I Promise You: Stand-Alone College Sports Romance(46)

“I know it crawls all over you to play for me, but if we don’t participate, it might screw with our season. Some of the guys get weird about traditions.” A hesitant look settles on his face. “Sawyer, he loves it, and he’s…” His words trail off.

“Important to you?”

He gives me a slow nod. “Blaze and Ryker graduated. Sawyer is my family now.” He winces. “Plus, I can be a little superstitious myself.”

Realization clicks. “Oh my…the bonfire…and you and I…” I gape at him. “No, you can’t believe that Wiccan thing. You do! It’s right there on your face! You think we’re like, fated?”

“You have any Magnolia witches in your family tree?”

“Nana’s mom.”

“Shut up.”

“Kidding.”

“Can’t you have a good time? Just for an hour or so?” His fingers brush over my cheek. “You’re the one I want, Serena.”

My eyes fly to his. Yeah? Until he gets me, then moves on?

And why is that bad? a voice in my head replies. You don’t want a relationship.

“If you’re done flirting, come break the balls,” Ashley’s acid tone says.

Dillon ignores her and whispers in my ear, “Since the moment you walked in, I’ve wanted to kiss you.”

“You did. At the bar.”

“That wasn’t a real kiss. I just marked my territory.”

“Like a wolf,” Sawyer murmurs from behind Dillon.

I snort.

“Just you, Serena,” he says for my ears only. “I promise.”

I tense. “Promises, promises.”

“Fine. You want to leave? We can make up some excuse, walk out that door, and drive to your place, and I’ll show you what’s been going through my mind since you walked in.”

A shiver races over me. “No, Dillon, I’d show you what I want.”

His chest rises. “Damn.”

“Let the girl go,” Sawyer murmurs. “The rest of us are waiting.”

“Aw, they look so adorable together, don’t they?” comes Bambi’s voice as she addresses the group. “Serena and Dillon. They need one of those combo names. Dillrena?”

Chantal huffs. “Serdilla is better. Put the woman first.”

“I put women first,” Troy quips. “Isn’t that right, Chantal?” There’s a sly tone to his question and I can’t hear her muttered response, but it sounded something like Just a hook-up.

I can’t see any of their faces, but I smile, something easing in my chest. The truth is, despite Ashley’s animosity, I’ve missed hanging with friends. I needed a night out without helping Romy with her homework or paying bills.

“Watch and learn, pretty boy.” With a last look at Dillon, I duck under his arms and head their way.

Chantal gives me a fist bump. “Clean the floor with her, sister.” She nods her head at Ashley, and I smile.





I barely win the first game, and Ashley destroys me on the second.

Bambi played poorly in both rounds, not one ball making it to a pocket. Declaring herself out, she sashays over to the others at the table and settles next to Sawyer. His arm goes around her shoulders and his eyes soften.

Well, well, well.

Dillon leans against the wall, not saying much. A few girls have ambled over, soft laughter and teasing comments, but he’s brushed them off, his eyes coming back to me.

Time to focus.

Sawyer tweaked the rules since Bambi is out, and it’s now an 8-ball game.

Ashley breaks, leaning over in her red mini skirt, her shot sure and true, snapping the 9 into the top right pocket. “Stripes,” she calls, giving me a little smile. She hits another one in, causing one of the solids to go in as well.

“Oh, too bad,” I say, positioning myself for my shot. “Move over—you’re in my way,” I chirp. “In fact, take a seat and stop hovering.”

She huffs and walks away.

Lining up with the cue, I’ve got a possible shot to the right pocket, and another one, maybe getting two into the left bottom, but…

Bending my back over on the long side of the table, I aim the cue—just like someone taught me—and make the harder shot. Both solids zip in. I move to the other side, line up the 3, and hit it in the right pocket.

“Whoa,” Sawyer says, perking up.

I walk to the other side, eyeing the table. I want to avoid the 8 ball, and it’s next to the solid by the bottom left. It’s going to be tight. I lean in, stroke the cue, aim, and shoot. The solid clunks in.

“Shark. She played us,” Dillon muses. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Not fair,” Ashley says. “You aren’t calling them.”

I don’t even look at her. I snap another solid in, an easier one. “They go where I want them to go.”

“Who taught you?” Bambi asks, jumping up to linger by the table.

“I hung out in a lot of bars during my undergrad. Most of them out of town.” I played pool while the band set up, sometimes while they sang, and always while they packed up. Vane showed me tricks when he had time, his arms wrapped around me as he explained how to play. The memory doesn’t cut as deep as usual, just a soft slice, but I miss my next shot, knocking Ashley’s ball in. I grimace.