My Date with the Frat President

Ch 12 - Ghosted

Aiden hasn't texted me back in two days.

Now, I know, I shouldn't panic, but how can I not? 3 in every 5 women have been ghosted before. (Note: That is not a factual piece of data, but take it as you will).

"Two days isn't even that many, Brook," Sophie says.

"You're right," I pretend to agree. Two days isn't that many, but Aiden and I had been pretty consistently texting all week. "It's totally fine if he ghosted me."

"He didn't ghost you. It's been two days."

"It's totally fine if he did. I get it. I basically rejected him. It's my fault."

"What did you last text him?" Joseph asks from our tiny kitchen as he prepares us spaghetti for dinner.

"Oh god, it was my fault. I didn't use any exclamation points in the message I sent last. But I responded to him on my Apple Watch, so I couldn't!"

"He probably found out about the article and hates your guts," Joseph says calmly.

"Joe!" Sophie cries. "Brook, listen, he's probably just really busy with frat stuff right now. Isn't it initiation season? He's probably hazing some poor freshmen right now."

Joseph nods. "I agree with Soph. You should try to go over there because think of how interesting your article would be if you found out anything about their hazing."

"Frat guys don't talk about that stuff, Joe. It's like the code of brotherhood," I say. "I'm not even his girlfriend." I drum my fingers on the couch. "I also can't just show up there. He's clearly done with me."

"The Brooklyn I know and love would not stand for getting ghosted by some frat dude. If he isn't man enough to end things, you're going over there and sharing a piece of your mind."

And after three glasses of wine with dinner and a shot for courage, I did just that.

I ring the doorbell, swaying only slightly from the subtle buzz of alcohol. After five seconds, I ring again. Twice. I hold my breath for ten seconds then ring it again.

That's four rings in less than a minute.

Before I can press it again, the door swings open. Bradley is standing at the door.

"Oh, shit. Hey, Brooklyn."

"I'd like to talk to the President, please."

"Are you okay? You just coming from a party or something?"

"No, no. I just would like to talk to Aiden."

"Uh, sure, he's not home right now. Why don't you come in? It's getting cold." He opens the door wider for me to step in. "Have you been drinking?"

"No, Mom," I reply and start walking toward the stairs to go up to the President suite.

"Like I said, he's not home. Why don't you sit in the lounge for a little until he's back?" He leads me to a room with a large black sofa. "Want some water?" He pulls out his phone, and I assume he texts something to Aiden about me.

I realize this could very well make me look crazy. I decide to do some damage control. "So, um, I'm sorry for barging in late on a Friday evening. I guess I got a little carried away at a rush party down the road." I can't be blamed for any actions while I'm drunk. At least, that's what my drunk mind is telling me.

"Oh, it's no problem. We've got a brotherhood event starting in a few hours though, so I might have to kick you out before Aiden gets back."

"Where is Aiden? If you know."