“He does have a phenomenal ass, doesn’t he?” Roger looked over to where Chad was standing with his back to us, talking to some other guys I didn’t recognize. “Unfortunately, it’s attached to the rest of him.” He handed me a stack of chips. “I was right, wasn’t I? Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, right?”

“That doesn’t make sense.” I frowned. “Body heat and saliva would break down butter in anyone’s mouth. It wouldn’t be possible.”

“It’s an expression.” Roger frowned at me. “It means—well, hell, I don’t know what it means. You’re right, it’s dumb.” Roger laughed and clapped me on the back. “Come on, Jordy, let’s play some blackjack.”

To be honest, I’ve never understood the appeal of blackjack. It’s so incredibly simple. All one has to do to be successful is simply keep track of the tens and the face cards and bet accordingly. It’s really all about the law of averages and calculating odds. Out of fifty-two cards, there are sixteen with a face value of ten, and of course the four aces. You have a one in three chance, basically, of getting a ten from the dealer every time you take a card. All you really have to do is count the cards. I started counting and calculating, accumulating a rather large pile of chips, when Chad came up behind me and said, “Wow, you’re doing well.”

“It’s easy,” I replied. “All you have to do is—”

“Yes, yes.” His smile never faltered. “Would you mind coming with me for a moment?”

I grabbed my pile of chips and walked with him out of the party room.

“So,” he said as we walked down the hallway. “Your application said you went to St. Bernard of Clairvaux Academy? Where exactly is that?”

“A little town called Inhofen.” When he got a puzzled look, I smiled. “No one really knows where Inhofen is. It’s a little village about twenty miles from Gstaad.”

“Shtod?” He looked confused.

“Switzerland,” I replied. “It’s in Switzerland. Most people have never heard of Inhofen. I mean, it’s no wonder, all that’s really there is the school. The skiing isn’t very good there, so no one ever goes there. It’s not one of the big tourist destinations in the country.”

“Okay,” he said, a strange look on his face. When we reached the staircase to the second floor, he knocked on a door to the right of it. He opened the door. “Go on in.”

I walked in. A muscular guy in his early twenties was sitting behind a desk. In a chair next to him sat another guy about the same age. The guy behind the desk gave me a dazzling smile. Is everyone in this house drop-dead gorgeous? I wondered.

“Hi, Jordy,” the guy behind the desk said, rising and offering me his hand. I shook it. “I’m Chris Moore, president of Beta Kappa.” He was about six feet four inches tall, with dark blond hair and a muscular body. His eyes were gray, and his smile was warm.

“I’m Eric Matthews, the pledge marshal.” The other guy offered me his hand. Eric was a little shorter than Chris, with dark hair and brown eyes. I shook his hand. His biceps bulged as we shook hands. “Have a seat, Jordy.”

I sat down in an uncomfortable, hard plastic chair.

“I was looking at your application,” Chad said, closing the door behind him. “Your parents have an income of one hundred twenty-five million per year?”

“I really don’t know,” I replied, getting a little nervous. “I just estimated. I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was going to be asked, so . . .”

“Estimated?” Chad’s voice was low. “You just estimated?”

“Well, I know their net worth is about seven hundred million, give or take,” I went on. “So, I just figured if their money was in a basic savings account at 6% interest per quarter, that’s what their annual income would be.” I shrugged. “We never really talk about money much, honestly.”

“How did your parents,” Eric asked, “make their money?”

“Did they inherit it?” This was from Chris.

“Oh, no.” I laughed. “My dad was a software designer and started his own company when he got out of college. He invented EZ Accounting . . .”

“Oh, my God.” Eric gasped. “Is your father Terry Valentine?”

I nodded, looking from face to face. “Yes. Is that a problem?” I swallowed. Maybe Beta Kappa is no different from St. Bernard after all. They don’t want me because of who my father is—but why? My heart sank. I closed my eyes and wished I were a million miles away.

They exchanged glances.

“Well, we’d like to offer you a bid to pledge Beta Kappa,” Chris said, smiling. “Would you like to accept? You don’t have to accept right now—”

“Oh, yes, I accept!” My heart felt like it was going to explode in my chest. They want me! “I can’t think of anything I would rather do than be a Beta Kappa!”

Eric cleared his throat. “Are you sure you don’t want to check out any of the other houses first? We don’t want you to think we pressured you into joining us without giving the other houses a chance.”

In my head, I heard Blair saying, “If someone asks you if you’ve checked out the other houses, even if you haven’t and don’t want to, tell them yes. Don’t seem too eager to join Beta Kappa. We’re also required by Interfraternity Council rules to encourage prospectives to look at other houses.”

But they’d already offered me a bid.

I took a deep breath and forced Blair’s voice out of my head. “I really like it here,” I said. “The moment I walked into the house I felt like I belonged here. I’ll be the best pledge you’ve ever had. I’ll be the best brother you’ve ever had. I really, really want to pledge Beta Kappa. I mean, I’m an A student, and I can help brothers study and tutor and . . .” My voice trailed off.

Idiot! I yelled at myself inside my head. Blair said not to seem too eager. You’ve blown it. They’re going to change their minds and ask you to leave.

“In that case,” Chris said slowly, pushing a small piece of cardboard across the desk to me. I glanced down at it.

The brothers of Beta Kappa fraternity

would like to cordially invite you

to accept a bid to pledge our house.

Underneath those words were the signatures of Chris as president, Eric as pledge marshal, and Chad as Rush chairman.

There was a blank for me to sign my name.

I took the pen Eric was offering me and signed.

“Welcome to Beta Kappa, pledge,” Chris said with a big grin.

I smiled back at him. “Thank you.” I fought back the tears I knew would be inappropriate.

I remembered Guy deMontespan and his friends sneering at me.

I remembered all those meals eaten at a table by myself those eight long years at St. Bernard.

I remembered all the slights, the veiled and not-so-veiled insults, the teasing, and the pranks.

Finally, I had fit in somewhere.

Things were going to be different from now on.

Chapter 3

“You know, I wanted you from the first moment I saw you,” Chad said, pulling his Beta Kappa T-shirt over his head, “even with the spinach in your teeth.”

I gulped. I was sitting on the bed in Chad’s room at the house. His body was even more phenomenal than I’d imagined. His skin was darkly tanned, and there wasn’t a single hair on his torso. His pec muscles were highly developed and firm, with a deep cleavage running down the center. His nipples were purple, the size of half dollars, and erect. His abdominal muscles were chiseled with shallow crevices between them, just above the flat plane where two deep lines descended from the top of his pelvic bones to the waistband of his underwear, which was just visible above the top of his faded, low-rise jeans. “Do you like my body?” he purred as he walked toward me, running his right hand up and down his abs while his left hand tweaked and pulled at his right nipple. I could see his thick, hard cock outlined through the jeans. Near where the tip was, a small wet spot was forming on the denim. He tossed his head, and his thick, white blond hair bounced around before falling back perfectly into place. He paused just in front of me, so close that I could lick his abs without having to move at all.