I Promise You: Stand-Alone College Sports Romance(66)

“I deserve better,” I say sharply.

A bird chirps in a tree, a car horn sounds somewhere in the distance, and the world turns as he lets my words sink in. He paces back and forth as the silence settles around us.

Whether he accepts it or not, I have. “Your five minutes are up.” I stand and he rushes over to me, his eyes shiny.

He takes my hands. “You’re really not coming back to me?”

Oh, Vane. Never in a million years. “No.”

We stare at each other for a long time. He lets out a long breath, his hands cupping my face. “Baby girl. Whoever he is—because I know there’s someone—I hope he deserves you.”





21





Welcome to Theta’s Man of Mystery! is splashed across a plastic banner hanging over the library door. Underneath is scrawled Talk to a Stranger and Fall in Love. Little hearts dance around the words.

I scoff as I halt, digging my heels in. “No way, girls. Better yet, hell no. Don’t care if I go through a pack of batteries in a week—my bullet is better than some kind of what, speed dating thing?”

“What’s a bullet?” Bambi asks, pulling me by the arm, undeterred.

“Vibrator. Tiny and very effective,” Chantal replies to Bambi, latching onto my other side.

“Oh,” Bambi murmurs thoughtfully. “Are they on Amazon?”

“Yes,” Chantal says. “They come in all colors. Mine is purple.”

“Forget the bullet, girls. Am I a prisoner?” I ask dryly.

“Yes,” they chorus.

“Okay, so let’s see if I have this right: you waited for me after yoga, said you had something I had to see, then you woman-handle me into walking into a trap to meet mystery men? No.”

Bambi smiles, waving her hands at me. “So dramatic. It’s a new event to raise money for a local women’s shelter. Where’s your Theta sense of sisterhood? Your love for helping others? Don’t you want to contribute to the community? More importantly, where’s your intrinsic drive to mate with a hottie?”

“Dead,” I chirp. I had sex with Dillon; I might be good for another eighteen months.

She titters. “We have some sexy applicants. Not surprised—we are the best sorority.” She turns and, as a trio, we do our secret handshake. In the glass reflection of the door, I see the goofy grin on my face.

“And you just might meet someone nice,” Chantal adds.

“I’m in leggings and flip-flops! Worse, I’m sweaty. Also, it’s dark—”

“It’s eight in the evening. God, you’re old,” Chantal says as she elbows me.

“Come on, Serena. You’re bored and lonely.” Bambi pulls my hair out of my ponytail and arranges it around my shoulders. “They can’t see you anyway. It’s like that show The Dating Game, only we made it better. This event is about getting to know someone—without seeing them. You might meet Mr. Right.”

“I’m not lonely.” I haven’t seen or talked to Dillon in four days, and I miss him. I keep expecting him to pop up wherever I am, and he hasn’t. A long sigh slides through my lips.

“As far as I’m aware—and I would know since I’m part of the committee—no football players signed up, so you don’t have to worry about you know who being here, if you were,” Chantal says.

“I wasn’t.”

Bambi pulls out a tiny glass bottle and spritzes me. I bat it away, even though it does smell nice.

“Settle down, it’s just some Louis Vuitton perfume. Free sample in the mail. Score.”

“We did help you write your article for the LSU game,” Chantal reminds me, a gleam in her eyes.

I heave out a breath. “Fine, but I’m only staying for half an hour. That’s it. After that—”

They squeal.

“I’m a firm believer in love at first sight. My dad fell for my mom in a heartbeat,” Bambi gushes.

“My parents hate each other, but don’t listen to me,” Chantal says with a grin. “Honestly, we just need more participants.”

I don’t believe her as I take in the line of guys and girls waltzing into the library, most of them dressed for going to the club…

Screw it. I have been lonely.

Monday night, I consumed a pint of ice cream as I re-watched Shaun of the Dead. On Tuesday, I outlined a fluff story called “How To Suck at Paintball But Win”—kind of on the nose, but I’ll fix it later. Then earlier today, I almost texted him when I thought I saw him inside the student center.

“Let’s rock this,” I grouse.

Another squeal.

The young girl at the entrance to the main lobby glances up at the officers on either side of me. She almost does a curtsey. Ah, I recall those days of pledging.

“We’ve brought fresh meat,” Chantal says to the pledge.

The girl at the podium takes my name, cell number, and email then passes me a piece of paper that resembles some kind of scorecard and tips on dating.

“Ticket, please, or if you don’t have one, it’s a hundred dollars,” the pledge says.

I gasp, nearly running out the door.

“No need for that. She’s a sister,” Chantal pronounces, as if I’m the queen of England.