This is one of those rare times I sport my one pair of jeans. Unfortunately, when I put them on this morning, they were tighter than I remembered. So much so, that when I pulled them up, I had ripped them right under the belt loop on the side of my muffin top.

Now I have a puff sticking out of it.

I think it's time for some new jeans.

Luckily, I have slouchy sweaters galore and threw one on before heading out this morning.

Heather and I stand in a huge group of people waiting to be told what we'd be doing at the homeless shelter. Part of Heather's job as an R.A. is to volunteer along with all the other R.A.s, frats, and sororities. When she learned that I volunteered here she asked if I'd like to come, and I jumped on it.

I help teach and tutor the kids here and would like to stop by and see if any of them need some help with their homework. When I'm not tutoring, I work in the clothing area, sorting through donations and organizing everything. Believe it or not, the kitchen isn't what needs the most help.

Everyone thinks that.

Most want to volunteer so that their kids or class can get face-to-face interactions on what it means to dedicate their time.

Something about that irritates me.

I get the heart behind it, but as someone who has volunteered her time at this homeless shelter since middle school, it's not what is needed.

I've heard way too many times people yelling at the Volunteer Coordinator when she tells them the kitchen is full and that they need help in other areas, like the secondhand clothing store they own.

No one wants to work there. Instead, they'd rather use homeless people as a teaching method, which sometimes makes me believe that it's more about the lesson than the actual people.

Like their viewing the homeless as an object instead of realizing these are real people with serious issues, who just need someone to reach out and help them.

Volunteers hate the store because they think it's for the shelter to make money. But it's really not. Yes, some of it goes to the shelter but they price the clothing so low it barely brings them any steady revenue. It's mostly used for the people staying here. If they need clothes, it's free and here for their taking.

Carla, the Volunteer Coordinator, is talking with Greg, the Kitchen Supervisor. It seems that there was a mix-up, and the kitchen is overflowing with volunteers once again. It ends up being more of a nuisance than helpful.

The girl, Whitney, who is leading this whole thing has her hands on her hips with an irritated expression pursing her lips. She looks ready to blow in her bright turquoise shirt that says on the front and on the back .

Obnoxious enough?

Luckily, not everyone had to wear it. Typically, I'm all for a free t-shirt but in this instance, I'd rather not. I shouldn't be so irritated by this, I know, but I'm protective about this place.

I can't help it.

I feel for Carla. She does the best she can with the outdated system they have, and as I said, people only want to volunteer in the kitchen.

"You told us that we were scheduled for the food line!" Whitney practically screeches.

Heather leans over whispering, "So, she's the worst."

Whitney is the president of the most popular sorority, and she looks the part. Stylish with a high ponytail like Arianna Grande's, perfect form-fitting jeans, and white sneakers. She has the contoured makeup look that I've done to myself on rare occasions, but hers is flawless.

All I can think of is that if we manage to get into the kitchen, I hope she's put in front of a steaming pot of soup or something and her sweat melts her makeup right off her tiny face.

"I'm so sorry," Carla says, cringing. "I was out and the person who filled in for me booked another group at the same time as you. She assumed we'd need extra help today with stocking shelves."

"So, fix it!" Whitney shrieks.

Heat swirls around me, making the cozy sweater I had been happily content in, now a raging furnace. The sound of a car door shutting draws my attention. Tariq strides away from his jeep with sunglasses on and his thick black hair gleaming in the sun.

What's he doing here?

He's not in a frat or an R.A.

How is it I went from barely seeing the guy to constantly winding up in the same places as him?

He's stalking me.

I just know it.

He's in a white v neck t-shirt today and low riding jeans that stay securely around his hips with his shirt tucked in the front. He strolls over along with Beau, Winston, and some other guys, introducing himself to Carla.

"I'm so sorry for the mix-up," Carla says for the umpteenth time after explaining everything to Tariq.

Even though Whitney had been in charge seconds ago, Tariq immediately takes control of the situation. "That's no problem." Carla instantly drops her shoulders in relief. "Where else could you use us?"

She looks hesitant and I know exactly why.

"We could help at the Rescued Closet!" I yell out. Tariq turns and as soon as his eyes land on me he grins then waves me over. I clumsily make my way over until I'm right between him and Whitney, who's glaring at me. "I mean you really need the help there, right, Carla?"

She beams at me. "I didn't know you were in a sorority, Elodie."

Whitney belts out a laugh as I shake my hands back and forth. "Oh no, I'm in the dorms. I came with—"

"She's with me." Heather slides her arm around me bumping Whitney over and giving her a challenging glare. "I asked her to come."

Carla nods then tilts her head at me. "Will you still be coming later this week?"

I opened my mouth to say no but I could tell Carla's eyes were wide and pleading as if telling me to say yes. They really need someone at the store, and I go over to help once I'm done with tutoring anyways.

