The Score (Off-Campus #3)(52)
I don’t join in, but secretly I agree with Fitz. The books are better. Though I doubt anyone will believe me if I said I read ’em. With the exception of my roommates, most of my teammates don’t take me seriously. I’m pretty sure they think I’m only attending Harvard Law because my rich parents bought my way in. Doesn’t bother me, if I’m being honest. I get a kick out of it when people underestimate my intelligence. Half the time I willingly play into the dumb blond stereotype, just for funsies.
As the chatter continues, I tune everyone out and reach for my phone. I don’t know what compels me to open the Facebook app and search her name. I’m on autopilot, barely aware of what I’m doing until the search results pop up.
There are dozens of Miranda O’Sheas on Facebook, but none of them are the one I’m looking for.
I do another search, this time with her name and the words “Duke University.” I have no idea if she even goes there, but it seems like a good place to start. When we were dating, all Miranda ever talked about was how much she wanted to get into Duke.
This time her profile appears on the screen.
I study the small thumbnail pic. She hasn’t changed in four years. She still has the same round face, the same unruly dark curls, the same brown eyes.
To my dismay, her profile is private. I can’t see anything except her profile pic and cover photo, which is a generic beach landscape. I stare at the little green button at the top of the page.
Add friend.
I don’t know what possesses me to click it. But I do.
With the friend request sent, I turn off the app and put my phone away. Tucker isn’t on his anymore either. He’s leaning back against the headrest with his eyes closed, and I decide to follow his lead. We’ve got two more hours until we reach Boston, then another hour to Hastings. Might as well get some sleep and try to forget tonight’s disastrous game.
The nap does the trick. I wake up feeling centered and relaxed, and when I peer out the window and wait for the next road sign to appear, I discover we’re only a half hour from campus.
In the seat beside me, Tucker is also awake, typing on his phone again.
“Dude, are you dating someone?” I can’t stop myself from asking. I’ve barely seen Tucker lately, and we live in the same house.
“No,” he says dismissively.
“You sure about that?”
“I think I would know if I was dating someone.” But there’s an odd note in his voice, which I can’t for the life of me decipher.
“Where’ve you been, then? You’re never home anymore.”
Tucker shrugs. “I go to class. Study at the library. Chill in my room.” He pauses. “I crashed at a friend’s place in Boston a few times.”
“What friend?”
Before he can answer, my phone rings, and I swear he looks relieved. I make a note to cross-examine him again later. It’ll be good practice for law school.
I pick up when I see Beau’s name and give him the usual greeting. “Maxwell. What’s shaking?”
“Hey. How was the game?” Loud music blasts in the background, but I can hear him loud and clear.
“Shitty.”
“Yeah. I read the recap on the college sports blog. You got your asses kicked.”
“Why’d you even ask how it went if you already knew the answer?”
“I was being polite.”
I have to snicker.
“Anyway, party at my place tonight. I know it’s late, but I’m still extending an invite. Figured you might need something to help take your mind off the beating you got from Yale.”
I consider it, but only briefly. “Naah. Thanks, but I’m not in the mood.” A tired breath slips out. “It’s been a crap night.”
“All the more reason for you to come out. It’s a hot girl smorgasbord in here. And you know women—they can’t resist a mopey, brooding man. Tell them how sad you are about losing your game, and they’ll be begging you to let them make you feel better.” He pauses. “Wait. Unless you’re still dealing with…ah, equipment malfunctions?”
“Nope. We’re all better now.”
“Nice! Does that mean Bella finally threw you another bone?”
“Bella?” I say blankly.
“Yeah, you know, the chick you imprinted on.”
I chuckle. “Right. Yeah, she did.” I keep my response vague, because Tucker is right there and he’s not allowed to know about Allie and me. And…shit. I guess that means I’m not allowed to harass him for being so secretive lately, what with this pot/kettle situation we’re in.
“Good, then you’re all fixed. Now come over and put that newly functioning dong to good use.”
“Naah,” I say again. “I’m really not feeling it.” But I am feeling something else, because as usual, the mere thought of Allie gets me hard. “We’ll connect sometime this week. Go out for beers or something.”
“Sounds good. Later, bro.”
The second we hang up, I open a new text box. It’ll be nearly one a.m. by the time I get home. That’s absolutely booty call territory, but it’s Saturday night and Allie doesn’t have classes tomorrow, so I figure I’m safe.
Me: u + me = wild animal sex 2nite?