“Yup, the whole elite crew. It’s kinda a tradition around here.” She nods back with a mysteriously knowing grin.
Tradition? What the hell does that even mean?
I don’t think my eyebrows can arch any higher than they are now. This town is definitely more than what meets the eye if it’s tradition to have more than one partner.
“What do you mean by tradition? Wouldn’t it be frowned upon in this stick-up-their-ass town? I mean I can’t imagine any of the parents here being okay with their high society daughters having a harem.”
Although, now that I think about it, it would be nice to have all those hands in so many different places. Not the assholian’s, he can lose his hands for all I care.
Chuckling, Shay says, “Not at all. Most families would give their right hand and first born for an opportunity for their daughters to be part of the selec–”
Shay doesn’t get a chance to finish, the booming voice of the announcer echoes through the stadium, cutting off our conversation. My head shifts toward the field, just as he begins listing the names and positions of the starting lineup as they run through the pompoms of the cheer squad. I make a mental note to revisit this conversation on the way home.
If she was about to say selection, this would be the second time this week that word was said to me. My hands instinctively brush lightly against my throat, makeup hiding the marks from Wes, the only indication that my subconscious is linking the two. I need to get more information on whatever this selection is and why Wes thinks I’ll be chosen at all.
The stadium erupts into chants, forcing me out of my head. Both sides are preparing for the coin toss. I love sports, especially football. When the game begins, I tune everyone out.
The heirs play both defensive and offensive positions and they’re really good. In fact, both teams are pretty evenly matched. When the clock winds down and the shrill sound of the whistle blows to signal halftime, the score is tied at seventeen.
As the players exit the field toward the locker room, Shay taps my shoulder and asks if I want to go with her to the concession stand.
Arching my brow in confusion, I ask, “Why would we go down there? Doesn’t this room have everything you could possibly dream of wanting?”
“Yes, it has all the food you want, but not the hot guys. So, get your ass up and let’s go check out some eye candy before you tune me out for the second half.” She grabs my hand, pulling me in the direction of the door.
I groan, “Are we really going boy hunting in a town full of snobs? Need I remind you that just this week I’ve been called more names for whore than a thesaurus can even identify.”
Not to be deterred, Shay simply smiles then rebuffs what I deem to be very valid points, “That’s why this is perfect. Were you not listening when I said this game draws people from all over the state? That means non-stuck-up guys to flirt with.”
Huh, she does have a point and with the kids safely at their sleepovers, I can be a teenager for once. “Okay, let’s do this.”
My ‘let’s go for it’ attitude lasts until we bump into the crowd of students gathering by the concession stand. That’s the moment I remember I’ve only ever kissed one guy and it was for a dare.
I might not take shit from anyone but in the dating department I’m not even in the crawling stage. Consider me an infant, just opening my eyes and taking in the world outside of the womb.
I get ready to pull Shay toward the stairs, back to the safety of her family’s box seats when we get separated by the growing crowd. I try to call out to her but with all the noise I can barely hear myself much less hear her respond to my calls.
“Crap,” I mutter in frustration.
I decide it’s best if I just stay in one place and wait, instead of the both of us wandering around. In case she thinks of doing the same thing,I decide to give it ten minutes and then send her a text. Calling would probably be a waste of time since it’s so hard to hear anything. Hopefully, she’ll check her phone and see that I’m waiting in the spot we lost each other at.
I’m about to grab my phone out of my back pocket when a hand grabs my arm. My body instantly snaps into fight mode, readying to strike the person the hand belongs to. My mind flashes back to being grabbed by Wes. I swear the people in this town skipped thekeep your hands to yourselflesson in preschool. Rearing my balled fist back I take aim.
“There you a— woah chill, it’s me,” I hear Shay before I see her, stopping the forward momentum of my swing. My hand drops and I begin to relax.
“You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were a random and I was about to strike first and ask questions second,” I say, as the thrumming in my heart begins to slow.
After averting being hit, the tautness in her shoulders eases. Her gaze searching mine to make sure I’m okay, before she begins to speak.
“Jumpy aren’t we? But I guess I would be too if I didn’t know who was grabbing at me.” She continues, “Okay, let’s go sit over in the food court and get our ogle on.”
“But the second half is about to start, can't we ogle after,” I plead.
Stopping to look at her smartwatch, Shay lets out a sigh once she realizes time is almost up. “Ughh, fine. But, now you have to go to the after party with me.”
I halt, my Converse clad feet refusing to move like they’re glued to the spot right before we reach the door to the suite, causing her to crash into my back and make a small grunt.
My head whips around so fast that my hair smacks her in the face. “Absolutely not. We can go ogle now, if you want, but there will be no after parties. Not in this town or with these people.” The firmness of my tone brokers no arguments. I will not be moved. Once she sees the determined set of my jaw and the slanting of my cold gray stare, she knows she can’t sway me.
