“Relax. It’s no big deal.” Reid hooks his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, drawing my traitorous eyes south to the bulge behind his zipper. The smirk is back in place, and I know I’ve been caught looking. Heat floods my cheeks, but Coop hops on the peer-pressure express before I can die of embarrassment.
“Hell, if I had a three-point-nine, I’d be shouting that shit from the rooftops,” he says, slipping his phone into his back pocket. “But, alas, I’m fated to be the stereotypical jock with a big appetite, so can we move this little battle of wills—fascinating as it is—to the Diner, because I’m starving?”
The question is directed at me, but it becomes an open invitation and an escape. A bunch of girls I hadn’t noticed step out of the shadows and descend on the guys like bees on a honeycomb. An exchange of greetings ripples through the crowd, and I realize they aren’t strangers, which I guess makes sense because these girls are clearly dressed for the after-party Reid mentioned.
A blonde in booty shorts that could give Queen Bey a run for her money slips an arm around Coop’s waist and bats her lashes as she smashes her boobs against his rib cage. She looks familiar, but I can’t place her. “I’m so hot, but maybe a milkshake would cool me down. Mind if we join you?”
Another girl, this one a brunette, slides under his other arm. That’s when it hits me. These are the girls from study hall. The ones Reid was talking to. Acquaintances my ass. “Great game today! You were amazing!” the girl chirps, gushing with more pep than a cheerleader snorting Pixy Stix.
A grin slides across Coop’s face as he looks from the blonde to the brunette and I can practically see the wheels turning in his head.
Oh, FFS. Just what Coop needs, a threesome to further validate his overblown ego. I’d swear it was a scene from some cheesy, Friday night lights dramedy if I weren’t witnessing it firsthand.
Coop catches me staring and miracle of miracles, his grin actually gets wider. For his part, Reid just stands there, still as a statue, neither encouraging nor discouraging the women. Has he hooked up with them? For some reason, the thought of Reid getting handsy with these girls stings more than it should, and I realize with a sinking stomach that I don’t want to know the answer.
“So, what do you say, Carter?” Coop raises a brow in silent challenge. As if I’ll be so easily baited. “You coming or what?”
The blonde looks me up and down. She quickly dismisses me with a giggle, apparently deciding I’m no threat. Fine by me. I have zero interest in Cooper DeLaurentis.
“I’ll see you at practice on Monday.” I force a little cheer into my words—we did just win our first game of the season, after all—despite the sour taste that lingers in my mouth. Reid gives a curt nod, but says nothing and I watch, feet rooted to the ground, as he and the others retreat down the hall in search of food and festivities.
They might be good teammates, but that’s where it ends. It has to.
This little show proves they’re exactly the kind of guys my mom always warned me about. Too much booze. Too much sex. Too few brain cells. Not exactly a winning combination—despite what the scoreboard said today—and I can’t afford to get tangled up with a guy like that, one who’s temporary at best.
No, I don’twantto get tangled up with a guy like that.
Even if Reid’s smile makes me want to throw caution to the wind and forget everything I know about football players. Even if Reid’s touch makes me want to say yes to his offer, just this once, to see where the night could go.
17
AUSTIN
Greek Row is litup like a beacon for the young, dumb, and horny when we roll up on Sig Chi, surrounded by throngs of students looking for a good time. The house sits in the middle of the block, hedged in on either side by equally imposing, old-as-hell mansions that have witnessed generations of drunken debauchery I can’t even begin to imagine.
Hell, it’s a wonder some of these places are still standing after the stories I’ve heard.
From the outside the stone and brick behemoths look stately, a throwback to the good old days when the wordgentlemancarried weight. But inside? Whole different story. Sticky floors, missing doors—most doing double duty as beer pong tables—and enough sweaty bodies to send the fire marshal into a blind panic.
The party at Sig Chi is a rager, spilling out onto the front lawn with red plastic cups and tipsy girls who move in pairs across the manicured grass. There are a couple of guys sitting on the porch roof, their legs dangling over the front, welcoming newcomers. The whole scene brings back memories of Spellman and the night he busted his leg.
I avert my eyes, the familiar guilt burning a hole in my chest.
Vaughn shakes his head, and I figure he’s remembering it too, but before I can say anything, he breaks off from the group and makes a beeline for a solo drunk girl who’s struggling with a possibly broken heel and cursing a blue streak. If it were anyone else, I’d be right behind him, but it’s Vaughn, which means there are decent odds he’ll bag the party and either walk the girl home or put her ass in an Uber and ride along to make sure she gets home safe.
I follow Coop up the narrow sidewalk, nodding at a few familiar faces. If the entire town wasn’t celebrating our first win of the season, campus police would probably shut this thing down. But we are celebrating our first win and as long as the shenanigans stay mostly aboveboard, the brothers will get a free pass tonight.
It doesn’t hurt that Coop’s a Sig Chi legacy. It tends to make campus police look the other way, but it also helps ensure my guys stay out of trouble. As long as they keep their noses clean. The truth is, they busted their asses today and no one’s going to raise an eyebrow if they want to throw back a few beers.
Not even Coach, thanks to his new on/off training policy. We work hard during the week and keep our noses to the grindstone, then the training switch flips to the off position Saturday night, giving the team a chance to let loose and blow off steam. Monday morning, we’ll be back to business as usual, but tonight, we’re free to party and celebrate the win over Idaho.
Coop and I take the front steps two at a time, Parker and Smith right behind us, bypassing the kid collecting cash for cups. Sometimes being a football player does have its perks, one of them being that Coop will get us a decent beer and not the watered-down shit they’re pumping through the keg.
The night’s early. Plenty of time for that later.
Coop motions for us to stick close and shouts, “Follow me.”
At least I think that’s what he says, because it’s too damn loud to actually hear the words coming out of his mouth with Post Malone blasting through the sound system. There are speakers set up in the living room and it’s the usual scene. Bodies pressed together like they might start fucking any given second, beer pong tourney, and lots of small talk punctuated with erratic hand gestures.
