“Turns out I’m not cut out for monogamy.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder and takes a sip of her beer. “I seem to recall you prefer it that way too.”
“I did.” The words hang between us a moment too long, and I realize my mistake. “I do,” I amend, raking a hand through my hair. Maybe it’s the alcohol that’s messing with my head or maybe it’s the way Kendall’s eyeing me like a side of beef, but I need to bounce. “I’m going to grab another beer. I’ll catch up with you later.”
I turn and push through the crowd, not giving her a chance to protest. I should’ve offered to get her another drink too, but the truth is, I don’t need another beer. I need to get out of here. Away from this whole scene and these people with their impossible expectations of who and what I am.
What I need tonight is someone who doesn’t expect much of me at all.
Kennedy
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with?” Becca calls from the hall bathroom, where she’s spent the last hour perfecting her hair and makeup to the crooning of Imagine Dragons. “The team would love to see you.”
Yeah, right. I’ve got a couple Snapchat messages that suggest otherwise. Not all the women on the team were as understanding as Becca about my choice to drop soccer for a football scholarship. The fallout hasn’t exactly been nuclear, but that doesn’t mean I’m about to crash their girls’ night out.
Not while the wounds are still fresh, anyway.
“No, thanks,” I say, glancing up from my laptop just in time to see her head peek around the bedroom door. “I have a lot of work to do on this proposal for the ACME design competition.”
Technically, I have a few more weeks to get my proposal approved, but since I’m entering solo, I’ll need every spare minute to prepare. The ACME design competition is the competition for mechanical engineering students, and I can’t afford to blow it.
Not if I want to land a decent job after graduation.
“Bor-ing.” Becca rolls her eyes and pushes the door open the rest of the way. “I thought a full-ride would give you more time to, I don’t know, have a life.” She plants her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes like she can see right through my bullshit. “I mean, shouldn’t you be out celebrating with the football team tonight?” She pauses, her next words very deliberate, although I can hear the suspicion in them. Yep. Her bullshit detector is online. “Are you holding out on me?”
“Of course not.” I toy with a loose thread on my comforter. Here’s the thing: Becca’s not going to understand turning down an invite to party with the football team. Where I see danger, she sees man candy. “You know how I feel about football players.”
This earns me another eye roll, even more dramatic than the last. “Sweetie, I know your dad is an asshole—I get it; mine is, too—but you can’t assume all football players are the same.”
“Why not?” I tease, trying to lighten the mood. After all, Becca’s going out to cut loose. The last thing she needs is depressing talk about my daddy issues.
“Because if there’s even one nice guy in that bunch of hotties, it would totally be worth the risk.” Spoken like a woman who’s never had her heart broken. It’s not a risk I’m willing to take, not after years of watching my mom try to change my father—and failing. “Oh, and speaking of things that are hot, I put a new book in your bag for next week’s away game.” She gives me a devious smile. “It’s a scorcher, so try not to blush.”
Becca and I have a shared love of romance novels, but she leans toward books with a heat level that are best read in private, while I prefer a nice slow burn. She’s always slipping me books she thinks will expand my sexual horizons, whatever that means.
“What is it this time?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me. “Bikers? MMA fighters? Tattoo artist?”
She wiggles her brows. “You’ll have to read it to find out! Anyway, text me if you change your mind about coming out, ’kay?”
I smile and nod as Becca retreats into the hall, although I know deep down it won’t happen. I really do need to work on this proposal, and I’ve already made up my mind. I just need to stay the course, even if it means spending my night off trapped in the apartment with no one but Baxter, Becca’s Labradoodle, to keep me company.
A few minutes later, the front door closes with a soft bang.
“Three, two, one.” Right on time, Baxter thrusts his head through the door and struts over to the bed like he owns the place. I lower my hand and he nuzzles against it, his golden curls soft and silky. “It’s just you and me tonight.”
He gives a small yip that could be annoyance or approval and flops down on the floor, using my discarded Waverly sweatshirt as a pillow. I manage to lose myself in the project for a couple of hours, nailing down the overall concept for my design, while Baxter snores softly next to me.
My phone rings and I grab it off the nightstand, surprised to discover it’s after eleven.
Mom’s smiling picture flashes on the screen, and I swipe right.
“Hey, sweetie,” she says, not even waiting for me to say hello. “I’m on a break, so I’ve only got a minute, but I wanted to call and congratulate you on the win today. I’m working a double, but I heard most of
