Huh. I really never thought about it that way before.
Tim strides up to us with another notebook that he hands over to Jim. “So, out of the rookies we flagged at camp, this is who showed up tonight. There are a couple of upperclassmen we were on the fence about last year, who I think might be ready for a bid.”
Jim scans the list and frowns as he points to a particular name. “Cross him off. I overheard him at camp joking to the other trombones about wanting to slip something into a rookie color guard’s drink at the bandie dance because he was convinced that was the only way she’d give him the time of day. We’re not letting garbage like that into our frat anymore.”
“He didn’t actually do it, did he?” Tim frowns, too.
“No. I kept a close eye on him at the dance. Even if he had tried, he wouldn’t have gotten away with it. I don’t care if it was only a joke. He’s not getting a bid. Put his name on the blacklist, so next year’s officers will know.”
I wondered why Jim was lurking in dark corners during the dance at band camp instead of campaigning for votes. I just figured he was busy plotting how to take me out of the running. “Did ITK used to have a lot of garbage?”
“Yeah.” Tim twists his lips to the side in a grimace. “Our freshman year was pretty bad. Dr. Kimball almost banned the frat because a couple pledges had ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning after initiation night.” He slaps Jim on the shoulder. “I’m pretty sure the only reason he didn’t is because this guy promised to take out the trash. And then actually did it.”
I have no idea who this tall, handsome man is standing in front of me. Not really. “How did you manage that when you were only a sophomore? The seniors just went along with it, no arguments?”
Jim ruffles his hair. “I, uh, actually did a lot of Fossoway name-dropping and made some promises Alex helped me keep.”
“Alex went along with that?” I thought I couldn’t be more shocked.
Jim shrugs. “He’s one of the founding members of Sing Out. He doesn’t still do those assemblies because it makes him look good. He actually cares about helping to end rape culture and all the stuff that contributes to it … like hazing.”
I nod, dazed. “I know all about why and how it was founded.”
Jim raises an eyebrow. “Because you stalked my brother to get to me?”
“No, totally separate. When I received my admissions packet to State, flyers for Sing Out were included. I thought it was a great idea, so I looked into it more.”
Tim shakes his head. “For all the fighting, you two are actually a lot alike. It’s just as weird you never got together before now as it is that you didn’t already kill each other.”
Jim chuckles as Tim bounds up the stairs. “So, Tim is our vice president of membership. That’s why he’s keeping tabs on potential pledges for the year.”
He points to where Jake is sitting on the couch, typing into his laptop. “Jake is secretary. He’s probably writing down whatever feedback brothers gave him from the party tonight, like what time the keg tapped and how many brothers, bandies, and other guests attended. He’ll read all the info at our next meeting, so we can have a good idea of how to change things as needed.”
He gestures toward Shannon, who’s behind the bar with Nate. She seems to be counting bottles. “Shannon is vice president of operations. That means she keeps track of the alcohol consumed and the amount of money we spend to keep a fully stocked bar versus what we make on it. She’s responsible for documenting if any serious damage was done to the house during a party, so we can fix it before the landlord notices and evicts us. She’s also in charge of collecting rent every month.”
I’m so impressed. It really is a well-oiled machine. “And you’re the president. What are your duties besides running the show?”
“Uh …” He sighs, obviously wearing out for the night. “I’m responsible for making sure everyone is doing their jobs and picking up the slack if they can’t for any reason. I act as the ITK liaison with the other band organizations. I also report to Dr. Kimball to keep him in the loop, so he knows about any problems in band he might not be aware of otherwise. I make sure none of the members or pledges are hazed criminally or in a way that makes them uncomfortable.”
I can’t believe I ever thought ITK was nothing more than a party organization, and that Jimbo was the elected ringleader of it all. “You should have been drum major. Not me.”
His eyes are tired, but he still offers me a smile and folds me into his arms. “They voted for you, Sophie. Not me.”
I shake my head against his hard chest. “I don’t understand why. You do so much for the band. More than I ever knew.”
“That’s just because you were too busy hating me to see it. And you do plenty for the band, too. You’re one of the most dedicated geeks I’ve ever known.”
That doesn’t make me feel any better. I peel away from him, determined not to be so blind going forward. “Well, direct me then, Mr. President. I’m the only pledge you’ve got for now, so should I start scrubbing toilets or collecting trash from all over the house?”
He kisses my forehead, turns me toward the staircase, then swats my ass. “Go to bed, head drum major. No scrubbing toilets for you. We got this.”
Only I don’t want to exclude myself from this kind of camaraderie anymore. And I don’t want him to exclude me either. Especially not because of a title I’m not even sure I deserve. I pitch in with the other brothers upstairs for the cleanup effort. We collect at least five bags of trash and disinfect the kitchen surfaces and, yes … the main floor and first-floor bathrooms.
An hour of whistling while we work passes, and the officers are still downstairs. It’s a little after three a.m. Everyone collectively agrees to sweep and wash and vacuum the floors tomorrow morning.
My ass drags up the stairs to the third floor, but there’s no way in hell I can go to sleep like this. Untold germs are probably multiplying on my skin from all the party fouls I just came in contact with. Since all the ITK officers are still in the basement, I don’t have to wait in line for a shower.
The trickle from the ancient shower head isn’t nearly enough to relax my muscles, but the water that takes forever to heat to tepid wakes me up. All my toiletries are in the hotel room, but there’s a bar of soap on the dish, so I pick it up and sniff. Definitely men’s soap and definitely Jim’s. His skin smells just like this little blue bar. Lathering my body with his soap feels like the closest I’ve been to him physically in years.
Even though he was by my side for hours, draped in nothing but a sheet with all his muscly muscles on display, that wasn’t my focus. And sure, the drunker he got on cheap beer, the more his gaze dipped to my breasts, but he didn’t linger there. His eyes were on mine when he confessed all those things to me.
It really isn’t about the sex this time.
Another doubt in my mind falls away.
“It’s not about the sex!” I yell gleefully to the pink tiled walls.
“I’m sorry for your loss!” Shannon shouts back.
Damn. I forgot her bedroom is sandwiched between the bathroom and Jim’s room. And the walls are apparently paper thin if Jim’s story about hearing Shannon’s pterodactyl screeches are to be believed. I can see it actually. Shannon’s loud and bubbly, and like Jim, she doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks of her. Except maybe Jake. I think she’s beginning to care very much what he thinks of her.