I Promise You: Stand-Alone College Sports Romance(45)

He grimaces. “I’ve noticed, but we need to stick to our guns. We did the contest last year and won a national championship. The guys will freak out if we change anything—”

“I get it,” I say sharply. “It’s a big deal, but it shouldn’t have been me. I’ve got enough on me with football. Sinclair can take my starting spot at any moment.”

He grows quiet, studying me. “Dude. I know you’re wound up this season, and I wish I hadn’t suggested you. You’re right. It should have been me or Troy or someone else. We’ve won our first two games. Just hang in there.”

I sigh. “It’s fine. I can manage it.” I have to. “Once it’s over, though, I don’t want Ashley around. Feel me?”

He nods.

Chantal walks in and makes a beeline for Serena. I watch as they hug then do their secret handshake. Serena picks up one of the shots she ordered and puts it in Chantal’s hands, and they throw them back. Serena leans over the bar, waving at the bartender, and two more appear—just as four Kappa guys circle around them. Serena smiles at them, and jealousy spears me in the gut.

Fuck that.

I stand and head her way, barreling through the crowd. I’ve decided. No more messing around. She might send me in a tailspin, but I’m willing to take a chance. I pat the gift in my pocket, checking to make sure it’s there.





14





Dillon’s leg is pressed against mine as we sit at the table, his hand around the back of my chair as he leans back. His fingers idly play with my hair, unseen by the others, but oh, I know it’s there, the little circles he periodically brushes against the bare skin of my back. I’m strong though. My breathing is regulated, careful and slow, even though every nerve ending he touches is connected directly to my core. Have I thought about us in the kitchen about a billion times? Yeah. We’ve been waiting for a pool table to open, and the minutes next to him are driving me crazy.

“You want another drink?” he whispers in my ear.

Two tequilas in and I’ve got a warm buzz, so no. Must maintain control. I slant my eyes toward him. “I can get my own.”

His gaze lowers, skating over the cleavage of my silk top. “I want to do things for you.”

“Trying to get me drunk?”

A slow smile eases over his face. “I want you fully aware when we go at each other again.”

“There won’t be another again.” I smile.

“So you say. Win this game tonight and you can have whatever you want.”

“I’d rather knock myself in the face with a cue stick.”

“Damn, I like your smart mouth.”

I set down my iced water just as Ashley comes back from the bathroom.

Troy walks up from the bar with a drink and plops down next to Chantal. He edges closer to her, and she gives him a cool look but doesn’t move away.

“Why are you wearing all black?” Chantal asks him. “Where’s your cowboy hat? You always wear it out.”

“I left it.” He frowns and sits straighter, smoothing down his dark shirt. He touches his hair then drops his hand. “Um…” His throat bobs and he darts his eyes around the room. “Just… What’s wrong with my shirt?”

She sniffs. “Nothing.”

He picks up his beer and takes a long swig.

I smirk at the memory of Dillon showing up at the bar earlier, elbowing his way through the frat boys. He smiled at them tightly, nodding at their pats of congrats on the games, then threw his arm around me, pulled me close, and brushed his lips over mine—right there in front of everyone. Claiming me! He even let it drop that I was there with him. I glared at him, but he looked so damn pleased when the guys left abruptly that I could only shake my head. I’ve softened since we’ve been sitting here. It’s clear he doesn’t want Ashley. The man keeps looking at me.

I refocus on Sawyer as he explains how we’re going to play pool with three players. “…pool game we made up one night, a version of Cutthroat, but easier. We call it Crazy Three. Since you’re new, you’ll go first, Serena, and break. If you hit a low ball, 1 through 5, those are yours and what you want to pocket. You don’t have to call them unless you want to.”

“It’s been a while since I played,” I say evasively.

Ashley, who’s sitting across from us, smirks. “I can call them,” she gloats. “We have a table at the sorority house.”

Bambi says with a sigh, “Ashley’s good.”

Sawyer tugs on Bambi’s hair. “I’ve seen you play—you’re not bad.”

She blushes, dipping her face.

He continues, “If you hit a ball from 6 to 10, you’re medium, if you hit 11 to 15, you’re high. Easy peasy. We’ll play three games. Obviously, the first player to get her balls in wins that round.”

“Alright,” I say.

“Let’s get this over with,” Ashley says with a triumphant expression as she stands.

I’m muttering under my breath as we approach the pool tables. Dillon gets me a cue stick and rubs the chalk over it then puts it in my hands. “You need any last-minute tips?” he murmurs, his gaze searching mine.

“Yeah—how did I get myself involved in this?”