I Promise You: Stand-Alone College Sports Romance(77)

“Do sorority girls want to find hair in their chicken?”

She gags.

“Exactly. Come in the bathroom.”

My phone rings and I snatch it up. “What?”

“Dandelion.” Dillon’s deep tone washes over me. Normally the nickname makes me melt, but now… “You didn’t reply to my text.”

“I’m getting ready. Aren’t you? Don’t you have to go pick up your date?” I check the clock and see he should already be on his way.

There’s a long silence on the other side. “It’s part of the tradition, yes. We’re riding with Sawyer and Troy. They’re waiting on me now.” He pauses, lowering his voice. “You okay?”

“Super. Got to go. See you soon.” I click off before he can reply and glare at my cell.

Romy arches her brow. “Trouble?”

I don’t reply as we head to the bathroom. I busy myself brushing her hair and pulling it up in a high ponytail.

Her hand grabs mine. “Hey. Stop whatever you’re thinking. Dillon isn’t going to do anything with that girl.”

I pause, meeting her gaze in the mirror, then stare at myself. My makeup is heavier than usual, bronze eyeshadow, my lashes long and thick, but nothing can hide the fear in my eyes. It’s not about Ashley entirely. It’s just… Falling in love with a man as charismatic as Dillon wasn’t part of my plan.

“Trust your choices,” Romy adds.

“And him?”

Her small shoulders shrug. “Has he done anything to make you think you can’t?”

Not yet, a voice says in my head.





The sounds of a DJ spinning music drifts into the kitchen as I fill a tea pitcher and hand it off to a runner. So far I’ve managed to hide out in the back and help with prep. No way am I stepping out there to see them together. Anger simmers—at her, at him, at the team, at myself for being annoyed. This should be a no brainer. I shouldn’t be jealous over this. This night is a job to him.

Like those groupies were to Vane?

“Two servers didn’t show! These college kids…” Zena mutters as she ties her apron around her waist. “Serena, take these salads out.” She points at a tray of food.

Romy pops up next to me. “I’ll do it, Zena.”

She frowns. “No, you’re on the floor filling glasses. Don’t forget the lemons. Serena has more experience. She’ll take the salads.”

Romy gives me a sympathetic glance. “Don’t let that red-haired bitch get to you,” she says when Zena walks off.

I give her a wan smirk. “Don’t use that word.”

“Okay.” She rolls her eyes. “Hussy. Better?”

No. With a sigh, I pick up the tray of eight salads, put them on my shoulder, and push through the swinging doors of the banquet hall. The centerpiece of the room is a wall decorated with black and gold balloons formed into an arch. A backdrop of the campus with the Theta Greek letters is plastered on the wall. They’re taking couple photos, and Dillon and Ashley pose for the photographer. Wearing a strapless red dress that should clash with her upswept hair but doesn’t, she looks like she belongs in a magazine. He’s wearing a gray suit that has to be tailored, the fit tight as it clings to his broad shoulders. Her hand is hooked in his elbow, her face tilted up to his.

The image of them slams into me.

His worried eyes find mine.

Dandelion, they say.

Sucking in a breath, I turn away and drop salads off at an eight-top table then head back in for another tray.

When I come out, the only table that doesn’t have salads is theirs. You got this. Chantal sits next to Troy and Bambi is next to Sawyer, their heads tilted together in conversation. Dillon looks up as I approach, and I feel the weight of his gaze. My spine straightens, and I give myself a pep talk. A hundred bucks for this job. Plus, with Romy’s part, we’ve got her competition fees covered this month.

Bambi and Chantal give me cautious looks, and I force a smile. “Your salads,” I say, placing them around the table.

“Yummy!” Bambi says. She’s wearing a slinky gold dress and her hair is in beach waves.

Moving to Ashley’s left, I ease her plate down. Her green eyes narrow as she sniffs. “Blue cheese? I thought we decided on raspberry vinaigrette when we made the menu. Girls? Am I right?” Her gaze sweeps to the others.

Her mouth twisting, Chantal replies, “It’s a wedge salad. Traditionally, it calls for blue cheese.”

I give her a mental high-five.

“Oh, it does, but I find blue cheese so…unsavory,” Ashley insists as she looks at me. Her lashes flutter. “Would you run back and check, Serena? I’m sure the catering team must have forgotten to offer us a selection.”

How about I just dump it in your lap? I smile tightly. “Of course. Anyone else?”

They say no. My hands shake as I set down Dillon’s salad, starting at the scent of his cologne. It’s new and foreign and rattles me. Where’s his signature smell? Did he put on something different for her?

He says my name and tries to take my hand, but I tug it away, flip around and leave.

“What’s wrong?” Romy hisses as I fumble around in the fridge then check the counters in the small kitchen.

“Nothing,” I mutter. “You see any other salad dressings?”