Instead, I can remain cool and aloof until I get my final revenge.
“Bye, Tristan,” I say, trying to mimic the smirk he always gives me.
Tristan smiles as he reaches into his backpack and pulls out a purple and gold jersey.
“See you later, my little Amelia.” He puts the jersey over my head, like a dog collar. “Wear this to my game tomorrow night.”
My face grows hot, and my stomach flutters against my will. I’ve never gotten into the football craze like everyone else at Pacific Crest, and sometimes it makes me ache inside.
A part of me wants to be a frivolous college student, instead of a shy introvert who spends all her free time writing naughty Jane Austen fanfic.
How can I depict human behavior with Jane’s accuracy and acerbic wit when I’m never out in the world to observe it?
“Fine,” I mumble, pulling the jersey off my neck and stuffing it into my backpack.
“Alright, then.” Tristan smirks one last time before turning on his heel and heading for the restaurant’s entrance.
Seth clears his throat. “Okay, well… I feel like I got my answer there.”
There’s nothing I can say, so I let my gaze fall to the wooden table. I don’t want to see in Seth’s eyes what he’s thinking of me.
That I’m as charmed by Tristan as every other idiot on this campus.
“I don’t want to get in Tristan’s way,” he says. “He’s not a reasonable guy. I mean, he already got in a fight over you once before, so?—”
“I’m sorry, what?” I nearly shout.
“You didn’t hear about that?”
My face grows as hot as a broiling oven. “No. When was this?”
“After you left the party a few days ago. I don’t know the details, but Nick told me it was about you.”
“Was it like a fist…or, uh…a physical fight?”
He shrugs. “All I saw was him shove this dude against a wall. I don’t think he’d put his football scholarship in jeopardy by getting in a real fight.”
My thoughts grow so fuzzy, I barely even hear Seth’s goodbyes. It feels like only a split second later that I’m sitting alone at the table and Seth has disappeared.
What does it mean that Tristan would get into a fight over me?
Serena’s words come tumbling back into my mind.
“Making that bet was gross, but it doesn’t convince me that he’s out to get you. What does he have to gain?”
Whatdoeshe have to gain? Even if he wants to embarrass me, why would he go to this much trouble to do it?
CHAPTER 17
Amy
The roar of the crowd is a tangible energy pulsing through the stadium.
Damn. I don’t even like football, but this is exhilarating.
I’m surrounded by a sea of people, which normally puts me on edge, but Tristan did good by me. Before the game, he greeted me at the parking lot and led me to “family seating.” He even went out of his way to find me a buddy—another player’s girlfriend who he says is a big reader. I’ve been too frazzled by the novelty of everything to have a real conversation with her, but so far, she seems open and friendly.
I tug at the hem of Tristan’s jersey, which hangs past my hips. It’s practically a dress.
