“Look, Finn McCabe is one stupidly good-looking guy. But he hangs out withToryMiller.” Her name dripped from my lips like acid. Crossing my arms over my chest, I dropped my chin. “And he doesn’t see a problem with it.”
“She-who-thinks-her-shit-don’t-stink and her little posse of freshman wannabes like to hang out with him at the library. But he blew her off at the party last night.” Jamaica gave me the big eyes. “Wait. Did something happen with Tory after the bonfire?”
“At first, Finn comes across as kind of shy,” I began.
Jamaica stifled a giggle. “Or supremely awkward.”
“Shy,” I corrected. “But when he warms up a bit, he’s super-cute. We were having a fun conversation. He even managed to drop a line on me when we were parked in the driveway in front of the lobby. And then out of nowhere, Tory started banging on the windows of his truck.” Wrinkling my nose, I said, “Across the bonfire I caught a glimpse of her flirting with some guy in a frat jacket—couldn’t tell which frat—right before we all left. She must have hopped on her broom to make it back to the dorms ahead of us.”
“Did he ditch you for Tory?” She flexed her fists. “I don’t care if he’s Callahan’s best friend—if he ditched you for Tory, I’m going to take him out.”
The image of my best friend, all five foot six and 125 pounds, soaking-wet, taking on the mountain of a man known as Finn McCabe cracked me up. I could picture him with one massive palm pressed to her forehead, holding her at arm’s length as she swung her small fists at him and connected with nothing but air.
“Thanks, babe. I love you for looking out for me. But I don’t have a clue what happened after I let myself out of his truck.” I stuck my nose in the air. “He couldn’t ditch me for anyone because I didn’t give him the chance.”
“He’s Callahan’s friend, but I don’t know either of them that well.”
“Ri-ight.” I dragged the word out a couple seconds.
Gifting me with one of her around-the-world eye rolls, she continued. “But from what I’ve seen, ’Han despairs of his friend’s taste in women.”
I shot her a glare.
“Present company excluded.”
“Thanks.” My tone was as dry as dust. Picking at my sweater, I said, “So much for the four of us ever double-dating. After last night, I don’t care if I never see Finn McCabe again.”
Jamaica smirked. “Better work on making that sound like you mean it.”
Crossing my eyes, I stuck my tongue out at her, and she cracked up. With effort, I dragged myself out of her comfy chair and walked to the door. “I have a paper to finish for Modern Physics, that’ll take me right up to our RA meeting. See you later.”
I headed upstairs to my room, but I couldn’t concentrate on physics with images of Finn McCabe swirling in my head. Replaying that slow, sexy once-over he gave me in his truck before Tory so rudely interrupted us left me hot and itchy. I stared at the closed drawer of my nightstand and willed myself not to go for my battery-operated boyfriend while pictures of Finn played in my head.
“Don’t go there. Do not even think about going there,” I growled to myself. With a huff at the reflection staring back at me from the mirror on my closet door, I grabbed my yoga mat and headed down to the workout room beside the Passion Pit in the basement of the dorm. One way or another, I’d put myself in a better headspace to focus on what truly mattered, which definitely meant school and not a certain hot defensive end.
Mountain State’s sprawling campus took up most of the south side of town at the base of the mountains. With its reputation for landing NASA grants and churning out engineers in every discipline like a well-oiled machine, the college was one of the largest in the Northwest. That made it easy not to run into other students if you truly didn’t want to. The other thing that made it easy to avoid particular students who happened to play on the championship-caliber Wildcats football team was the college’s insistence on listing their schedules on the team’s website.
For the two weeks following Homecoming, I’d managed to avoid any chance of accidentally seeing Finn McCabe anywhere. Knowing he hung out with my nemesis stung because I’d truly wanted to see where that spark of awareness between us might have led.
Jamaica, the pest, never missed an opportunity to tell me Finn asked about me on the regular, like every time she met up with Callahan at the library or went over to his place to “study.” As if I needed that info. Cue the massive eye roll here. I guess since she had a thing for a football player, she thought each of her friends should have one too.
It didn’t help that our other best friend, Piper Maxwell, had hooked up with Finn’s roommate Wyatt Baxter—who everyone knew as “Bax”—recently in what she insisted was only a one-night stand. It seemed she’d impressed him or something because he’d dedicated a pick-six to her during the Wildcats’ big win against the Tigers last weekend. Watching Piper try to turtle down inside her massive yeti-looking faux fur coat when he pointed the ball at her in the stands was highly entertaining. Finn catching my eye after that play? Not so much. At least with the focus on Piper, she and our other friend Saylor missed that little exchange.
What no one missed was the scene Tory Miller caused in Stromboli’s the Thursday night following that game. If she hadn’t stopped at our table to throw snark at me, I probably would have ignored her. But when it came to looking for ways to make my life hard, Tory couldn’t seem to pass up an opportunity. Even with her dad’s bottomless pockets, she wasn’t able to force me from the university after I busted her for breaking dorm rules when she was on my floor last year. The terms of the settlement with the college stated she couldn’t accost me in the dorm or on campus. A more prudent person might have taken those terms farther afield. Say, anywhere she might run into me.
Tory was petulant, privileged, and petty—pretty much the opposite of prudent.
As she stopped beside the booth I was sharing with Piper and Saylor, she’d planted one perfectly manicured hand on her hip. “Did you honestly think you were good enough to hang out with a Wildcats player? You and your truck-stop-trash friend Jamaica Winslow have so much to learn.”
“You know, Tory”—Piper’s casual tone harbored a dangerous edge—“you’re bad for every rich girl’s reputation. You running around pretending you deserve the princess treatment makes every girl whose dad is well off look bad.” She mimicked the way Tory wound a lock of hair around her finger. “Name-calling is so middle school. If you’re trying to pass yourself off as an adult, you should try acting like one.”
“Speaking of passing yourself off as an adult, how did you get past the bouncer?” I asked. “Oh, wait. Steve’s not at the door tonight. It’s someone new.”
An ugly sneer twisted Tory’s mouth. “You were born a bitch, weren’t you, Chessly?”
I sipped my beer and set the glass back on the table. “Takes one to know one.”
Our server arrived with our pizza but couldn’t penetrate the knot of Tory’s entourage creating her backdrop in front of our booth. “Excuse me. Excuse me. Hot pie coming through.”
