Page 11 of Best Things in Life

Summer Philbin invited me to this party when I ran into her in the library reading room the other day while I was busy avoiding BMOC House. When we get to the party, I spot her in the crowd in the next room and head in her direction. Why not?

Before I reach her, she sees me and meets me halfway through the crowd, pulling me by the arm into the hall leading to a doorway that leads to who the hell knows where. My gut flips in a moment of panic that she’s making a move and the last thing I want to do is have one of those awkward scenes and alienate another would-be friend. But my ego is bigger than it ought to be.

“You here alone?” she asks before saying hello.

“No, I brought a teammate—”

“Bigs is here?” Fuck. I smirk, mostly at myself.

“Transparent much?” I soften up and smile when I notice a touch of pink embarrassment under her frown. “Look sweetheart, Bigs is with someone else…”

“I heard a rumor, but a girl can hope, can’t she?” She chuckles one of those self-deprecating mini laughs that’s one hundred percent genuine. I can see why she does so well on-air. She has an everyday girl vulnerability under her super slick self-confidence.

“You and me both,” I mutter, not sure I want to confess all in spite of her confession to me.

“What?”

“Never mind. You going to the game as a spectator or as a broadcaster Saturday?”

“I’ll be with the SPU TV administration in the press booth. I’m not covering this game, but Craig—Craig Jaworski, the studio manager—wants me to be there for support. Kind of like a mentor. We need more students to get experience broadcasting so I’ll only be covering the biggest games this season.” I nod.

“Come down and visit us at halftime. We’ll be on the fifty-yard line down in the good seats, courtesy of Bane.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Bigs will be there with his new girl.” I need to warn her.

“No problem.” Her face remains neutral, but she fidgets with her hands and it’s a small thing, but for her it’s as good as losing her cool. And I’ve never seen her lose her cool, not even when she lost Trey to his childhood crush. “It’ll be interesting to meet her.” She attempts a smile, but I’m not fooled.

“Don’t pretend you’re okay with it. Not any more than I am.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She half laughs as she elbows me. This isn’t the time or place to get into the whole history between me and Sarina. Instead of explaining the inexplicable state of my emotions, I shake my head and look around the party. Whiskey is chatting animatedly with a girl well above his fighting weight. I know she’s a senior and dating a football guy which is the only reason she’s alone tonight. But hell, good luck to him. He’ll need it from the looks of it because I can see from halfway across the room there’s no spark between them. I drain what’s left of my beer.

“This is a party and Sarina and Bigs aren’t here,” I say. “So let’s party.” She nods and doesn’t bother pressing me about why I’m not okay with them being together. Which is good because I need to get them out of my fucking head.

“I need another beer—want one?” I take her arm, which is soft and slim, nothing like Sarina’s shapely, toned arms. And shit, I’m comparing her to Sarina. And fuck, there’s no comparison, no spark, not even a cinder. She yields to my grip even as it tightens with my disappointed tension and I take her for that drink, which I suddenly need more than I thought.

* * *

Dooley calls me while I’m still in bed Saturday morning. Fuck, I probably shouldn’t have had the shot with that last beer. The dull thudding behind my forehead berates me and even if it’s not a full-bore hangover, it’s not the way I want to start the day. Stabbing the phone on, I throw off my comforter and sit on the edge of the bed.

“Dools. How’s it hanging?”

“Very firmly, thank you very much. We’re meeting at gate five in ten minutes. I’m already on my way. We missed you at Wildbeast’s last night.”

“I went to a party. Ran into Summer. She’s going to stop by and say hello at the game today.”

“Summer Philbin? As in the girl voted most likely to snag the Alan Bigsby prize last semester?” I snort a laugh.

“She’s the one. Let me go—I’m running late.”

“Of course you are, you naughty boy. That’s why I called.”

I knew Dooley would appreciate me throwing Summer into the mix. But who am I kidding? It’s not going to make the game any less a torture chamber. The week’s been hell dancing around the fucking happy couple. I stand and strip, grab a towel, and head for the shower.

Contemplating faking a last-minute flu—because I know Dools will cover for me with the others—only lasts two blinks before my pride saves me from that act of pure cowardice. Surely I can manage sitting through a football game with them in a crowd of thousands. I’ll be fine. What’s the worst that could happen? I could fucking punch Bigs in the fucking mouth. I shut the water off and wrap my towel around myself. Shaking my head, I walk back to my room.

Exercising my self-control while suffering painful stabs to my heart will be good for building my character, right?