"No, I'll still be coming."

She lets out a breath. "Thank God. Angie had to cancel and there would be no one to help man the station if you weren't coming."

"You volunteer here?" My body stiffens at how close Tariq's low sultry voice is to me.

"Yeah."

Carla, now seeming much more comfortable, elbows Tariq's arm. "Since middle school. Elodie is the most reliable volunteer I have here. My own personal angel sent down from the heavens. She's amazing with the kids here and helps tutor them. They all adore her."

I change the subject and fast. "So, Rescued Closet?"

Carla gives me a knowing look. "If that's alright with all of you?"

Whitney goes to object but Tariq cuts her off. "Absolutely, we're here to help whatever way that may be."

Carla blushes at his charming smile. "Thank you so much. Let me take you over there."

We all fall in line behind her and Heather jumps in front of me and starts walking backward. "I'd like to meet the kids you tutor."

I push up my glasses and divide my bangs in half to get a better view. "Yeah, I—"

I'm interrupted by the sound of my own yelp as someone takes my phone out of my back pocket. A large, calloused finger glides over that exposed skin where I had ripped my jeans and I shiver all over. It stops at that puff of fat and then a thumb press into it as the hand grips my waist, pulling me into a chiseled body. I look up to see Tariq with my phone in his other hand now as he walks in step with me.

My glasses start fogging up and I have to pull them out, hoping that Tariq doesn't notice what his touch is doing to me. Because, right now, it's doing a lot. My stomach is in knots, especially with how that torturous thumb keeps lightly rubbing my exposed fatty skin, hidden under my sweater. My dumb heart is racing, and I can't breathe right.

"You should get a passcode on this thing, Blue."

"What are you doing?" I squeak out.

He smirks and he knows that I'm not talking about my phone. "Plugging in my number. If you're not busy tonight, I figured we could get that closed reading done and help each other out. I would take you back to my place after but I had to give the guys a ride to this thing and don't have room. I'll text you with a time when I'm ready to pick you up."

He hands it to me and I look down to see he had put his name in as Tariq the Magnificent.

"Seriously?"

Heather pokes her head over my shoulder to catch a glimpse. "Subtle as always."

His thumb slides under the ripped fabric of my jeans and he twists me around until I'm in front of him. My eyes widen and my heart stops as he leans in, lips on my ear, scruff tickling it. "See you later."

That rumbly voice runs through me as his gingery scent invades my senses. The whole second is as if I drank a piping hot cup of tea and now have to put it down because it's too overwhelming . His thumb finally moves away, but not before one last glide over my skin, and this time a slight scratching of his nail, which makes my arm hair prickle up and something deep down tighten and build with an all-consuming pressure. He walks past me and Heather, digging his hand into my bun, messing it all up.

That's it, I'm burning these jeans.

Well... maybe.

Or wear them more often.

Stop it, Elodie!

"It's like I'm his kid sister," I mumble as I take out my ponytail to redo it.

Heather laughs. "Trust me, you're nothing like his sister. She's a real treat."

"You two are close, huh?"

"We've known each other for the past three years. I've met his family on occasion."

"Were you two ever?" I ask and something inside of me tightens.

"Oh no!" She quickly answers. "Only friends. Why? Is someone interested?" She grins.

"No."

She wraps her arm around my shoulders as we enter the Rescued Closet. She fist pumps in the air. "To the only girls who aren't all crazy in love with Tariq Araneo."

Angie is already telling the girls where to go once Heather and I are inside. She sees me and after telling some guys where to go and what to do, she heads over.

"Hey, Elodie."

"Hi, Angie. This is Heather."

They shake hands and Angie points over to where I usually work. "Could you two go through the women's clothes and sort through them?"

"Absolutely!" Heather replies.

We walk over that way, but Angie stops us. "Oh, Elodie before you leave, I have a cute dress that came in that I thought you'd like."

"Thanks." I smile at Angie.

"No problem." She shouts behind her as she heads over to where the guys are.

"Oh my gosh! Do you shop here?" I turn at the sound of Whitney's voice.

Yep.

I don't have enough money to buy new clothes. So, if I need anything, I purchase some stuff here. Apparently, the era of shopping at consignment shops being cool is over.

Not that I ever cared.

"So?" Heather defends. "What's your problem?"

"Nothing," Whitney replies sharply. "Just that it's a little sad is all."

She turns and walks away, her sleek blonde ponytail swinging with her well-coordinated steps. I turn to Heather. "Did I do something?"

"No. Don't worry about it. She's on the long list of girls who want Tariq."

"How long is the list?" I joke.

Heather rolls her eyes as we begin to sort. "Never-ending. Tariq has high standards, so he won't even take a glimpse at Whitney. Seriously, the girls he gets with are the sexy, mature, sophisticated type."

