Page 1

1

Nadia

College parties suck.

Not that anyone would admit it, or that people would ever stop going to them, but it’s true. Everything from the thumping, ear splitting music, to the shitty, watery, lukewarm beer. Or, God, worse, the mystery fruit punch served to all the girls the instant we walk through the door. What I hate most of all is the couples, paired off, with their tongues thrust down one another's throats, with zero regard to anyone else in the room.

“Hey, you look like you could use another drink.” The statement comes from the guy standing next to me; Jacob. Cute.Ish. A sophomore. Baseball player for Wittmore U. Third baseman. He adds a wink that’s not as sexy as he thinks it is.

He was also the one that offered me the first drink, the one that is still full, that I’m currently clutching to my chest.

“I’m fine, thanks.” I give him a smile and take a fake sip.

I don’t take drinks from guys I don’t know at parties. I don’t even take drinks from guys Idoknow at parties. Not anymore.

This party is more annoying than most. It’s game day and everyone started partying early. I mean–early.When I walked into the coffee shop after my 6 AM shift at the gym, the three sorority girls in line in front of me were already dressed for the game. It’s November, and the cool air did nothing to deter them from being out in short sequined dresses, designed to look like the Wittmore football jersey. The number ‘04’ stamped on the back in a shimmery black. Beneath the short hem, their long, slim legs were bare, only covered in identical white cowgirl boots. One girl had a button pinned to the front, a photo of a tough looking face of one of the players. Her boyfriend, I presumed.

I stood behind them in my campus gym work shirt and leggings feeling self-conscious, jealous, and for the fiftieth time that week, reconsidering my new haircut which includes bangs. I thought I’d be one of those girls when I got to Wittmore. Sorority sister. The quarterback’s girlfriend.

God, I was a fool.

Hours later, the game is over and everyone is here for the afterparty. Those girls all look a little more haggard. Makeup smeared and messy, fueled on energy drinks, loud music, and the excitement of a Wittmore win.

Jacob presses his hand against the wall behind me and leans close, giving me a whiff of cologne as he peers into my drink. Or maybe my cleavage? Either way, when he notices the cup is still full, a flicker of annoyance crosses his face. He does have the good sense to shake it off and gives me what he thinks is a charming smile. “I’m here to serve when you’re ready.”

“When I get thirsty, I’ll let you know.”

Poor kid. He’s been on me since I walked in the room, his intentions clear. His gaze familiar. He knows me even if I don’t know him. I’ve got a reputation, one I helped build. NadiaBeckwith: jersey chaser. He’s convinced, rightly, that if he plays his cards right, I’ll be an easy lay.

Every varsity athlete on campus knows me. Over the past few years, my number has been passed between them as a sure bet.

Too bad for the third baseman I’m reformed. No more athletes.

And to be fair, baseball players have never been my interest. I do havesomestandards.

I like my men big. Rough. The kind of guy that can pick me up and carry me to bed. One-hundred-percent alphahole. Football players, preferably. Maybe the occasional starter on the basketball team.

Or at least I did.

“Nadia!” I turn at my name and see Twyler wave from across the room. My roommate is at a table set up for a game of Quarters and is sitting on her boyfriend’s lap. Reese, captain of the Wittmore hockey team, has one hand on her thigh and another wrapped around her waist. It’s as much affection as these two will commit to in public, well at least Twyler. She tilts her head and calls out, “Come play with us!”

“In a minute,” I lie. As much as I don’t want to be over here with the baseball player while he plots ways to get under my skirt, the idea of being a third-wheel with Twyler and Reese is worse. They’re the most unlikely pairing. The quirky sports trainer and the captain of the hockey team. They started off with some fake dating scheme to get his ex off his back, but Reese fell hard and fast. Nothing about those two has been fake since the first time he kissed her in the coffee shop. I would know. We share a bedroom wall.

Anyway, being fake isn’t Twyler’s style. That girl is as real as it gets.

But me? It’s where I’m most comfortable. I excel at pretending to be something I’m not.

Across the room, my best friend closes one eye and lines up the quarter, making her toss. The quarter lands, dropping into the cup with aplop.

“Take that!” she cries, her grin wide with victory.

Across the table, her opponent, Axel Rakestraw glares at her. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he groans, running his tattooed hand through his platinum blonde hair. It’s spiky on top, short on the sides. “How is she this good? You barely even go out.”

Twyler shrugs and gives him an evil grin. “It’s a gift.”

“It’s bullshit.” He narrows his eyes at Reese and I see a shadow under his nose. Is that a mustache? Lord. Well, at least his shirt is still on, although the night is young. “She has to be cheating. No one hits it every time.”

“My girl does,” Reese replies to his teammate with a smirk. “Undefeated.”