Page 80 of Palm South University: Season 2

A light breeze rolls across the tailgate yard and blows my hair back as I round the second row of tents, mind still wandering. It’s a tempting thought, entering the APC tourney. I’m not prepared enough to enter it this year. Hell, I don’t even have a third of the entry fee. But if I play my cards right, I just might be able to enter the one next May, and if I won or even placed in the top three, I’d be set. No more having to work tournaments at night and be a sorority girl during the day. I could get my parents completely out of debt and then some, tuition for the rest of my time at PSU would be paid, and I could focus on my major and figure out what I want to do with my life.

The thought makes me giddy.

“Hey heartbreaker,” Adam says, bumping into me from the side and stirring me from my thoughts. His signature goofy grin is firmly in place, his dark hair a little unruly and a light sweat is breaking on his forehead.

“Oh God, not you, too. I really hope that’s not my new nickname.”

He shrugs, falling in line with my rhythm. “I don’t know, I think it fits pretty perfectly.”

“Says the one who broke up with me.”

“That’s not what the tabloids are saying.”

I blanch. “What?”

Adam’s shit-eating grin grows wider and when I realize he’s joking, I shove him hard into the pole of a passing tent. He laughs, dodging it easily and scooping me up into a hug from behind. “You should have seen your face!”

“You’re an asshole.”

He drops me back to the ground easily and we walk the yard until we find my sisters, talking the entire time about Spring Break and his upcoming chapter elections. It’s nice to know we can still be friends with no awkward feelings between us. Adam Brooks is a nice guy to have in your corner, and I’m glad I didn’t screw that up by tagging him as my boyfriend for a few months.

I realize it may be quite a while before I let anyone hold that title again, because the truth is, my heart is already taken. Poker is my boyfriend, and we’re taking our relationship to the next level this summer. It’s getting serious between us, and Poker is one jealous son-of-a-bitch who hates the idea of sharing me. Probably smart, since the last thing I want to be known as if I make it to the tournament next May is a slut or a man-eater. If I’m going to get my name out of the headlines for my dating lifestyle and into the limelight for my skills, I’ve got some work to do.

I feel some big changes on the horizon.

And I’ve got my game face on.