The Girl I Was Before (Falling #3)(85)

“Stop it,” I say, shirking her grip. Her brow pinches in. “I don’t like being manhandled,” I say, not quite the I never want to see her again that I really want to say, but it seems to work and Cass lets it drop.

“So coach completely tossed her this time, huh?” Rowe asks Cass.

“Yeah, she was on probation during the investigation, but I think the athletic director made the final decision. Sometimes the bad press just isn’t worth it. Not like women’s soccer is a big draw or anything, but then people start looking into drug-use for other things—like football,” she says.

I notice Chandra along with my former sorority sister Ashley move through the kitchen to an outside patio. As long as I can keep an eye on her, I think I might be okay. And I can call Houston if I need to leave.

“You should try to get back into Delta,” Cass says, bringing my attention to her. I nod slowly, then sip my beer, always keeping my sight on the crowd that’s growing in the small apartment.

“Maybe,” I say. Or maybe not. Maybe I’m okay not being friends with a bunch of backstabbing bitches. I’m pretty sure Chandra isn’t the rarity anymore. Most of those girls, they’re clones, just waiting to step into her shoes and run things their way. I guess I was waiting for that, too. Now the idea of having to deal with girl drama sounds like a f*cking nightmare.

“Maybe not,” I say aloud, still looking—always watching. Cass’s eyes meet mine for a second, and she smirks.

“Yeah, maybe you do your own thing. You know, they’re taking nominations for campus council. You should run for vice president. I’d say president, but you have to be a senior,” Cass says.

I smile and go right back to my beer, drinking the rest of it down. I feel that first one—thank god. I head to the keg, telling Cass I’ll be right back, but I think about her words while I wait in line. The fact that she thinks I could win an election like that feels nice.

“So hot,” I hear a voice whisper behind me. I glance over my shoulder, not fully looking, to see a guy standing close with his friend.

“I know, I mean…damn,” his friend says. I smile, but keep my concentration on my glass and the line ahead. Cass always hates it when guys talk about her, or any woman. She says it’s demeaning. But damn it feels nice to be noticed. It’s always made me feel sexy, even if it’s a chauvinist move, and I think tonight, I needed to feel a little sexy.

When I finish filling my cup, I flip my hair over my shoulder and turn to face my fans, my eyes hazed and my lips barely smiling, just enough to let them know I heard them. But I look just in time to see one of the guys making the motion of a blowjob, and the other one laughing. They see me catch them, and don’t even try to hide what they were doing.

“Hey,” the tallest one says, taking a step forward, getting close enough that I can smell exactly how many beers he’s had tonight. He’s taller than me, even in my heels, and when he looks down on me, I actually feel a little trapped. “You wanna head to one of the bedrooms and make a video?”

“Fuck off,” I say, shoving past him.

Well that answers that question. By morning, the inside source should pretty much be uncovered and discredited—I will be done. Funny how short my fantasy about running for student government lasted. It survived a five-minute beer line before burning up in scandal-ridden flames.

I spot Cass’s back in the crowd and am thankful for my sister’s constant ponytail. I’m weaving through bodies, when I feel a guy run his hand over my ass, his finger hooking in the pocket of my jeans.

“Okay, what the fu—” I stop when I come eye to eye with Chandra.

“You never could resist letting a guy feel you up,” she says.

There are a lot of words that run through my mind—none of them kind. I should use them. She deserves them. But I don’t want to stoop to her level, to argue about shit that doesn’t matter to anyone but her and me here, in front of people. So I don’t say anything at all.

“Your little game—you and your sister? You’ll never win. Our lawyers are already picking apart that story,” she says. I notice the flex in her jaw while she waits for a response. She’s pissed, but she’s also nervous. Her lawyers aren’t picking apart anything.

“My sister couldn’t care less about you,” I say, wanting to make it clear that Cass is no part of this war. She’s only a casualty to our warfare, an innocent bystander that I somehow keep hurting.

“How about that boyfriend of yours? Is he here? Abandoning my niece so he can spend time with a slut like you?” The fact that she brings him up, and so quickly, strikes me. I don’t answer her immediately, taking a step away, working my tongue in my cheek, considering her question.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I say, and she rolls her eyes. I can tell by the way she swallows, though—by the way she keeps her gaze at the crowd of people near us—whatever she needs would be easier to get if Houston were my boyfriend.

Leah.

She’s going to use Leah.

“In fact,” I say, hooking her. She’s looking at me again, waiting. I’m not giving her any weapons. I’ve gotten smarter than that. “He overheard me talking to the paper. He was pissed that I talked to them. Not because he cares about you, but he said Leah wouldn’t want to see those rumors spread around about her aunt. He told me to move out.”