The Utah Utes take the game with a breathtaking final score of twenty-four to Ole Miss' seven. On one side of the stadium, a sea of crimson pours out of the stadium, all slumped shoulders and defeated eyes, while the other side is a rave. Drunken whoops, cheers, and shrieks of victory from player and spectator, alike.
But, the party is for both sides. One to celebrate, the other to lick their wounds. Pi Kappa Alpha throws a damn fine football party and obligation to her sorority means Monica's attendance is not up for debate. She needs the social points.
So, while the throbbing after-party isn't exactly her scene, she makes an appearance after a quick shower and Zoe's help with her makeup. The music is little more than a pulsing bass but bodies covered in sweat, glitter, and alcohol still gyrate and move to it.
"I'm surprised you made an appearance, Mon." Adam teases, handing her a purple cup. "Need the points, huh?"
Monica just nods, ducking behind him when the music picks up and the crowd of moving body parts shifts closer. Adam's a hulking 6'5" of quarterback and easily shields Monica from getting hit with a stray arm.
"You bring that pretty friend of yours with you?" Adam looks at the tiny redhead over his shoulder. "Maggie?"
"She'll be here." Monica giggles, taking a sip of the drink in her cup.
She'll be the only one drinking out of a purple cup, tonight, as part of her understanding with Adam. When it comes to fraternity parties, he is the only one allowed to hand her anything to drink, and she only accepts drinks from him because he knows her alcohol tolerance is not like that of sorority sisters or his fraternity brothers. He doesn't exactly trust them, either, and his soft spot for the little fireball hiding behind him has made him a little protective of her.
"So will Andrew." Adam grins like the cat that ate the canary.
"What?"
"He's like my brother, he's practically one of us." Adam explains, turning to face her. Her expression isn't exactly friendly, in fact, it's fast approaching furious and it only makes the urge to laugh at her false outrage even stronger. "Only difference is, he can't play football."
Monica pretends not to be interested, averting her eyes to the stairs where couples are coming and going and to the stereo system someone is playing with to find a new song. But, Adam knows her well enough to know that she's still interested in what he has to say about Andrew.
"Andrew's a Mississippi boy, raised on a farm." Adam watches her shift, not uncomfortable, but not uninterested in what he has to say. "He was raised tossing hay bales, not footballs."
She all but chokes on her drink. It's not as if she couldn't guess that he wasn't from around here, but she had no idea that he was literally the farm boy he looked like. The long golden hair, the faded denim shirt, and the frayed jeans was not typical of a Utah native. She should have known he was raised on a farm.
"He's a strong kid, had some trouble, this past year, though." Adam sighs, obviously upset for his friend. "But, that's not my story to tell." he looks down at Monica, who is looking at her drink, pretending not to pay attention to what he's saying. "You can cut the bullshit, fireball. I know you heard me."
"Adam!"
"What? I can swear, you're not my mother." Adam defends his use of the harsh language. "It's not like I'm wrong. You heard every word, I just said, and you know it."
"I...maybe." Monica's defeated sigh only serves to make Adam laugh.
Adam ruffles her hair and disappears into the throng of gyrating students to get a drink. Monica watches the door, intent on making sure she doesn't miss Andrew's appearance, though, she can't say why she wants to see him, so bad.
His appearance brings a flock of swooning women, all in varying stages of drunkenness. She's tucked herself away on the stairs leading up to the bedrooms, just out of sight of the door - she can see him, but unless he cranes his neck a little, he won't be able to see her - and she can just see his entrance into the fraternity house.
He appears fresh from the shower; all wet hair and bright eyes, a new sobriety about him. He must not be the lightweight, she has a reputation of being. His white button down - does he not know how to do buttons? At least four of the top buttons have been left undone - is tucked into a pair of dark jeans that appear to be tight in specific areas.
"Evenin' ladies." oh, there's that drawl, again. "I see Adam. Excuse me."
She watches from her hidden corner as he staggers through the crowd of women and into the party. When he disappears into the kitchen to talk to Adam, Monica makes a split second decision and downs the contents of her cup in one gulp.
Christ, he was getting to her.
…
"Adam!"
The star quarterback isn't surrounded by his usual gaggle of drooling girls, but Andrew supposes that they comprise a good percentage of the shrieking crowd. "Andrew!" his blue eyes widen in pleasant surprise. While he'd told Monica of Andrew's impending arrival, nothing was ever certain with the pre-med student. "You came!"
"Well, I…" Andrew stumbles, trips so completely over his words, he sounds drunk and he's barely had anything to drink.
