At first glance Archer Calloway is your typical frat boy—preppy, pre-law, privileged. But one thing he's not is a jerk. So when a shy guy at a wedding gives Archer his number, Archer is impressed by his courage in putting himself out there. What starts as a courtesy call to the guy turns into friendship. Eli is awesome, and Archer can't understand why he's single.With the help of his fraternity brothers at Alpha Tau, Archer comes up with the perfect project for the semester: Get Eli Fuller the perfect boyfriend or die trying. It's a flawless plan and nothing could possibly go wrong. Uh oh. |
"Read this book for a hilarious and heartfelt frat boy romance."
- Girl Reads Guy on Guy Reviews
- Girl Reads Guy on Guy Reviews
An excerpt from The Amazing Alpha Tau Boyfriend Project:
Baxter Talbot-Smith the Third’s wedding reception was fucking lit.
“Bro!” Marty O’Brien yelled in my ear as he slung an arm around my neck. “This wedding reception is fucking lit!”
From over by the ice sculpture, Baxter Talbot-Smith the Second gave us a narrow look, so I wrestled Marty into a hug and drew him away into the shelter of the crepe myrtle trees that cloaked the gardens around the massive white wedding canopy in darkness.
Marty struggled free and began to strike poses to music only he could hear, because it looked like he was going full Madonna’s Vogue, while over in the marquee there was a string quartet playing what was possibly one of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. Spring, maybe?
A lighter rasped somewhere nearby, and a moment later an ember flared into life as Scout Talbot-Smith (no number) took a drag on a joint. The glow illuminated the planes of his face, and he flashed me a grin before he lifted the joint away from his mouth, and his face vanished into the darkness again.
“This is so lit!” Marty exclaimed again.
“This is bullshit,” Scout said.
“Scout! Bro!” Marty bumbled through the darkness toward him, and I followed. “Where are—Wait. Dude, are you a ghost?”
The lighter rasped again, and Marty headed for the flame like a very drunk moth. He was still striking poses.
“What the fuck are you doing, Marty?”
“Holy shit! Is Treyvon here too? Treyvon? Are you—oof.”
“Got him,” Trey said.
“The whole gang is here,” Marty said happily, his voice muffled.
I joined them in the gloom. Trey was hanging onto Marty, and Marty’s face was buried somewhere in his armpit. It didn’t shut him up though.
“What are y’all doing out here in the dark? It’s a party!”
“Getting blazed,” Scout said. He passed the joint to Trey.
“I’m just enjoying the ambience of this lovely plantation wedding,” Trey said, and took a long drag. He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Archer?”
“I’m wrangling Marty,” I said and shrugged.
“This sucks balls,” Scout muttered.
“Balls,” said Marty and giggled happily.
To the full credit of Baxter Talbot-Smith the Third, he would have preferred a ceremony at the courthouse in downtown Richmond. Even his bride, Makaylynn-Leigh, hadn’t wanted a wedding at Oakwood Plantation. Which wasn’t necessarily the stance you’d expect when you heard her name, but that wasn’t Mak’s fault, and frankly it was between her mama and God. It had been Mak’s parents who’d made a big fuss about the location, since they’d gotten married here back in the nineties… and something something family tradition. We were all supposed to ignore the part where Mak’s dad had turned up with his third wife on his arm, and Mak’s mom was trying to seduce the waiters. Mak’s parents were a trainwreck, but they were still a lot easier to deal with than Baxter Talbot-Smith the Second.
Thing was, Baxter Three was a cool dude. He was about four years older than us, and he’d been head of our fraternity—Alpha Tau—back when he was still at Lassiter University in Hopewell, Virginia. He was a good guy and still got pretty involved with Alpha Tau whenever the current chapter president, Marshall Tate, called him up to ask him for advice. So it had been a no-brainer to Baxter Three to invite a bunch of Alpha Taus to his wedding—not only were we Scout’s buddies, but we were Baxter Three’s as well.
Baxter Two wasn’t as pleased, because a bunch of college guys and an open bar? Not a great combination. Case in point—Marty, who was currently trying to climb into the inside pocket of Trey’s suit jacket. At least I’d gotten him away from the reception. I was pretty sure that Casey and Andrew were still over there, trying to convince Grammy Talbot-Smith to do body shots. She’d looked like she was up for it too.
“I feel sick,” Marty said, and Trey carefully moved him an arm’s length away. “What’d you do that for, bro? I wasn’t going to—”
And then he threw up, very loudly.
“Ew,” Scout said, leaves and grit crunching under his shoes as he backed off.
Trey sighed loudly and patted Marty on the back. “Better?”
“Yeah!” Marty exclaimed, punching the air. “I feel great!”
He vomited again.
“I’ll go get him a water,” I said and headed back toward the marquee.
“Thanks, bro,” Scout called after me in the darkness.
The reception was still in full swing. People were slow dancing to something the string quartet was playing. Baxter and Mak were among them. Mak was barefoot, her glittery heels abandoned at the edge of the dancefloor. A few people were at the buffet, digging around like archaeologists excavating a site. A couple of kids were sneaking drinks from any glasses left sitting on tables.
I slipped into a space at the bar. “Hey,” I said to the barman. “Can I get a water?”
The guy pulled a bottle out from under the bar and a glass.
“Bottle’s fine,” I said, taking it and cracking the plastic out of habit. I turned and stepped right into a guy’s face. “Shit, sorry.”
