Page 4 of Red Card (Prescott University #1)

Rory

I ’ve never needed this fruity drink in my life more than I do right now. That sounds a tad dramatic, but it’s painfully true and honestly, after the week I’ve had, I deserve all the alcohol I just watched my best friend pour into this red plastic cup.

“Mmm, sugar,” I moan noisily after swallowing down another long gulp. “Calories. Carbs. Vodka. Do you realize how happy I am right now, Fitz? I would kiss you right now if the thought of that didn’t make me want to barf.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “See, aren’t you glad you came out with us tonight?”

I nod. Although Fitz doesn’t know that the real reason I’m here tonight is because the guy from my pharmacology class that I’ve been secretly pining over since last semester asked me to come.

Which is kind of a big deal for me. Well, actually it’s a huge deal.

But it’s not like a date or anything… I mean he didn’t say that it was a date, but I really kinda hope that it is?

The invitation was unclear though, and because I’m me , I spent the entire day obsessing over it because I am painfully, horribly, tragically awkward when it comes to the opposite sex.

Unless it’s the guys from the team, and that’s only because at this point, they’re like brothers to me.

That makes it easy for me to talk to them without getting flustered or having to second-guess myself entirely.

I have absolutely zero desire to flirt or date any of my rugby guys.

Gross.

It’s just when it comes to a guy that I think is cute or I’m slightly interested in, I immediately get in my head, and word vomit, saying all the wrong things and making a complete fool out of myself. At least that’s been the case the few times I’ve attempted to flirt.

“You know that if I didn’t drag you here, you’d be at home right now, working on a cross-stitch and watching reruns of True Blood like you’re eighty,” Fitz adds, his azure eyes dancing with a mixture of amusement and arrogance because he knows that he’s right.

Scoffing, I reach out and push his shoulder. “Okay? And you say that like it’s a bad thing. There’s nothing wrong with my old-lady hobbies. They’re… relaxing . Calming. You should try it some time.”

He’s right though. I’m absolutely a homebody and would prefer to be on my couch rotting at all times. This is my first time venturing out to a party that wasn’t thrown in the backyard of one of the guys from the team. Where I’m comfortable and completely at ease.

This… this is an entirely different ball game. Or match if we’re making rugby references.

“Yeah, I bet. My mom asked me last week when you were going to stitch my name on a sweatshirt for me.”

Wait.

That’s a brilliant idea and I have no idea why I haven’t thought of it before now.

My eyes widen, and Fitz groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I shouldn’t have told you that, should I?”

“Nope. Tell Mama Fitz I said thank you very much. And if you don’t wear the sweatshirt I make you, I am going to be so offended and will absolutely be revoking your best friend card,” I say before taking another long sip of my drink until there’s only a teeny, tiny bit left at the bottom of the cup.

Would I prefer to be home, wearing my comfy pajamas, working on my cross-stitch, and binge-watching TV while I eat a pint of my favorite ice cream? Yes.

But I made a promise to myself that I would get out and experience what’s left of my college career. Make new friends. Go to parties. Sleep with hot guys and sow every wild oat imaginable. No regrets.

Well, that would require me being able to speak to them first, but still. One step at a time.

I just don’t want to look back on my life ten, fifteen, twenty years down the road and say, “I wish I would have…” I want to experience everything that college life has to offer.

I’m halfway through junior year, and I’ve lived in my new apartment for over a month and still have done none of those things, which is the real reason why I came here tonight: to meet a guy who makes my palms clammy and my heart race. Not normal Rory behavior.

I’ve spent the majority of my life taking care of not only myself but my dad too.

It’s not that he asked, or expected that from me, it’s just kind of what happens when you’re raised by a single father who’s growing up alongside you.

When I started at Prescott University almost three years ago, I thought I’d move into a dorm or an apartment and get the full college experience, but when it came down to it, I couldn’t leave him.

Who was going to cook him dinner? Make sure he didn’t mix dark colors and light colors in the laundry or make sure Teddy, our geriatric dachshund, was fed and had his daily vitamin?

Who was going to remind him to take his vitamins and newly prescribed blood pressure medicine?

I’m well aware that he’s a grown man who did an amazing job raising me, but it’s always just been the two of us.

Taking care of each other.

