"Oh wow. I forgot. You're a baby fishie." (So odd to think of her as a Freshman.) "Shut up."

The driver drops my bags, Dawson grabs them and leads me into a gorgeous house.

"So um, lots of people showed up, so um..."

"What? Why are you acting all nervous? Do you have an old girlfriend here or someone else you like because you didn't think I'd be here?"

"No." He shakes his head at me. "What I was gonna say, well, ask, if it's okay, if you like um, bunk up with me. I took the master bedroom."

"So I'd be sleeping with you?"

"Yeah, but, I mean, we'd just sleep, and there's a couch in there. I can sleep on that if it makes you more comfortable. I'm not expecting, you know, sex or anything. Well, I, uh, do wanna kiss you some more, for sure, but you know what I mean, right?

I smile at him. He is seriously so sweet. (Especially on the tail of what transpired with B. It makes him seem even sweeter.) "Okay."

I follow him into the master. I've stayed at some incredible five star resorts, on yachts, our Malibu house was photographed for Architectural Digest, but this room is stunning. Huge colonial pineapple four poster bed, sweeping ocean views, private deck out the multitude of french doors, which are open, causing the gauzy white sheers to flutter in the wind.

"Wow. This room is beautiful. I may never leave."

He gets a sexy smile, drops my bags onto the floor, takes my purse off my shoulder, then peels off my white gauze shirt off my shoulders.

He drops it on the bed and stands back, scrutinizing every inch of my bikini clad body.

All he manages to mutter before he kisses me is, "Damn."

We kiss a bit, and then he says, "Come on. I'll show u the rest of the downstairs and most importantly the deck, the pool, the beach. Hey, do you play tennis?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Cool. I'm gonna have to beat you at that. I'm house champ."

"Really?"

Um, did I mention I took private lessons from the guy that won Wimbledon two years ago because my mom was filming a movie about a country club wife and had to perfect her backswing? Yeah. I think I might surprise him. (Also cut. God, is it just me or does she sound like such a little b*tch here?) The rest of the house, the view, the grounds are almost as breath taking as the bedroom. As we walk through the big white kitchen, he points out a brunch spread on the island and asks if I am hungry. I say, not yet, so he gets me a drink instead.

It's a pretty pink summer punch. I take a drink and am shocked by the potent alcohol taste.

"Jeeze, what's in this?"

He laughs, "That's our special Kool-Aid." (Always drink the Johnson bros Kool-Aid!) We walk out to the pool, drinks in hand, and he introduces me to everyone I don't know, and I say hey to the ones I do. Riley, Dallas, Carson, Tyrese, Parker, and Ace. (Carson? Chop. Chop.) The rest are a combination of school friends and old friends. Everyone seems pretty well primed with alcohol already. There's also only me and three other girls out of the 20 or so people staying here. (Also, K ended up being the only girl staying there in the published version.) "I didn't sign up for a sausage fest," Parker says. "Let's hit the beach."

Ace agrees, "Yeah, we need to take a bunch of that Get drunk and screw punch with us."

"Naw," Riley says, "that's not how its done. You bring them back here, and then let them drink the Kool-Aid. But we can take a little for ourselves." (Riley