“No problem.” The guy smiled, his gaze not meeting mine, and moved back to give me room to get around him. I didn’t know him. He was about my age, I guessed, but he wasn’t an Alpha Tau. He was about half a head shorter than me and kind of small. Like, not skinny or anything, just sort of slender. His suit was some shade between charcoal and midnight blue, and he had dark hair, almost black, that was tousled in that kind of “I’m an art student” way, like you didn’t know if it was meant to look like that or he just didn’t give a fuck.
Baxter Talbot-Smith the Third’s wedding reception was fucking lit.
“Bro!” Marty O’Brien yelled in my ear as he slung an arm around my neck. “This wedding reception is fucking lit!”
From over by the ice sculpture, Baxter Talbot-Smith the Second gave us a narrow look, so I wrestled Marty into a hug and drew him away into the shelter of the crepe myrtle trees that cloaked the gardens around the massive white wedding canopy in darkness.
Marty struggled free and began to strike poses to music only he could hear, because it looked like he was going full Madonna’s Vogue, while over in the marquee there was a string quartet playing what was possibly one of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. Spring, maybe?
A lighter rasped somewhere nearby, and a moment later an ember flared into life as Scout Talbot-Smith (no number) took a drag on a joint. The glow illuminated the planes of his face, and he flashed me a grin before he lifted the joint away from his mouth, and his face vanished into the darkness again.
“This is so lit!” Marty exclaimed again.
“This is bullshit,” Scout said.
“Scout! Bro!” Marty bumbled through the darkness toward him, and I followed. “Where are—Wait. Dude, are you a ghost?”
The lighter rasped again, and Marty headed for the flame like a very drunk moth. He was still striking poses.
“What the fuck are you doing, Marty?”
“Holy shit! Is Treyvon here too? Treyvon? Are you—oof.”
“Got him,” Trey said.
“The whole gang is here,” Marty said happily, his voice muffled.
I joined them in the gloom. Trey was hanging onto Marty, and Marty’s face was buried somewhere in his armpit. It didn’t shut him up though.
“What are y’all doing out here in the dark? It’s a party!”
“Getting blazed,” Scout said. He passed the joint to Trey.
“I’m just enjoying the ambience of this lovely plantation wedding,” Trey said, and took a long drag. He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Archer?”
“I’m wrangling Marty,” I said and shrugged.
“This sucks balls,” Scout muttered.
“Balls,” said Marty and giggled happily.
To the full credit of Baxter Talbot-Smith the Third, he would have preferred a ceremony at the courthouse in downtown Richmond. Even his bride, Makaylynn-Leigh, hadn’t wanted a wedding at Oakwood Plantation. Which wasn’t necessarily the stance you’d expect when you heard her name, but that wasn’t Mak’s fault, and frankly it was between her mama and God. It had been Mak’s parents who’d made a big fuss about the location, since they’d gotten married here back in the nineties… and something something family tradition. We were all supposed to ignore the part where Mak’s dad had turned up with his third wife on his arm, and Mak’s mom was trying to seduce the waiters. Mak’s parents were a trainwreck, but they were still a lot easier to deal with than Baxter Talbot-Smith the Second.
Thing was, Baxter Three was a cool dude. He was about four years older than us, and he’d been head of our fraternity—Alpha Tau—back when he was still at Lassiter University in Hopewell, Virginia. He was a good guy and still got pretty involved with Alpha Tau whenever the current chapter president, Marshall Tate, called him up to ask him for advice. So it had been a no-brainer to Baxter Three to invite a bunch of Alpha Taus to his wedding—not only were we Scout’s buddies, but we were Baxter Three’s as well.
Baxter Two wasn’t as pleased, because a bunch of college guys and an open bar? Not a great combination. Case in point—Marty, who was currently trying to climb into the inside pocket of Trey’s suit jacket. At least I’d gotten him away from the reception. I was pretty sure that Casey and Andrew were still over there, trying to convince Grammy Talbot-Smith to do body shots. She’d looked like she was up for it too.
“I feel sick,” Marty said, and Trey carefully moved him an arm’s length away. “What’d you do that for, bro? I wasn’t going to—”
And then he threw up, very loudly.
“Ew,” Scout said, leaves and grit crunching under his shoes as he backed off.
Trey sighed loudly and patted Marty on the back. “Better?”
“Yeah!” Marty exclaimed, punching the air. “I feel great!”
He vomited again.
“I’ll go get him a water,” I said and headed back toward the marquee.
“Thanks, bro,” Scout called after me in the darkness.
The reception was still in full swing. People were slow dancing to something the string quartet was playing. Baxter and Mak were among them. Mak was barefoot, her glittery heels abandoned at the edge of the dancefloor. A few people were at the buffet, digging around like archaeologists excavating a site. A couple of kids were sneaking drinks from any glasses left sitting on tables.
I slipped into a space at the bar. “Hey,” I said to the barman. “Can I get a water?”
The guy pulled a bottle out from under the bar and a glass.
“Bottle’s fine,” I said, taking it and cracking the plastic out of habit. I turned and stepped right into a guy’s face. “Shit, sorry.”
“No problem.” The guy smiled, his gaze not meeting mine, and moved back to give me room to get around him. I didn’t know him. He was about my age, I guessed, but he wasn’t an Alpha Tau. He was about half a head shorter than me and kind of small. Like, not skinny or anything, just sort of slender. His suit was some shade between charcoal and midnight blue, and he had dark hair, almost black, that was tousled in that kind of “I’m an art student” way, like you didn’t know if it was meant to look like that or he just didn’t give a fuck.