I Promise You: Stand-Alone College Sports Romance(34)

“Sure,” Owen and Dillon say at the same time then glare at each other.

Romy runs off to get a piece of notebook paper and a pen, comes back, and all three guys sign it as if it’s something they do all the time.

Dillon rakes his eyes over Julian. “You with Serena?”

I start. When Julian and I go out, people do sometimes think we’re together. We grew up as an affectionate family and often hug and tease each other, and we don’t look alike. He’s got the bulk of Dad, the dark hair and blue eyes, while I’m petite with light brown eyes. “Brother. A protective one,” Julian says, eyes glowering at Dillon.

Yeah, that was subtle. He’s (understandably) wary since Vane.

“Hmm.” Dillon’s gaze comes back to me.

“It’s not every day I get to meet Serena’s friends. Why, I didn’t even know she knew any football players,” Nana says, thrusting Betty into an unprepared Sawyer’s arms. He blinks and cradles the dog as she licks his face.

Nana smiles at them, lasering in on Dillon. “So, what I want to know is… Would you eat a bowl of live crickets for twenty thousand dollars?”

Romy chokes, and I groan inwardly.

Dillon looks at me. “I see where you get it.”

I shrug. “We’re Southern—you should see the relative we have locked up in the attic.”

“Uncle Charles is dead and you know it,” Nana quips.

“He wasn’t locked in the attic. He passed away in Miami,” I retort.

Dillon laughs. “How many crickets are in the bowl?”

“Twenty. A thousand dollars for each cricket,” she declares.

Dillon tucks his hands into his shorts and speaks in his lazy tone. “Well, ma’am, the NCAA doesn’t allow us to accept gifts from anyone, but if we’re speaking hypothetically, I suppose I would. I like a good challenge.” His eyes drift over me.

“Are you a Southern boy? You talk like it, but there’s no accent,” she asks, eyes narrowed.

“Nana doesn’t trust Yankees,” I warn him.

“I was born in California but moved to Alabama when I was a kid. My mama’s from Montgomery so I have Southern roots.”

She walks a circle around him. “My parents were from Montgomery. What’s her family name?”

“St. Claire.”

Nana’s lips purse. “Is she the one who married that man who owns all the hotels? McQueen! That’s your family, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She puffs on her unlit cig. “Holy cow. Butter my butt and call me a biscuit. Good job, Serena.”

I wince. “Nana, it’s not like that.”

“Does your mama know how to hunt and fish? Or is she one of those highfalutin’ debutante types?” she asks him.

“Nana…” I start.

“Shopping is hunting for my mom. She’s in Paris right now.”

His lips have compressed, a tightness in his eyes. She didn’t come to his first game? I frown. That sucks. It’s his senior year.

Nana mulls that over. “I can turn you into a country boy in no time, show you how to put a worm on a hook or shoot a squirrel. Serena hid my shotgun, but I’m gonna find it one of these days… You interested?”

“I swear we aren’t hillbillies,” I tell him.

He chuckles, his face softening. “I’m game.”

Buster trots over, sniffs around Dillon’s sneakers, and then inexplicably puts his paw on his shoe and looks up at him.

“Buster hates everyone.” Nana studies Dillon, and I can already see the wheels turning in her head. One night after dinner, I overheard her on the phone asking Turo if his son’s divorce was final “because Serena needs a good seeing to”.

She goes on. “So you’re the one who brought her home from the Pig? She should have called me, but I was deep in my bingo game and, well, Turo was there, and I’ve got my sights set on him. She assumed I wouldn’t want to leave, and she was right. He’s Italian.” She takes a breath, gearing up for more. “Serena’s a good girl. She’s been through a lot, putting others first, trying to raise her sister. She was my little angel—until she fell in with that musician. He was a sexy devil, sings with a forked tongue probably, but bless, he was a pile of dog poo, as useless as a screen door on a submarine. I reckon if you want to see her, we need rules. First rule is, when she starts spouting off random stuff, just listen. Her looks make up for it, and it does grow on you. Second rule is, she needs to get hers first, if you know what I mean—”

“Nana,” I interrupt, my face growing hot. “He doesn’t need my life story. He’s dating three other women.” I can’t resist throwing it in.

“Just two,” chimes in Sawyer with dancing eyes. “Chantal jumped ship. Something about the Winter Soldier, tequila, and Neanderthals. I couldn’t keep up.”

“Good for her,” I murmur.

“I’m not dating other women. I’m in a contest,” Dillon says to Nana. “But Serena keeps turning me down.”

She bats her eyes. “Call me Nancy, boys. I’m a football fan, you know. Now, since you’ve been sweet to my Serena, do y’all want to stay and have some chicken and waffles?”