I refuse to look down at my wardrobe at the sophisticated comment. "So, not college girls."

She smirks at me. "Depends. He was with Cass for a while, and she was in college during the time. But she's confident and, I don't know, you saw her. Did she look like a college girl to you?"

I shook my head. "Not even a little."

"Exactly."

I fold a sweater and go over to put it on a shelf with the others. I stretch up only to hear snickering behind me.

"That's a huge rip."

I immediately bring my hands back down and pull on my sweater.

"Shut up! What is with all of you? Geez. She's my friend, will you stop it? She's here to help," Heather bites out.

"What? Like she has better things to do?" One girl snickered.

Heather's eyes narrow and I step in front of her. "It's fine. What they say doesn't bother me."

And that's true.

It really doesn't and never has.

For years I've been teased here and there due to my quirkiness, and it hasn't bothered me once. I am who I am and if people think it's weird, and want to poke fun, then so be it.

I don't care.

Dad raised me to have a backbone.

My heart squeezes, making my chest hurt and my lungs spaz. I let go of that painful breath letting it slide between my lips.

"Yeah, well it bothers me," she says, stepping around me. "She actually does have better things to do, like I don't know?" she states sarcastically, "hanging out with Tariq, who absolutely adores her."

I face palm.

Of course, Heather would use Tariq as a weapon. I can't blame her though, seeing as how his jacket has magical powers.

Why wouldn't his name too?

And boy does it.

As soon as those words leave Heather's mouth all the girls turn away and go back to what they were doing.

"You really didn't have to do that."

Heather snaps a shirt out. "I know, but I wanted to. You're adorably weird and I love you for it and I love how you own it, which brings me to a request."

"Oh, and what's that?" I ask with a smirk.

"Serenade me while we fold clothes."

"Really?" I'm genuinely shocked by that.

"Yeah. I love your voice, it's deep, sexy, and very indie."

I snort. "That's not what I heard from Tariq. He linked my voice to a screeching bird."

Heather looks bewildered. "No, he didn't."

I roll my eyes. "It's how we first met. I bumped into him and that's one of the first things he said to me."

She shakes her head. "He must've been teasing because your voice is the type, I'd listen to all day long."

I laugh. "What on earth does that mean?"

"Girl, I could not be the first person who has ever told you this."

"You most certainly are."

"There's no way. Okay, how do I put this?" She thinks for a second. "It's very sultry, especially over the phone, like you'd make a killing being a phone operator or even better a..." she wiggles both of her brows, "saleslady."

I throw a t-shirt in her face. "Gross, Heather!"

"What? It's true!" she practically shouts. "It's sexy as hell."

I peer over at Tariq who brings boxes in with Beau. My eyes wander as I fold, zoning out on thick corded biceps, bulging and veins protruding as Tariq hands a box over to another guy.

He says something to Beau, which earns him a pretend swing and they start moving like kickboxers, laughing. His smile is wide and overtakes his whole face, and those smoky coal eyes narrow from it. Then, as if knowing he's being watched, Tariq looks over at me and I quickly refocus my attention to folding.

That was close.

"Why are they here? They aren't part of a frat, are they?" I ask.

"Oh gosh no," Heather answers, knowing exactly who I'm talking about. "Winnie, the big teddy bear, is the R.A. for all the jock's housing, so the guys come along to help out."

I glance around, noticing no members of the Alpha Tau Sigma are here. "Why aren't any of the Alpha Tau Sigma guys here?"

Heather pauses mid fold and glares at the cardigan. "They don't ever volunteer."

I'm starting to get the feeling that Alpha Tau Sigma is not well-loved, despite its immense popularity.

"It's a good thing too," she says after a few beats of silence. "Because if they were in the same room as the hockey team, there'd be all-out war."

"Why?"

She bites down on her lip. "There's just a lot of bad blood there."

There's silence as we keep folding.

"El?" Heather's tone is light, yet heavy, making me put down a shirt.

"Yeah?"

"If any of the Alpha Tau Sigma guys approach you—"

My eyes widen as I look at Heather and whisper, "Run."

She busts out laughing. "Maybe not run, you'd look like a psycho, but don't give them the time of day."

"Noted."

I want to ask why exactly, but I know it must have something to do with the rumors. Maybe they hold some truth to them. As we fold my mind races with the possibilities of what the bad blood is between the two.

Maybe one of the girls that got drugged was a girlfriend of someone on the hockey team? Or a family member? Whatever it is, it's obvious that Tariq and the president really hate each other, which draws me to one conclusion.

It involves Tariq.

I love writing chapters that focus on friendship building! I love watching Elodie and Heather's friendship grow. I hope you all do too and if you did why don't you hit that little star button! :) I will be doing a double update so I'm jumping right into the next one :)

Much love,

~LivingRed