“For the record,” I say in return, feeling a strange wave of possession as she talks about this guy named Ryan that she clearly knows well enough to borrow his car, “I don’t have girlfriends, and I don’t date, but I do fuck.”
My crassness totally takes her off guard. She looks down, considers it for a moment and nods. “I guess there’s nothing wrong with that, and at least you’re honest about it with the girls, right?”
Just then, I glance up and see a couple of guys from a different fraternity enter. I lean forward and duck my head.
“What’s wrong?” Maize asks.
“I don’t know what those assholes are doing here.”
She turns and sees the guys taking a seat, two tables over. “You don’t like them.”
“I like my privacy,” I say.
“Oh, right.” Her shoulders round, as she sinks into herself. Jesus, does she think I don’t want to be seen with her.
“This is about me, not you,” I quickly tell her. She nods but I’m not one-hundred percent sure she believes me.
Just then, Brad Kennedy lifts his head and looks right at me. I nod, and he jumps up, comes over and takes the seat across from me, his big body crowding Maize in her chair. His gaze turns to her and he smiles.
“Hey,” he says.
She returns his smile. “Hi.”
Goddammit, I do not like the way he’s looking at her, or the way she’s looking at him. He’s not part of the Wolf Pack, at Wolf House, but if he was, and had won Maize, would she have slept with him? I really don’t like the idea of that, even though she can sleep with whoever she wants.
My insides take that moment to burn, and it’s all I can do not to pick him up by the scruff and shove him out of our booth.
I said I wasn’t going to try to get her to like me; that it was best to keep things the way they are and let her hate me. But maybe I’m revising that plan.
7
Maize
I can’t understand the scowl on Christian’s face or why he’s staring at Brad like he wants to take him to the ground—with his fist, not a football. They must have some private feud that I don’t know about, or Christian really doesn’t like being seen with me. We are, after all, two towns over for breakfast. Perhaps I’m an embarrassment. But as soon as that thought goes through my mind, another one shuts it down. Christian didn’t have to break his rules and bid on me. He didn’t have to give Kaitlyn that coveted card. He did it because he felt responsible, and I guess that’s kind of nice, and shows he’s a man who owns up to his mistakes. He might not have owned up to the one in high school, but we’re not teenagers anymore. Maybe he’s no longer a jerk. Maybe he’s grown up a lot, and I’m a girl who just assumes every rich kid is mean. Am I being too harsh? Should I give him a second chance at friendship?
Nancy comes back with our coffees and sets them down. “I didn’t realize you were having a third,” she says as she focuses in on Brad.
Brad nudges me, his elbow sharp against my side. “Ooh, a three-way,” he says with a bark of laughter, and neither Nancy nor Christian seem impressed.
“He was just leaving,” Christian tells her through clenched teeth. Brad abruptly stops laughing. His glance goes to Christian, and if he was a smart man—if he could read a room— he’d get up and get out while he still could.
He pushes from his chair and steps back. With his head down, he says, “Yeah, I’ll see you later, man.”
Once he’s gone, Christian physically relaxes and reaches for his mug of coffee. “Thanks Nancy, and if he gives you any trouble, let me know.”
She gives a laugh, and a wink. “Son, I’ve been doing this a long time. That boy knows better than to give this old lady any trouble.” She’s still laughing as she saunters off.
I lean across the table conspiratorially, wanting to lighten Christian’s mood. “Do you think she does something to the food?” I ask.
“Like spit in it or something?”
“Yes.”
A quiver goes through him. “Jesus, that’s disgusting.”
I shrug. “I know, but I had this friend from back home who worked in the industry and the stories she told.” I give a low, slow whistle. “Just don’t ever be mean to a server and never send your food back.”
He laughs out loud, and my girly parts flutter. As I revel in the sound, I wonder why I wanted to make him laugh. “Duly noted.” He rips into a sugar packet and dumps it into his coffee, while I add a splash of milk to mine. “Where is home, Maize?” His laughter falls and his voice turns serious.
I shift, suddenly a little uncomfortable. “I lived in Cumberland, but I was on a scholarship at Sweetwater.” He nods, and takes a sip, like he’s absorbing all that. “What about you?”
“I moved to Sweetwater in high school, as you know. We used to live in D.C. Dad’s a Supreme Court judge but maybe you know that.”
I nod. “Why did you move to So Cal?”
“It’s where my parents are from and Dad worked so much. Mom wanted to be closer to family.”
“That’s nice, I think. Do you have any siblings?”
I don’t miss the tightening of his fingers around his mug as he fiddles with it. “No, just me. I’m not really close to my parents, but I have a cousin I’m close to and I’m really close to my grandmother on my father’s side.”
“That’s really nice. My grandparents are gone, and no cousins to speak of.”
“You’re an only child too, I take it.”
“That’s right.”
He slaps his palms on the table, “Well, that settles it then,” he says teasingly. “We can never marry.”
I laugh. “Not that I’m ever getting married, but I get what you’re