Spending Saturday nights at home watching game highlights or playing board games.

I’ve always been a daddy’s girl, and I always will be.

Only now… I’m learning to be on my own. Without using him as a crutch to hide the fact that I’m afraid to put myself out there and do all the things I promised myself I’d do.

It’s scary to put yourself out into the world in any capacity, especially when you’re doing it for the first time, but I have to do it. No matter how scary it feels.

It’s time for me to spread my metaphorical wings and fly, to experience all that college life has to offer, and to hopefully check some things off my list.

Starting tonight.

“Rory St. James, get your ass over here and be my pong partner,” Wren, my other best friend, who plays the prop for the team, yells from the opposite side of the hockey house’s living room. “I’m not fucking losing tonight to these douches, and no one runs a table like you, boo.”

I sigh, down the last of my drink, then thrust the now-empty cup into Fitz’s hands. “Must I always show them how it’s done?”

“Go get ’em, tiger.” He chuckles.

I leave Fitz standing in the kitchen and make my way over to Wren, who’s in front of a white folding table lined with red cups. Two guys from the hockey team are on the opposite side, and they eye me arrogantly.

Like, just because I’m a girl, I can’t hold my own in a stupid drinking game.

Men. I wonder when they’ll finally stop underestimating women, because I think we’ve proven that we’re the superior creatures.

Wren peers down at me, a wide smile splitting his face, revealing his missing front tooth, and I bite back a laugh.

He’s an idiot who never wears a mouth guard, and last season he took a particularly hard tackle that knocked his tooth out. Most of the time, he’s too lazy to wear the bridge the dentist gave him.

And somehow he still manages to get more girls than half the guys on the team. He’s kind of a gentle giant. Hard and unyielding on the outside, but squishy on the inside. It’s what I love most about him.

Honestly, Wren Michaels is living proof that men can be badass and still be kind, compassionate, and sensitive. That they don’t have to be one or the other.

“Time to eat your words, assholes,” he says to the hockey guys as he thrusts the small orange Ping-Pong ball into my hand.

Seems like we’ve got a bit of an advantage here seeing as how Wren handles balls on the daily and these guys chase a puck around with a stick, so I’m already liking the odds.

“Thanks for being my partner, Ror. I know I can always count on you,” Wren says, tossing an arm over my shoulder and tugging me close.

Of all the guys on the team, I’m the closest with Wren and Fitz.

Don’t get me wrong, I love them—they’re my brothers in every sense of the word—but I don’t hang out with anyone as much as I do them.

They just get me, and our friendship has always been easy.

They’re my big idiots who I run to when the world’s falling apart, and I’m…

one of the guys to them. Which I’ve always loved—having people who understand and accept you without question—but also I’m realizing that being one of the guys puts me in the same territory with… all the guys.

Even the ones outside the team.

It’s a stigma that has somehow become my reputation around campus.

I’m the beer pong partner. The one to watch tape with. The wing woman. The girl who plays fantasy football. And most important, Coach St. James’s daughter who is a rugby aficionado and not afraid to go toe to toe with anyone about it.

And I love it. I do.

But… I just wish that it didn’t immediately put me in just -bros territory with practically every guy I meet.

Lately, it’s something I’ve become more…

aware of now that I’m trying to meet new guys.

I’m realizing this is how they see me, and it doesn’t help the fact that the moment I open my mouth, I embarrass myself and can’t seem to form a rational thought.

It’s never been like that with the guys from the team, which made me realize that it’s actually the flirting that’s the problem.

I really wish that I could talk to Fitz or Wren about it, but they’re men, and I truly doubt that they’d understand where I’m coming from anyway.

Cons to having only guys as your best friends.

One of the very few… but still.

I’m just the little sister they would never be interested in helping with guy stuff, and honestly, I would rather run through campus butt naked than talk to them about my “guy” problems, or lack thereof.

Because I’m distracted and in my head, I miss my initial shot, which makes the hockey guys entirely too confident. They think they have it in the bag, and that makes them sloppy.

That was their first mistake.

Little do they know, I’m kind of a beer pong champion—that’s why Wren refuses to play with anyone else.

“Told you assholes,” Wren boasts proudly when I sink the next three shots in a row and blow out a ball that circles the inside rim of the solo cup, preventing them from scoring a point.