“So why couldn’t Ava go back to let you in?”
“She doesn’t like me much.”
“She doesn’t?” I can feel his surprise. “Why’s that?”
I shrug, not wanting to get into it. “You’d have to ask her, I guess.”
He makes a sound like “hmm,” but doesn’t comment further.
When we arrive at Pike, I freeze, staring up at the enormous, brick mansion with four white, towering columns at the front like some kind of tacky tribute to the Acropolis. The Greek letters are still wrapped in colorful Christmas lights, but the attempt at decoration ends there. Red cups and beer cans litter the patchy lawn, along with a ping pong table and an old, faded couch.
People are spilling out of the house, smoking and drinking from the porch to the second-floor balcony, and I shrink into myself. There’s no way I can go in there. Finding Ava will be like trying to find a needle in a haystack, and I’m not up to the challenge.
I can feel Wes’s eyes on me, feel the hand hovering at my back even though he’s not actually touching me, and I picture blood pooling to that area, under my skin. My breath stutters.
“Ready?” he asks, his eyes bright.
I’m about to answer when a girl walks by in a crop top and skirt set that barely covers her ass. I glance down at my parka. “I think I’m a little overdressed.”
He chuckles, giving my outfit a once-over. “At least you won’t get frostbite on your belly button. Or…other places one definitely does not want frostbite.”
My face warms. “I guess.”
He cocks his head at the door. “Let’s go.”
Words escape me, so I simply nod.
We don’t make it to the door, though. The second Wes steps onto the grass, the guys on the porch descend on him like he’s some kind of god, clapping him on the shoulder or shaking his hand. I step away from the group before it can swallow me up, watching the mob of frat bros flutter around Wes’s light like a bunch of drunken moths.
“What the fuck, is that Doc?” calls one.
“Fuck, it is! How’s it going, Tucker?”
“What’s up, Doc!”
“Doc’s at Pike? No fucking way.”
“Want a drink, man? We’ll show you where we keep the good stuff.”
I can’t imagine what it’s like to be so beloved.
Backing off the grass, I move as far away from the insanity as possible without stepping into the street, watching Wes’s response with a critical eye. He doesn’t appear at all fazed by the attention, and he greets everyone in his fan club with the same smile and enthusiasm. “Hey, man. Good to see you, too. No, no. Sorry, can’t talk. On a mission at the moment.”
I know little about Stratus’s football team, but I gather that the nickname and the reverence have something to do with it. I saw the same thing in high school, football players garnering admiration and respect they didn’t deserve from students,teachers, and parents alike. It made them brash and arrogant and overly self-satisfied, but I don’t get those same vibes about Wes. He’s confident, but not cocky. Buoyant, but not boastful.
Or maybe my asshole radar’s on the fritz.
It takes a while, but Wes manages to break away from the throng. He scans the lawn until he finds me, then bounces back over with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. I should have warned you.”
My mouth twitches down. “You’re very…popular.”
His smile turns a little sheepish, and he runs his hand through his hair, mussing up the dark curls. “I’m just their latest fixation.”
“Why?”
He smirks. “You really don’t know, do you? That first day in class when you asked me what sport I played, I thought you were kidding.”
"Know what?" I ask, embarrassed that there’s something I’m missing.
