open the car door and climb out, jamming my phone into my pocket.
Why does it have to be a damned frat house?
Screw it. I stalk through the front yard and up to the porch.
College wasn’t something I did. Couldn’t have afforded it, even if I’d wanted to. My folks didn’t have the money, and I wasn’t about to drown myself in debt when all I ever wanted to do was write songs and perform them. These kids would probably shit themselves if they had to sleep in their cars or hustle tips to eat.
Which is why they’ll never understand that hard work pays off in a big way.
When I make it to the door, I raise my hand to knock, but it swings open before I make contact and a guy steps out.
“Whoa, dude. You here for the party?”
Now that the door is open, I can hear music pulsing from the house, but it sounds like it’s coming from the basement.
“What the fuck kind of party is this?”
He points to his white shirt covered with what looks like highlighter. “Glow party. Basement.”
Great.So now I’m supposed to find that kid in the middle of some black-light rave.
The guy who opened the door turns to leave, but I grab him by the arm and pull the ID out of my pocket. Holding it up, I ask, “You know this kid? He down there?”
He squints, looking closer before shaking his head. “I don’t think he’s in there. He showed up late and left with a bunch of girls from Chi Omega. He’s banging one of their pledges.”
“Where did they go?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know, man. Maybe back to their house.” He tilts his head. “You know, you look like that Boone Thrasher guy.”
“I get that a lot. Where’s the sorority house?”
He gives me directions that I hope, considering his fucked-up state, are remotely helpful.
When I stalk down the sidewalk to my car, he calls out and I pause.
“You are that Boone Thrasher guy! I saw the car online. Holy shit, man.”
I just shake my head. There’s not shit I can do about it now, and with any luck at all, he won’t remember me in the morning.
