Page 16 of Necessary Roughness

Sloane

“Sloane!” Logan repeated, waving at me. “Let her through. She’s up next.”

Knox’s face lit up when he saw me. “Sloane! You made it!”

“Of course she made it.” Logan put his arm around me. “She wouldn’t miss celebrating with us. You’re just in time. We’re about to start another game.”

“I’m not any good…” I warned him.

“So what? We’re here to have fun, not win,” Logan replied.

Roman, their other roommate, barked a laugh on the other side of the table. “Never seen you play to have fun before.”

“I can have fun!” Logan argued. “It just so happens that I have more fun when I win. But it’s okay, because Sloane’s going to be a natural. I can tell.”

“I want her on my team,” Knox said.

Logan groaned. “Fine. I’ll play with Roman.”

It was refreshing being treated like one of the gang. It immediately lifted my spirits and made me feel less self-conscious than before. I even managed to ignore all the jealous looks from the other women watching us play.

I wasn’t very good at the game—but that didn’t seem to bother Knox. He grinned and gave encouragement after every throw, even the ones that completely missed the table. It helped that he was carrying the team on his turn, sinking cups more often than not.

The crowd of students pressing in around us hung on every throw, cheering when a ball landed in a cup and groaning when a shot missed.

I found myself thriving on the attention.

It helped me focus, and gave me such a thrill when I eventually made my first cup.

The cheer from the fans was intoxicating.

I could only imagine how much more intense it was for Knox, Logan, and Roman, having an entire stadium of fans roaring with every play.

Knox seemed like he already had a good buzz, so I caught up as quickly as I could by drinking most of the beer pong beer.

We were constantly in each other’s space.

His arm brushed gently against mine, and his breath was soft on my shoulder while I lined up a shot.

His presence next to me was a comforting thing.

It was even more intoxicating than the alcohol or cheering spectators.

Across the table, Logan tried to hide the way he was admiring my body—tried and failed .

He couldn’t keep his eyes off me. When I caught him, he quickly looked away and pretended like he couldn’t see me—like when Bugs Bunny got caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

Roman was a massive presence next to him, admiring some of my shots and occasionally allowing his gaze to drift down to my body, but he was mostly polite about it.

Eventually, there was only one cup remaining on either side of the table. We traded shots for a few rounds, neither team able to sink the cup.

“This is it,” Knox whispered to me. “I can feel it.”

“Good, because I can’t,” I replied.

“You’re shooting well, you just need to position yourself better.” Knox stood behind me, wrapping his fingers around my hand that was holding the ping pong ball. “Elbow up. Better. Now take a little step to your left.” He used his body to move mine. “Perfect.”

His breath was warm on my neck, a tickling sensation that made goosebumps immediately cover my skin.

Then he backed away a step, leaving me alone to shoot.

Across the table, Roman crossed his thick arms over his chest. Logan put his hands on his hips and pretended like he was thrusting at the cup, which drew plenty of laughs—including from me.

I made myself relax, holding my elbow high like Knox had instructed. Then I pulled back my hand and launched the ball in a long arc. Every pair of eyes in the room followed it as it curved downward towards the table.

And into the last cup.

The room erupted in cheers. Even Logan seemed excited for a few seconds—before remembering that he was on the losing side.

“Hell yeah!” Knox held up both palms to high-five me, folding his fingers into mine and turning the gesture into a hug. I clung to his body, painfully aware of how muscular and firm he felt.

“This must be what it feels like when you win a football game,” I said.

Knox smiled knowingly. “Something like that.”

“Rematch?” Logan asked. “We went easy on you.”

“Speak for yourself,” Roman muttered, chugging the last cup of beer. “I’m done.”

His gaze passed over me one last time, then he disappeared deeper into the party.

“I’ll play another,” I said. “I need to use the little girl’s room first.”

“Hallway, on the right,” Knox pointed. “Text me if you get lost.”

Now the crowd parted for me when I tried to pass. I was the cool girl hanging out with the football players. Was this what popularity felt like? I could get used to this.

I got in line for the bathroom and smiled to myself. This semester had started off pretty great so far. I was enjoying the fringe benefits of knowing Knox and Logan—and we hadn’t even had sex yet!

Someone moved through the crowd down the hall. I glanced in that direction, but the person was gone. For a moment, I thought I’d recognized them.

I had never been a popular girl. I was a nerd in high school, hanging out with the band geeks and making friends with all the teachers.

Going to college was a chance to start fresh, but I found myself in the same rut as before—too intimidated by the cool kids, afraid to act confidently.

So for the last few years at Westview College, I’d made appearances at parties here and there but never stayed long.

It was such a rush being on the other side of things. I wasn’t exactly Knox’s date tonight, but I was with him in a way that put me in a different echelon as the other partiers. I couldn’t wait to return to the beer pong table and see if we could win another game while the crowd cheered us on.

Eventually, it was my turn to pee. I was surprised by how clean the bathroom was, considering this was a frat house. Then again, it was early. It would be a lot nastier as the night went on.

When I exited the bathroom, my mind was busy thinking of ways to flirt with Knox without being too obvious.

And I ran right into a man I knew, the man I thought I’d recognized down the hall.

I gasped when I saw him.

Troy Bryant. My ex-boyfriend.

He stood before me, in the flesh, like the personification of bad memories.

“Sloane,” he said, sneering in a way that made my own name sound like an insult.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Same as you are, presumably. Enjoying the party.” He gestured around him.

“I thought you were living off-campus.”

“I am.” He tilted his head in that patronizing way I remembered. “You may not know this, but it’s possible for people to travel. For example, I got in my car and drove two miles to get here. Radical concept, I know.”

I’d gotten used to his annoying little barbs while we were dating, but it stung extra now that we weren’t together. “Okay then. Bye.” I turned and walked away.

“Wait! Sloane!”

I ignored him and went into the kitchen, where the bar was set up on the counter. I selected a bottle of vodka and mixed myself a quick little cocktail with a can of Coke Zero.

When I turned around, Troy was standing over me. “I wasn’t done talking to you.”

“That’s too bad,” I said, looking for a path out of the room. It was crowded.

“Is that any way to treat your ex?” he asked while following me.

“Good point,” I said without slowing. “I should be a lot cuntier to you.”

Troy’s laugh was bitter. “I always knew you weren’t as mature as you pretended to be. Silly me for thinking we could be adults about this.”

“About what?”

“About our breakup.”

I laughed and turned to face him. “Our breakup? That’s one way to phrase it. You strung me along all summer and then dumped me two weeks before classes started!”

“I already told you. I didn’t think it was fair to—”

“I don’t care what you think is fair.” I smiled up at him. “We’re not together anymore, so you have zero control over my emotions. Honestly, getting dumped by you was one of the best things that ever happened to me. This semester is off to an amazing start. So, thanks, Troy. Thanks for everything.”

A path parted through the party, and I quickly took it. The satisfaction of telling him off was euphoric. Better than I ever could have hoped.

I was halfway down the hall when he grabbed my arm. “Wait.”

I tried to wrench free. “Let go of me.”

Troy tightened his grip painfully. “I’m not done talking to you,” he said through gritted teeth.

He was taller than me. Stronger than me. Nobody in the party was paying attention. I tried pulling my arm away, but he still didn’t release his grip.

There was a blur of motion, and then another man—taller and stronger than Troy—was pushing him up against the wall.

Knox.

The quarterback grabbed a handful of Troy’s shirt in a fist, then leaned in close to growl at him.

“Back. The. Fuck . Up.”