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“Dad.”
He holds up his hands. “All right. All right. I’m lightening up. This is me lightening up.”
“Thank you.”
“Want me to close the door?”
“Yes, please.”
“Goodnight, honey.”
“Goodnight, Dad. Thanks again for the parking pass.”
He smiles and closes the door behind him. I sigh.
You sure about joining Beta Kappa, though?
It’s a fair question. Not pledging would mean I wouldn’t have to worry about Rush Week. About the Delta Xi boys sniffing me out, as Courtney put it. I could wait for someone special, as Connor said. I could be Daddy’s little princess forever and ever, always staying out of trouble.
Or I could reinvent myself. That’s what you’re supposed to do at college, right? It’s a magical place where the awkward kid can break out, free to be whoever they want to be with no one knowing who they used to be. I could take risks and park my car wherever I want to and — dammit — I could have sex.
Connor was a dead end, but there are plenty of other fish in the sea — or Northies on campus, to be more accurate.
I’ll catch one.
Even if I have to go looking for trouble.
CHAPTER 6
CONNOR
I swipe my membership card slowly at the door of Champion’s Gym, Chicago’s best elite training and fitness facility. The card nearly comes apart after years of abuse. The son of a professional football legend never skips leg day.
And neither does his sister.
Courtney had gone back to her apartment by the time I made it home last night, or else I would have spoken to her then.
And we have something very important to discuss.
I give Kelly a wave as I pass by the front desk.
“Looking for the big guy?” he asks, noting my casual clothes and lack of a gym bag.
“Looking for big sister, actually.”
“Ah.” He points his arm toward the back corner, showing off his dynamite forearms. Employees get free all-access memberships, and Kelly definitely uses his. “Squat racks last I saw,” he says.
“Thanks.”
I continue forward, moving fast through the valley of cardio equipment toward the squat racks and power towers along the back.
“Connor?”
I stop, nearly running into my father’s wide shoulder as I round a corner. “Oh. Hey, Dad.”
He lowers his clipboard to his side, keeping one eye on the guy performing a bench press beside us — the bar easily weighing twice his body weight. One of my father’s current clients. He only takes on a few at a time. Those who make the cut take it seriously.
“Shouldn’t you be in class?” he asks me.
