At last I gave up and headed to the Passion Pit in the basement of the lobby. One of the other RAs hosted a regular Friday night pajama party for her floor, but everyone in the dorm was invited until all the seats filled up. When I arrived in the common area, Rosie was cueing up the movie. As the opening credits forHe’s Just Not That Into Yourolled across the screen, I had to stifle a moan. If I wasn’t already inclined to believe in Orch OR theory, I’d experienced enough coincidences to push me into believing it.
Moving as discreetly as possible, I let myself out of the room and headed up to the lobby. Perhaps I could cover for the desk clerk, who could probably use a break right now. When I reached the top of the stairs, I saw Saylor standing at the desk, her hand poised over the phone to call for a resident to escort her to their room. It didn’t take a genius to know who she wanted to visit.
“Hey, girlfriend. Thought you were watching football,” I said as I stepped around the top of the stairs.
“Practice finished up a while ago. Piper had her car, so she said she’d give J a ride back here after they said good night to their guys.” She linked her arm through mine. “I have a bottle of wine tucked into my purse,” she whispered conspiratorially as we headed down the hall.
“What are we celebrating?” I asked as I keyed us into my tiny single room.
“It’s more commiserating, I think.” She pulled the bottle from her purse and set it on my desk before slipping off her gorgeous duster and hanging it over my boring puffy coat on the back of my door.
Making herself at home, she pulled two water glasses from the cupboard above my sink, unscrewed the cap on the wine, and poured two generous glasses. After handing one to me, she made herself comfortable on my bed, leaving me to sit on my hard desk chair.
“Okay, why are we commiserating?”
“We’re feeling especially sad for one Finn McCabe who couldn’t seem to do one thing right in practice this evening. From what I could see, his coaches did nothing but ride his ass from the second drill through the short scrimmage at the end.” Shooting me a stare that spoke volumes, she tipped her glass and sipped. “Anyone with eyes could see the poor guy’s head was absolutely not in the game.” After another sip, she continued in a conversational tone. “He did pretty well in the first drill, then he glanced up in the stands, noted the three of us sitting together, and proceeded to fall apart for the rest of practice.”
The wine in my mouth tasted like vinegar. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Of the four of us, you are hands down the smartest when it comes to the books. Jamaica has a 4.0 because she works her ass off for it. Likewise, Piper and I work to maintain our GPAs and our scholarships. But you...” She gestured languidly with her glass. “You solve advanced calculus problems to relax. Yet when it comes to a certain hot Wildcats player, you are about as bright as a box of rocks.”
“Excuse me?” My voice and my eyebrows rose in unison.
“I don’t know what happened in the Union on Monday, but I think you need to give Finn another chance, let him explain himself at least. Because from what I saw on the field today, the guy’s a wreck. And if he doesn’t get his head back in the game, one of two things is going to happen. Either he’s going to lose his starting position or”—she stared me down hard—“he’s going to get hurt.” She sipped from her glass. “You don’t want to be responsible for either one.”
Her words came like punches to the gut. I set my wine on my desk and glanced out the window above it into the dark.
Saylor sat forward, her hand coming down on my forearm to give it a reassuring squeeze. “Just answer his texts, huh?”
Huffing out a mirthless laugh, I asked, “Is that why you brought the wine? To fortify me for reading Finn’s texts?”
“Nah. I brought it because it’s Friday night and you’re stuck in the dorms and can’t come out to play with me.” Her lips curled up in a naughty grin.
“Uh-huh. Whatever.”
“Wait. You haven’t even read his texts?” She sat up so fast she almost sloshed wine all over the secondhand area rug I used to cover the cold linoleum floor.
“Look. He made himself clear when he lumped me in with all the bitchy girls he seems to prefer to hang out with.”
“Chess. You’re making excuses.” Tilting her head, she stared at me through narrowed eyes. “You’re into him—like all in with him—aren’t you?”
With a shrug, I maintained my gaze on the darkness gathering outside the window. “Doesn’t matter. When he looks at me, he sees his ex. Never mind we’re nothing alike. She’s a tall brunette with dark brown eyes, and she dresses like she works in finance—red power suit with pantyhose and heels.” Turning my attention to my friend, I added, “The only thing the two of us have in common is we both went out with Finn McCabe.”
Saylor patted my knee and said nothing.
“Honestly, I can’t imagine why he’d want to date me when she’s apparently his type.”
“Honey, she’s not his type. That’s why he worked so hard to impress you.” Giving my knee a squeeze, she said, “These past few weeks since the two of you started hanging out, you’ve been happier than I’ve ever seen you.” Standing, she drained the dregs of her wine and set her glass in the sink. As she shrugged her coat on, she said, “Read his texts. Think about talking to him at least before you run away.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Finn
“Pull your headout of your ass, McCabe!” Coach Ainsworth shouted. “Jesus. Did you forget every fucking thing about football in your two months away from the field?” Turning away in disgust, he yelled, “Jones! Get over here and show theseniorhow to play D-end.”
Seth Jones, a redshirt sophomore, trotted over from the sideline and lined up in my spot. The scout team quarterback lined up behind center and called the signals. When the center hiked the ball, Jones shot off the line like a rocket. In the end he was no match for Donahue, our massive left tackle, but he sure as hell ran the defensive play better than I had for the past two days.
Beside me, Ainsworth said, “Think you can do even that much, McCabe?”
