Sweet as Syn

2 : GREYSON-She's More Like a Homie

I didn't even search for the girl who flicked my world off its axis with a sweet kiss and a punch to the dick. Not on social media. Not in class. And I definitely did not sit on the weight room staircase every day for the past three days for hours on end between practice and class. No, sir. My balls aren't even craving any more busting from her. They are much happier and less terrified for their fertile abilities and not at all throbbing at the thought of her lips. I'm totally chill.

Until I overhear her name a few tables down from my booth at the Eagle's Nest, a café on campus, with Hunter and my other roommates, Brooklyn Bernardeau and Cameron Rhett.

Being the cool, unimpressed guy that I am, I fling my body around to the source of the name. Naturally. It's this hot blonde with a nice rack and two other girls that are equally as attractive and blonde. Lots of pretty blondes at Boston College.

One hard look and a snap of my fingers shut my roommates up so I could hear clearly. I'm not one for drama, but I can't say the same for my boys. So even though they've got no clue what's going on, they quiet down and lean forward, trying to listen.

"...comes home at three a.m. one more time and wakes me up, I'm going to put laxatives in her water bottle," blonde number one says.

"I just don't understand why she feels the need to shower when she comes home so late. Like, is she so grimy after sex or whatever she's out doing, she needs to wash off after?" blonde number two asks.

Okay, they can't be talking about my Syn... There's no way that tomboy of a girl is slutty in any way. She would chop a dick off before she'd let one near her, from what I got.

"She's probably out whoring herself and needs to wash off the STDs after," blonde number three says, and they all break into a screeching laughter that actually makes me grimace.

"Sinful Syn, at it again. I bet she goes around in the middle of the night begging the drunkest and ugliest guys to fuck her," number one spits, and my blood turns to ice in my veins.

The table rattles and a glass smashes to the floor with the impact of my fist, and everyone in the café turns to look at me. I don't give a fuck. I'm used to having all eyes on me.

"Dude, you good?" Cameron asks, but doesn't seem too interested in my answer when our waitress runs over to clean up the mess I made. His attention is on her ass as she bends over to sweep up the glass. My little temper tantrum comes as no surprise to my boys, I'm sure.

Offering no explanation, I push myself up off the booth and stride right on over to the blonde girls. Immediately, their cackling halts and three pairs of eyes go wide. Fear and lust.

"G-Gr-Greyson," blonde one stutters, and I shoot her a death glare that makes her tremble in her seat and the one next to her gulp. Of course they know who I am, everyone here knows me. Well, besides Syn, apparently.

"I overheard you talking about my girl, Syn..." I growl, leaning my hands against the table and lowering myself to their faces.

"Your girl?" one chokes, then coughs a few times.

"Yes," I roar, and she snaps her mouth shut, turning tomato red.

"Oh, uh, um, yeah. She's our roommate."

How fucking perfect. I sink my teeth into my tongue to keep from smiling. Wouldn't want them thinking it was for them. "I've been meaning to stop by. Remind me which building it is again?

"Gabelli hall, first floor." The girl says it like I've got a gun to her head. They're terrified. As they should be. Probably wet as hell, too.

"I'd say I'd introduce myself since you'll be seeing a lot more of me, but I guess you already know who I am."

I leave a harsh scowl as my parting gift before ambling back to my boys' table.

"Um, what the fuck was that?" Brooklyn asks, accusatory green eyes on me. This dude is like a walking, talking, football playing vibrator. A woman pleaser to a fault. Me? I couldn't care less about pleasing anyone.

"I think you made one of them pee their panties," Hunter chimes in, chuckling. "They look like cats in heat, they're trembling so hard. What happened?"

"Syn." I lift my coffee to my mouth and take a leisurely sip as if everyone's eyes aren't laser focused on me. "They were talking shit about her."

"Syn?"

"Syn," I repeat. "Our new friend."

"Our?"

"Yup."

"You're such an ass," Cameron snickers, slapping a meaty hand to my shoulder and shaking me a bit. The guy is massive. "Explain yourself."

"Little tomboy with a sharp tongue. You're gonna eat her up," I explain as if said tomboy doesn't hate my guts and didn't run away from me. But it's all good. I'm Greyson Decker. Never failed at anything I've set my sights on before, won't start now.

"Tomboy," Brooklyn ponders. "I can fuck with a tomboy. The brownstone was getting a little boring anyway, we were due for a new house guest." Cam smiles in agreement. These two would open their doors for anyone and everyone. It's me and Hunt who are more selective. Correction: bigger assholes. "She hot?"

"No," I growl, suddenly feeling possessive. "That's not how things'll go here. Hands off, all of you." Yeah, I'm not letting them touch her. "And no, I wouldn't use the word 'hot.'"

Hot doesn't cut it. She's striking. Unique eyes that pin you in place when they're on you. Glossy, ink black waves that call for my fist to yank on. Full, scarlet lips which beg to be kissed.

But the girl dresses like a dude who is trying to hide the fact that he has a dad bod. I highly doubt they'll find her attractive since their taste is a bit more generic. The three blondes I just spoke to are more likely to meet their requirements in the look department.

I settle with, "She's more like a homie."

None of my explanations are doing anything to appease my guys. It's not every day I willingly bring anyone into our circle.

"So, you're telling me you just picked up a stray and now she's ours to keep?" Hunter questions, dipping a fry into his chocolate shake then eating it. Yeah, more like a feral cat who doesn't want a new home. But I nod anyway. "Okay... This is so fucking weird."

"Oh, come on, Daddy," Brooklyn whines like a kid. "Let us keep her. Pleeeease."

Hunter chucks his next fry at his head. Which Brooklyn proceeds to pry from his blonde hair and eat. "How 'bout this." He looks at me. "Bring her over for game night. Let's see if she can hang."

Game night at the Playboy Brownstone, our massive off-campus home, is brutal. We play with the same unrelenting, aggressive, competitive nature as we do on the field, and you gotta have thick skin and mad strategy to come out unscathed.

I toss a couple Lincolns on the table for the waitress because I feel a little bad about smashing the glass, then get up and shove my wallet into the front pocket of my sweat shorts.

"This girl will smoke your ass with a blindfold on and both hands tied behind her back."

"I've got all the supplies in my room," Cameron offers as if I'm being legit. His comment was crude, but his smile is innocent, unlike Brooklyn's, who looks like he's seriously considering this. Hunter and I both scowl at his dumb, horny ass.

"Ropes and blindfolds aside, I'd love to see this," Hunt decides. "Bring her tonight."

I give him a head nod, then leave the café without another word. I don't really like anyone, and the guys are very aware of this. If I like this girl, they'll fucking love her and they know it. And now that I know where to find her, I'm not wasting another second. I'm bringing her home whether she likes it or not. It's not below me to throw her over my shoulder if need be.