“I’m noticing a disturbing trend among my friends,” I said as I took a sip from my beer—more as something to do than because I wanted to drink it.
“What’s that?”
“You’re all hanging out with Wildcats players. You”—when she opened her mouth to protest, I stared pointedly at where Callahan’s hand rested on her hip—“Piper, and now Saylor.”
“Why is it disturbing that your friends are hanging out with me and my friends?” Callahan asked with a smirk.
“Because some of your friends have questionable taste in women.” I sipped more beer.
With a sage nod, he said, “Don’t judge Finn. It’s not taste he lacks but finesse. Jersey chasers are easy to impress.” He tugged Jamaica a fraction closer to his side. “Women who are worth impressing are harder for him to affect. He gets all tongue-tied and says stupid things.”
I shrugged. “I don’t recall referring to your roommate.”
Callahan barked out a laugh. “You didn’t have to. We knew who you meant.”
Wrinkling my nose, I said, “Whatever.”
The voice of the man in question sounded behind me. “Hey, ’Han. Jamaica.”
When I didn’t bother to turn around, Callahan smirked.
“Chessly?” Finn asked from somewhere behind my back.
Letting go of a long-suffering sigh, I shrugged and half-turned to incline my head at him.
Callahan’s low voice held a note of mirth. “Cold, Chessly. Cold.”
Jamaica’s narrowed eyes told me my best friend was in solidarity with me. Whether or not Callahan was right and Finn lacked finesse with women it didn’t excuse whatever he had going on with that witch Tory Miller.
“I didn’t think you’d show tonight.”
With another shrug, I sipped my nasty beer. “What can I say? My friends, apparently, are sadists. They enjoy torturing me.”
Saylor’s snorty laughter drew our attention to where Jeremiah Fitzgerald was entertaining her as he filled cups like a pro.
“Or they think everyone should have a thing for a Wildcats player.” That last part came out huffier than I intended, and Jamaica shot me the big eyes. “Don’t worry. I was referring to Saylor.” Under my breath I added, “Mostly.”
“I thought you were a fan of the Wildcats.” Consternation crossed Finn’s face, and I stomped on the mental brakes when a smile tried to twitch its way over my lips at how cute his expression was.
“Football is fun to watch.”
Both Callahan and Finn stood a bit straighter and preened.
“So, yes, I’m a Wildcats fan. But being a fan doesn’t mean I want to date any of you.” I shot a glance at Jamaica, who narrowed her eyes at me and then at Saylor, who apparently didn’t hear me, judging by the way she was smiling at Jeremiah’s beer-pouring antics.
The way Finn’s’ shoulders dropped gave me a pang, like I’d kicked a puppy or something. My remorse made no sense.
“We’re nice guys. We do community service and everything,” he said, his earnest tone nearly tugging that grin from me after all. But I squelched it.
“By community service, do you mean entertaining freshman and sophomore girls in the Union?”
As soon as those catty words had left my mouth, I wanted to kick myself. His furrowed brow at my question told me more than I wanted to know. I thought he’d noticed me the other day when I saw him at a table surrounded by Tory Miller and her band of mean girls. Guess he hadn’t. And what did that say about my interest in him?
Because I most certainly was not interested in him.
Not even a little bit.
“Um, I volunteer in the pediatric ward in the hospital. ’Han here walks dogs at the animal shelter.” He nodded in Jeremiah’s direction. “Fitzy helps out over at the campus wellness center. It’s a requirement of our scholarships to give back.”
