106

Kassie

Objectively Romantic

Against my better judgment—and my primal urge to burrow in bed like a rodent—Zariah and I hit Gianna's for lunch. I tried to argue against it, but she wouldn't hear my incredibly valid points.

"You don't have to worry about anything," she assured me. "Elijah's there, he's keeping us updated."

My sneakers shuffled against the pavement, not exactly eager for the journey.

We were the quietest people in the parking lot. Everybody else was getting their tailgating ready for Saturday's game, less than twenty-four hours away. Good for them. Must've been nice to have something to look forward to around finals time.

"Is a booth okay?" Zariah pulled back from the hostess but I stared hard at the bar, where a line of people watched the TV with dark blue jerseys.

Numb, I nodded. Booth, table, place on the roof, the dumpster. I wasn't hungry anyway. The whole restaurant was decked out just like campus too, all Romans colors. It took all my self-control to ignore the bobbleheads on the counters.

I rubbed my temples. "We couldn't go off-campus? This place looks like a Marrs commercial."

"Kass, I know you haven't been—"

"How's RA training? When's that start for real? January?"

"Don't change the subject." She sighed.

I sank into my seat.

Our waitress, Sloane, took a quick slide over to our table, and with a bright smile, offered menus. "So good to see you. You're welcome to anything."

Welcome to anything?

That didn't sound like the usual spiel they gave. I frowned.

"It's on me," Zariah reassured me and dug in her wallet.

"No—sorry, he didn't tell you?" Sloane beamed. "Ryan came a couple of days ago. His card's on file. You don't have to worry about it, he's already signed everything—"

"We're not doing that. I'm paying." I folded up my menu. "I'm having water. Zariah?"

Zariah breathed through her nose. "Girl. We could… " She stopped herself and shook her head. "Lemonade. Thanks."

I waited until the waitress left, looking a little more than confused, and settled back against the booth. "I know what you're thinking. I know you think I'm losing it."

"Yeah. You're right. I am thinking that."

"Well, I'm not. What if we rack up this whole bill and he calls in, right when we're about to leave, or his credit card declines? Because, Zariah—"

"Kass. Ryan can do a lot of things but would he really do that?"

My eyes dropped to my lap.

It was a question I didn't want to hear. Would Ryan do that? I didn't know, because anybody can do anything. They can leave at any time. And if I was being honest, I'd only known the man for a couple of months.

Do I know him?

Do I?

"No." I swallowed. "He wouldn't—he wouldn't do that."

Zariah gave me a long look and flagged down the waitress when she had a moment. "Can we get two lemonades too? Thank you."

I didn't say anything.

"So…." Zariah pushed. "I'm your best friend and best friends are supposed to tell each other stuff. And…I have something to tell you. I brought you here because I don't want you freaking out in the dorm. You can't freak out."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, genuinely confused.

As quick as she could, she whipped out her cell phone and flashed the fuzziest photo I'd ever seen. Seriously, that was the bottom of the barrel for photo resolution. In the photo, there were three dudes, dressed in dark clothing, definitely big, muscular dudes—

My eyebrows shot up. "Um…is that…?"

"What you're looking at right here are the guys who were responsible for that hotel guest who—" she made air quotes with her fingers, "—tripped by the parking garage."

"What?"

"I know him as iced americano. You definitely know him as Henry Miller."

My mouth fell open.

"Creator of Bird Pants . Yes."

I shifted back in my seat and glanced behind my shoulder. "Z, I don't…understand. Are you saying those three are three of the same guys we've hung out with practically all semester…beat up Henry Miller?"

"That's my running guess so far."

"Oh my god…" I breathed in. "The grapefruit bruise. And…the weird apology. What the hell did Ryan do? "

"I forgot about the email."

I ran my hand through my hair. "The last thing I heard, they emailed me to give this whole long essay about internal investigations." I whipped out my phone and pulled out the emails. "What did Ryan do? "

"No idea. But this is some mafia shit, Kass."

"He…beat up a guy who was creepy to me." I pressed my lips together. "He beat up a guy who was just creepy to me?" I dropped my voice to a hiss. "Jesus Christ, what was he thinking? He could've gotten shot—this is the stupidest shit I've ever heard in my life and—"

"Kass."

I glanced up. "Hm?"

"Are you getting warm and gooey over this?"

"I—" I stopped myself and shook my head. "Well—" I paused once more and put my hands on the table. "See…"

" Kass ."

"Objectively speaking…."

She leaned backwards and rested her head on the booth. "I figured there were two options ahead of us. Either you started yelling and get pissed off—"

"I am pissed off," I insisted. "He could've gotten hurt ."

"Okay, you're totally into this." Zariah sighed and brought up her backpack to the table, pulling out a clear plastic bag. "I figured either I give this to you or I don't. It's a going-away present, Kass. And trust me, you're going to love it."

I grimaced at the plastic bag and she passed it over.

"You'll like this one," Zariah insisted.

I shook my head. "You better not have bought anything you can't return."

"No problem, it's second-hand."

Zariah pulled open the straps and let me take a look.

I sucked in a breath.

"We were having the meeting upstairs." Zariah said as I hovered close to the bag, unable to touch it. "One of the Roman Forest RAs got a call from a concerned desk assistant after his shift. He said there was a mental health crisis, a crying girl by the donation box, tossing in football gear."

"It—it wasn't a crisis." Tears threatened to brim over, and before I could stop myself, I scooped up the bag and pulled it close. That stuff had been in the bottom barrel of a donation box, but I didn't care.

Shit. Maybe it was a crisis.

"The desk assistant said you wanted it back."

"But—but he didn't have a—"

"RAs are the only ones with access to them. He's required to say that."

Down at the bottom of the bag, there was the dark blue jersey.

Nothing else mattered more to me. I yanked it up. It didn't smell like him though; it didn't have that same cologne and fresh-shower scent I'd come to associate with him. It didn't even smell like the bottom of a donation bin. I crumpled the shirt in my hands. "You washed it."

"Uh, yeah, I washed it at Elijah's building." Her eyebrows furrowed. "You didn't want me to wash it?"

I hesitated.

Zariah stared at me, dumbfounded. "Oh, girl. Girl ."

"Look, it's been a lot. And…I didn't realize how much this was going to hurt, " I admitted, my voice thick. My phone buzzed on the table and I reached over to it, still talking to Zariah. "I've never, ever gone through something like this before."

"If it makes you feel better, it's rough to watch too."

"Thanks, Z." I rolled my eyes and checked the notification. Or…notifications. They scrolled across my screen, too fast for me to focus on, and I glanced up at Zariah to see her glued to her phone too. I frowned. "What is it?"

"Holy shit…"

"What?"

She held up her phone to me and I took it gingerly, gazing down at the picture. My heart squeezed painfully. Those broad shoulders, the messy, dark hair, holding a football between his hands. My fake boyfriend, with that intense official sports lighting, and the announcement hidden in the corner.

FOUR-A-CROSS DECIDES TO STAY IN HTX

Ryan Cross has declined to enter the draft for the upcoming season. Details coming soon.

"I—I—" I fumbled with my words, gazing down at the dark honey eyes. "He—why—?"

"Kass."

I jerked up, staring at her.

"Isn't that…?" Zariah paused and reached over to point at the side of the screen.

Ryan Cross had been photographed in his official stadium. Behind him? A huge screen with his animation, folding his arms over his chest, gazing off at everyone below him.

My work.

My mouth fell open.