Frat Hell by S.M. Shade

Frat Hell. That’s how the whole neighborhood refers to the apartment where I live with three other college students. It’s a bit judgmental, considering the neighborhood we live in is more like a zoo than an apartment complex, but not inaccurate. If you put that many young guys together, things are bound to be interesting. I still maintain that the giant water guns filled with poison ivy water were not my idea. January Dixon. She’s the girl I’ve lusted after for years. A smart mouth and sharp tongue surrounded by soft beauty and a body I’d give up an organ just to touch. An important organ, like a kidney, not one of those lame ones like a gallbladder. It’s a tricky situation since she lives right down the street, and dating a neighbor generally isn’t a good idea. But this is Violent Circle, where normal may as well be a dirty word. Thanks to an impromptu fashion show where I tossed all self-respect aside and strutted my stuff in full bondage gear in front of our small town, she now owes me a date. And I plan to collect.