“I tried to get away with a vague introduction,” I explain as the line moves forward. “But she wasn’t happy until I’d given up my life story.”
Sariah grins. “The look on her face when you confirmed your favorite sex position was extended cowgirl and how you were the girl from The Sainthood video was fucking priceless.”
“She couldn’t get me back to my seat fast enough.” I grin at the recollection as I hold out my plate. The server slaps two indistinguishable lumps of food on the plate and hands it back to me. I squint at the sludge on my plate, my stomach churning at the unpleasant smells assaulting my nostrils. “I wouldn’t serve this to my pet pig,” I grumble, abandoning the plate and heading toward the prepackaged sandwiches. I’d rather eat processed meat sandwiched between dry bread than risk the complete unknown.
“You have a pet pig?” a hot guy with cute dimples asks, arching a brow. He’s standing with Sean, so I assume he’s a friend although Sean hasn’t made introductions yet.
“No, but if I did, I wouldn’t give it that slop.”
He chuckles, and waves of messy chocolate-brown hair fall into his eyes. “Can’t disagree. The food here is shit, but it beats starving.”
“I think I’d rather starve,” I deadpan, inspecting the pathetic sandwich offerings on display.
He chuckles again, moving aside to let Sean and Sariah pass. “I’m guessing the food here is a lot different than the food at Lowell Academy.”
I nod as I grab a ham and cheese sandwich that looks like it’s the most edible. “That’s the only thing I’ll miss about the place.”
“I’m Emmett, by the way,” he says, whipping my tray from my hands.
I glare at him as I grab it back. “Did I ask you to carry it?”
His grin expands, and he’s even hotter when he smiles. His warm brown eyes glimmer with interest. “I’m just being a gentleman.”
I walk off, following in the direction my bestie and her boyfriend have taken. Emmett keeps pace at my side, and I glance up at him. Judging by his height and his ripped body, I’m guessing he’s a football player too. “If you’re looking to get into my panties, acting like a gentleman is a surefire recipe for failure.”
I’m walking past a long table when a leg darts out on purpose. I jump over Galen’s foot at the very last second, narrowly avoiding wearing my lunch. I plaster a bored look on my face as I stare at him. “Real mature, asshole.”
I ignore all members of The Sainthood, walking away with Emmett faithfully clinging to my side.
“Let me guess. You’re into assholes,” he asks, a tinge of disappointment underscoring his words.
“And if I was?” I ask, sliding into a seat at the empty table opposite the jock table. Sariah shoots me a look, but she gets up from her seat beside Sean and moves over to my table.
“Then I’d tell you I’ve no desire to be an asshole, and I’d go out of my way to prove that nice guys can be bad in all the right ways,” he says, waggling his brows as he hovers over the table.
A genuine smile slides over my mouth. “There might be hope for you yet.”
“Does that mean I can join you for lunch?” he asks, sharing a look with Sean as he too leaves the jock table, claiming the seat beside his girlfriend, across from me.
“Nope.” The chair beside me scrapes noisily along the tile floor as Saint plops down into it. “This seat is taken.” He levels a dark look at Emmett. “Permanently.”
“Fuck off, Saint.” I move to stand, but he grabs my wrist, keeping me in place.
I hate how my skin tingles from the contact.
How his touch coaxes a host of memories from the furthermost place in my mind.
How my brain rejoices at reliving every second of that hot night we shared together.
“I’m not sitting with you or any of your minions,” I add as Caz, Galen, and Theo sit down around us. “I’d rather sit at the fucking jock table.”
Emmett extends his hand. “You can sit with me.”
I place my hand in his, purely to taunt Saint. I attempt to wrench my other hand away from Saint, but he tightens his hold on my wrist, almost crushing my bones as he refuses to let me go.
Caz stands, rounding the table and pulling Emmett’s hand out of mine. “Don’t be an idiot. Stick with the cheerleaders,” he says, shoving him forcefully toward the jock table.
Emmett stumbles back a few feet before recovering. He reclaims the gap, squaring up to Caz. “I don’t take orders from thugs.”
