I shift, an uncomfortable ache below my belt. Because it’s the first sign of some form of heat in princess’s normally frosty expression. And it’s tempting. Too tempting.
“My break’s over,” she tells me. “Why don’t we meet again when you decide to take this seriously?”
“Only if you bring me another tasty coffee.” I rise from my chair.
She opens her mouth to say something, then snaps it close. Sticks her nose in the air. And turns away without another word. Behind the counter, Rylie gives me a look. She knows I upset her friend. Except she doesn’t know her friend fucking started it.
I leave the coffee shop, typing out a message on my phone. It’s Thursday, which is basically the weekend to the campus social scene. And the weekend is always a cause to party. One text and my plans for the night are secure.
So I focus on that, instead of the way Kennedy Fucking Walsh looks when she blushes.
6
Spencer
The ball bounces into the cup, splashing beer over the rim. My opponent pumps his fists in the air, to the amusement of our audience. I show him my middle finger, then fish the ping-pong out of the cup and chug its contents down.
“You might be king on the football field,” the dark-skinned guy across the table from me taps his chest. “But this is my castle, Armstrong. Bow down to me.”
“Your castle is shit, Howell.” There’s no bite to it, and I’ve come up with better. But I’m three sheets to the wind and leaning heavily to the right as I aim the ping-pong ball at his cups. It bounces right off the edge of the table.
Jonah Howell is a linebacker on the football team. Always down for a good time, he’s become my latest drinking buddy, since my usual stuck his dick in a new girlfriend and can’t seem to find his way back out. When Jonah mentioned to me that he and his three housemates, two girls and another member of the football team, were throwing a small party tonight, I’d told him I’d be there. Small seems to be a relative term, though, since each room of the house—appropriately named House of Booze—is packed corner to corner.
And apparently, Howell is the champion of beer pong.
He lines up his next shot. Shoots. Bounces it in the last cup on my side. I grip the edge of the table, shaking my head as I gear myself up. Then I throw back that cup, crumpling it on the table when I finish. Howell, though he’s won our game, shouts his encouragement. He runs over to my side of the table and throws an arm around me. He’s the same size as me, and less drunk, so I sway into him when he bears his weight on my shoulders.
“Armstrong, my man, you played a good game, but there’s just no beating the ping-pong master.” Howell cheers to the crowd, raising my arm. They whistle and chant my name, no different than had we been on the field and I’d scored a touchdown. Even though I’d lost, it’s not a bad feeling. A girl I recognize that works at the rec center winks at me.
“Bathroom?” I slur to Howell.
He notices the girl, then nods his head in appreciation. “Down the hall. So that’s who you’re hitting tonight?”
I grunt a no. Rec center girl and I had our fun, in the rec center showers. I nod at another girl in the next room, a tall blond. “Your roommate already helped me with that.”
He squints, then scrunches his face in complaint. “You didn’t.”
I did. Or, she did. Pulled me into the front closet the moment I walked through the door. “She’s a very welcoming host.”
“Motherfucker,” but Howell laughs.
I pull away from him, and he gives me a last shove. I stumble into a different girl, who looks irritated until she sees me towering over her. She bats her eyes, and as much as I’d stay and get her number for a future hookup, ten cups of shitty beer drive me to the bathroom.
When I exit, I almost run into another girl. At first, I think it’s the same one as before, and I’m less thrilled about getting her number now. Clingers, stalkers, or crazies don’t do it for me. Once was enough.
“Oh, hey, Spencer,” she says.
I rub my eyes to clear the blurriness. And frown. “The fuck do you want?”
Dawn pouts, crossing her arms under her chest, which thrusts her ample cleavage further out. For a moment, my eyes dip to the low neckline of her dress—because tits are tits, no matter who they hang off of—and she catches me with a knowing smirk.
“I just wanted to say hi. Can you not be a total asshole?”
“Can you not be a total bitch?”
She rolls her eyes. But even as annoyed with me as she is, she leans in close, squeezing my forearm with her hand. “Look, I know Rylie’s probably said shit about me, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun…”
I know the kind of fun she’s talking about.
But I also know Rylie hasn’t said jack shit about her. Because even though she and Dawn, once best friends and roommates, had had a falling out last semester, Stone’s a nice fucking person.
Hart, on the other hand, has no such reservations about sharing. He told me how Dawn treated Rylie like shit. That it was Dawn who went to Keeland to spill the truth about Hart’s video, given permission by…
“Where the fuck is she?” I throw her hand off me.
Because where Meegan goes, Dawn’s sure to follow. That’s how Meegan works. If you don’t fall in line, you’re of no use to her.
I don’t wait for a response. I push Dawn to the side, ignoring her irked yelp. It wouldn’t surprise me if her hitting on me is one of Meegan’s ploys. A test, arranged by Meegan, who is just waiting around the corner to hound in on the