"Let me guess," Adam eyes his best friend. "The reason you're here has red hair, brown eyes, and an Irish accent."
Andrew's face goes bright red, almost instantly but it only encourages Adam, who drawls her name with a cheeky grin. "Monica…"
"I know the cheerleaders sometimes come to these parties. I thought maybe…" Andrew finally admits, "I keep seeing her and I thought maybe I could…"
"She's around here, somewhere. She's part of the sorority Chi Omega." Adam scans what he can see of the house from the kitchen, looking for the head of dark red hair that'd be a good few inches below the average height of the crowd. "I don't see her. She must be somewhere else. She comes to these parties because she has to but then she gets here and hides."
"Andyyy!"
Andrew can't help but grimace a little at the nasally voice. Kathleen. He'd been hoping to avoid her but really, he should have known, she'd be here. She tended to hang out where she thought she could find him.
"Don't call me that, Kathleen." he warns the dark figure at his elbow.
"Come dance with me, then, baby." Kathleen drags a long, dark nail down the open front of his shirt. "You owe me, remember?"
"Oh?" a sharply arched eyebrow isn't near enough to make Kathleen rethink her decision to attempt to extort a dance out of him. "Since when, Kathleen?"
"Since, you made that promise at the last party." Kathleen pouts, brushing up against him. "Or, were you too drunk to remember?"
Andrew scoffs, looking down at the dark brunette hanging off of him. "You do realize that's a lie, right?"
"What?"
She wasn't anticipating his ability to spot a lie so easily and he can see the frightened doe behind the glint of manipulation in her eyes so he continues. "I don't get drunk, Kathleen, nor do I make a habit of getting so wasted that I don't remember who I was with and what I said. I'm not that kind of guy."
"An - "
Andrew pushes on, cutting off her use of that, frankly, horrid nickname she insisted on. " I didn't make you any sort of drunken promise, Kathleen. Nor will I make you a sober one. I'm sure one of Adam's frat brothers will be happy to keep that promise."
Kathleen scoffs and stalks off, swaying her hips in hopes of changing his mind, but he's not easily persuaded and instead, he continues on his quest for a drink. There's a multitude of options. None so appealing as something strong enough to burn the feel of Kathleen out of his brain.
"Adam, where's your whiskey?" he growls at the football player who is skulking around the punch bowl.
"You don't drink whiskey?" Adam's confusion isn't unfound - Andrew isn't a heavy drinker, usually. Unless he's looking to accomplish something, like wiping a memory.
"I do when I have to deal with Kathleen." Andrew shudders, opening the cooler to grab a can of Coca-Cola.
Adam gags and points to the counter where a bottle of Jack Daniels sits, waiting to be opened. Andrew pours a mixture of half soda, half whiskey, and takes a long drag from the cup. While it is no secret that Kathleen isn't his favorite person, very few people know that she's not his favorite person because he has experience with her. It'd been one night too many, for his taste, but he had gone there, after Molly.
Kathleen enjoyed it.
Andrew did not.
It isn't until Kathleen that Monica decides to dance with someone.
She's pushing her way through the crowd to bat her eyelashes at Adam for a refill when she spots them. The sultry brunette tracing the open front of Andrew's shirt with a long, dark nail and, god, he doesn't look the slightest bit uncomfortable with her attention.
Drink forgotten, she steps back into the crowd, and lets the music takeover. She doesn't have a clue what the song actually is, she just catches the beat, and rides it like a surfer rides a wave. Her body moves of its own accord and it doesn't take her very long to draw the attention of even the drunkest of party-goers.
"Damn!" his name is Brian, she thinks, and he's probably the least drunk of everyone there. He's kind of an idiot, in her brief experience with him, but he's not that hard on the eyes, and he feels nice enough to dance with that she latches on.
"Dance with me?" she's certain, she looks a little crazed, but she really doesn't care at this point.
"Sure!"
The volume lifts with the song change and Monica embraces it. The latin rhythm inspires some moves she wouldn't dare try without the little bit of alcohol in her system. It's nothing like the Jack & coke melting in Andrew's hand as he watches her move her hips, but it's enough to loosen her inhibitions a bit.
"Take a breath, pal." Adam reminds his friend, but when he follows Andrew's line of sight, he, too, forgets to breathe. "Christ, what is she doing?"
"I. Don't. Know." Andrew grits his teeth around the words, fingers closing tight around the cup in his hand. So much so, the foaming drink spills over his fingers.
His eyes darken, a raging storm of jealousy and fuming anger but he doesn't know why. He didn't really like her, or so he thought, but something about seeing her move against someone else, pressing and rubbing and grinding, infuriates him.
