People started pouring from the stadium, which meant it was halftime. In seconds, it seemed, our immediate area was teeming with excited football fans. Fraternity guys mobbed the coolers full of iced beverages while a couple of them manned the grill, where in a matter of seconds they had rows of brats sizzling. The smell of cooking sausage didn’t rank high on my list of favorite aromas, so I moved away from the side of the truck.
Saylor ended up in the center of a group of her “brothers,” laughing and flirting with frat guys who made no secret of wanting to date her. Chess and I exchanged a “poor fellas” smile at the hopelessness of their interest. Our friend loved hanging out at the fraternity house watching sports on Sundays and having dinner and playing board games on Wednesday nights, but unlike most of the women who were Little Rhos, she didn’t rush the house to find a mister. Having grown up as an only child, she was literally looking for brothers and had found them at the frat.
One of the guys in her circle caught my eye and sidled over. “Hey, aren’t you the girl Bax dedicated that sweet pick-six to?” He eyed my hair and grinned. “Guess you’re going to have to change your color from purple to royal blue.”
“Right,” I drawled. “What are you going to do when he scores again and dedicates it to you?”
Chessly’s timely interruption when she handed me a fresh can of yummy alcohol saved the poor guy from my sarcasm. It wasn’t his fault for recognizing me and making the same assumption the rest of the people in the stadium had apparently made. Nope. That was on one Wyatt Baxter.
The jerk.
“Pretty sure he doesn’t dedicate touchdowns to guys,” Chessly said, a Cheshire-cat grin splitting her face.
With a sage nod, the guy said, “Got it. You don’t kiss and tell.” He saluted me with his beer. “Smart girl when it comes to the Wildcats.” He ambled off and I stared at my friend.
“What did he mean by that?”
Her hands went up with a “who knows?” gesture. “From what Jamaica tells me, the jersey chasers are relentless. By you keeping your mouth shut about your rendezvous with one of the players, you make brownie points with the team.” She stared after the guy who’d recognized me. “And probably with certain people who see them as individuals rather than stepping stones to popularity or whatever. I think Saylor mentioned a couple of the players are members of ADR.”
As I downed another White Claw, I seriously wished I’d at least dressed like the rest of the crowd today—in a standard MSC or Wildcats hoodie. My choice to stand out a bit on the off chance a certain football player might notice me hadn’t turned out exactly as I’d planned.
Fine. I have no idea exactly what I’d planned. Or why I’d wanted his attention. After all, I’d left him hanging when he asked for my number.
As though I’d conjured it with the thought, my phone vibrated against my ass. With Wyatt on my mind, I pulled it from the back pocket of my jeans and experienced a second of disappointment when a text from Ben’s number flashed on the screen instead. But when I opened the text, it was clear Pippa was the one talking.
Ben: You can’t ignore me forever. I’m your sister. Do you have a thing with Wyatt Baxter?
Me: You chose to do what you did. Actions have consequences. Stop using our cousin’s phone to get to me, Phillipa.
Ben: Talk to me. Please. I miss you.
When I read that last phrase, I had to refrain from hurling my phone across the parking lot and into a neighboring tailgate at her choice of words. Pippa missed me, my ass. She wanted something.
“What is it?” Chessly asked.
“I need to have a heart-to-heart with my cousin. Again. He knows why I won’t talk to my sister. He needs to stop letting her access his phone.”
With a raised brow, Chess said, “At least your cousin doesn’t know where your new place is now.”
“There is that. He said he wanted to be Switzerland in our mess, but obviously he’s chosen a side.” I raspberried out a breath. “The mistress of manipulation wins again.”
“She’s jealous, Piper. Your take-no-prisoners badassery draws people to you like a magnet. She doesn’t have that going for her.” Nodding to the can in my hand, she said, “Drink up and forget about her. Have some fun.” Her eyes slid to a couple of guys on the edge of the tailgate who were smiling in our direction. “Let’s mingle.”
When we returned to our seats in the middle of the third quarter, I was in a much better mood and a bit tipsy. The Wildcats were up 27-7. The Bulldogs were kicking off, which meant they’d scored on their last series. Instinctively, my eyes swiveled to the sideline where I saw Wyatt bang his helmet down on the bench before dropping it to the ground and sitting heavily. A coach walked over and said something to him that had him shaking his head and dropping it into his hands.
Seeing his distress sobered me up fast. Leaning forward, I asked the guy in front of me what had happened.
“Totally bogus unsportsmanlike conduct call. Bax came in a little late on the quarterback, but the replay showed he led with his shoulder, not his helmet. The refs suck,” the guy snarled.
“Is he out for the game?”
“Nah. They stopped short of calling targeting.”
I sagged back against my seat.Wow. No wonder Wyatt was upset. But at least he hadn’t been ejected. When I stood up again, the hairs on the back of my neck rose. Immediately, my gaze swung toward the team bench. Though he was staring hard at me, from this distance, I couldn’t be sure of his expression. Anger? Disappointment? A question?
Why would he direct any of those emotions my way? I had nothing to do with his play nor the call on the field. Tearing my eyes from his, I concentrated on the offense methodically moving the ball from hash to hash, slashing the Bulldogs’ defense as though it had affronted them. In less than two minutes, the Wildcats had scored an answering touchdown, but when I glanced over to the bench to see how he responded, Wyatt remained seated, his head down.
When the defense retook the field, someone else played Wyatt’s position while he sat on the bench, where he stayed for the rest of the game. Though I kept stealing looks in his direction, he didn’t return them. Instead, he stood and walked to the other end of the bench opposite the student section and blended in with the rest of the backups cheering on the team.