Adam watches his usually level-headed friend down half his drink in one long drag before shoving the cup into Adam's chest and mumbling something about finding Kathleen in the mix of alcohol and body glitter.
"God help them." Adam rolls his eyes, turning away from the disaster that this will inevitably become to pour Andrew's drink out. He knew it was a bad idea to let him have whiskey. "Whiskey always did make him stupid."
The party picks up but Adam's content to hang out on the outer edges of the main crowd. There are stragglers caught up in those conversations that can only be had when there's alcohol in the blood, loosening the tongue just enough to make speech a little freer, to emphasize thoughts they wouldn't let themselves have sober. There are miniature parties happening in every room. Streamers and lights and music and empty solo cups and fraternity members and sorority girls either passed out or making out.
It lets him avoid the disaster that is Andrew and Monica.
…
Monica's got her back to Brian's chest and her hips are doing some swirling thing that makes Andrew grit his teeth. He's never even touched her beyond that brief interaction in Tess' classroom but he can imagine her being small and soft and warm in his arms, pressed up against him, making his eyes roll back in his head.
His wandering thoughts make him forget about the woman actually in his arms until she's giggling and hissing something wicked in his ear. He barely pays attention to the mouth nibbling at his earlobe. All he sees is Monica batting her eyelashes and the rage that burns in his veins.
Two can play that game.
Andrew isn't one to play rough. Molly had been soft and tender and needed more foreplay than actual sex. But Kathleen is different. Kathleen will play rough. That's why he can get away with the bruising grip on her hips and thighs and shoving his thigh between her legs.
"Andrew!" her yelp is one of surprise, but she's not displeased. In fact she's more than happy to go with it. She merely rolls her hips against him. He's not even sure she's actually dancing or just trying to get herself off on the first guy that offers her the right attention.
He doesn't actually care - his eyes are too focused on Monica.
His actions have an effect in the least desirable way. Instead of getting angry, Monica's entire posture changes. Her shoulders drop, he can just see the shine of tears, and she shoves Brian away before storming out of the party.
"I've got to go." he growls, shoving Kathleen away.
"But - " Kathleen tries to pull the little girl lost look but it fails - she's never been good at the innocent act.
"No!" he snarls over his shoulder.
At a little over six feet, it's easy for him to shoulder through the crowd and into the foyer. He looks around in a panic before he sees red curls out of the corner of his eyes and goes after them. Fraternity parties are never completely indoors and the open front door means spotting her had been a breeze.
"Monica! Wait!" but that does little to deter the inflamed redhead. She's angry, she's jealous, and she's definitely not going to listen to anything he has to say, now. "Monica!"
"What do you want?" Monica finally stops, but refuses to face him for fear that if she looks at him, every single wall she's built will crumble, like they almost did that day in Tess' classroom, when he looked at her with those bright green eyes.
"I - I don't know." he sounds defeated and tipsy and confused and angry and everything she's feeling, too, and it makes it that much harder not to face him. Not to tear into him with everything clawing at her.
"Get back to me when you do." she spits, looking down at the ground. She pushes forward, determined to get away from him. She's not even sure where she's going. Zoe didn't come to the party and everyone else is too drunk to drive.
"Dammit, Monica! Why'd you have to dance with him?" Andrew finally yells at her back. "Why? Can you at least answer that?"
"Why did you have to dance with Kathleen?" is Monica's tearful return, though not quite as loud - no need to draw spectators, they're not selling tickets, after all. "Why her?"
"Because, you were dancing with Brian!" Andrew spits.
"Why do you care?" her cardigan doesn't feel like enough protection from the icy chasm between them. "You hate me, remember?"
"I never said that!" Andrew points out. "And, it's not like you like me. I heard you talking to Adam about me. You aren't exactly my biggest fan, either."
"Because you were rude!" Monica is shrill, now. So stubbornly defensive of her behavior, she's almost petulant about it.
"Because -"
"Because why?"
Monica supposes the growl that escapes him should scare her but she simply stands her ground when he stomps to her. His eyes are dark, a veritable storm of anger and lust, but she refuses to look away. She's unprepared for the strength in his grip when he grabs her arms and snatches her up, jerking her to his chest, before her mouth is claimed by his. It's rough and bruising but she's so caught up in the feel of him, the taste of him, she doesn't mind the pain. She doesn't care that he's not gentle about it. She even likes the roughness. But before she can process it, before she can get her arms out of his grasp, and get him down closer, he's shoving her away, forcing her back a few steps.
"That!"