11

Ryan

It's Called You're Late

Adam banged his fist against my car door like he personally paid my insurance and hollered out the window, "Ryan's first frat party of the year! FIRST FRAT PARTY OF JUNIOR YEAR! FIRST FRAT PARTY OF THE— " He jerked back the moment the window started rolling up. "What the hell, man? I need this pretty boy face to stay intact!"

"You can make a scene when I'm not here."

"It's my frat. I mean, it's not—coach would kill me. But they're great guys and—"

"I just need you to keep it cool for tonight, man."

"Cool. Ice cool. Super cool. No problem. I got you, man." He paused. "Wait, why?"

With a right turn down a suburban street, I cleared my throat. "We need to understand what we're representing, the Romans. Marrs University. It should be ingrained in—"

"Is this about the girl?"

I shifted in my seat, trying not to let the obvious answer show. But Adam would figure it out. It wasn't like he was the only curious one, but he was the one who blurted shit without thinking about it.

King stared into the rearview mirror, the question in his eyes too.

"Is that it?" Adam demanded. "Pussywhipped Ryan?"

"Kassandra Ragar is nothing more than a distraction and I want that clear to everybody in this car," I snapped but Adam burst into laughter. My jaw set. "You all understand that, right? I'm serious. She's—she's something else, but she's something else that's strictly work."

"Sure."

"Adam, I just don't need you pulling your regular dumb shit in front of her."

"So…better dumb shit?"

" No dumb shit."

Adam rolled down the window again to howl out of the car.

I sighed. The linebacker wasn't being an asshole. It was our way of spending our last year together. We trained every second of every day for our football careers, put in the blood, sweat, and tears, all for that one chance.

Everybody besides Coach Lawson was trying to convince me to stay beyond our upcoming win at the Birchwood Bowl. They wanted me for a senior year we all knew I didn't need.

"Where'd she tell you to meet her?" King's voice broke from the back seat.

"She should be close," I said, parking the car.

The walk from the car to the frat's front door was littered with crushed beer cans, broken lamps, giggling freshmen, and some guy pissing off the second-floor window. It wasn't hard to remember why I'd been adamant about skipping frat parties.

Adam took a deep breath. "Isn't it beautiful?"

That wasn't what I would've called it. The frat house was packed and sweaty, an overfilled locker room where everybody conveniently forgot to use deodorant. A living list of reasons why I'd kept to the Division I sleep schedule. Something sticky stuck to the underside of my five-hundred-dollar sneaker.

What a waste of time.

Some guys clapped me on the shoulder, and I shook hands, still distracted.

Where is she?

King stepped up. "Do you see her?"

I checked the room for dark waves, a curved mouth, maybe…sketching something? "She should be here. Right here."

Different rooms, more sweaty people, but no Kassie. She wouldn't have left the party early. I pulled my phone out of my back pocket.

She never responded to the text I sent ten minutes ago, saying I was driving up. Her secret art account didn't have any updates either and I'd been checking that every hour, on the hour. Nothing.

Adam handed me a beer. "I think she's outside."

Outside?

I spotted her legs next to a couple of grills. Long legs crossed over each other, straight out of a swimsuit edition, in the smallest pair of jean shorts imaginable. Why the hell did they sell them that short? A jersey drifted loose down her waist but still showed a hint of her curves when she swayed to the music.

There she was. The first real smile of the day crossed my face. Good. We could get this in motion. The frat party would serve as our introduction and we could move on with the rest of the schedule.

The smile disappeared when I registered exactly what she was wearing.

King's jersey.

"Oh, shit," fell out of Adam's mouth.

King looked back at me with a blank expression. He didn't know anything about it. Of course he didn't. Why did that thought even cross my mind? And why was I trying not to grind my teeth to dust?

And then I saw the guy walk up to her with a drink in hand.

What the fuck?

No, WHO the fuck?

"Hey, Cross!" someone shouted.

I offered a curt nod and continued through the crowd.

"Cross! A picture—"

Get the fuck out of my way.

I ignored whoever the hell was trying to get my attention while I kept on the path toward Kassie and the fucking guy with cargo shorts.

Kassie sighed when she saw me and the random jackass turned around too. I recognized him. One of the Marrs baseball players. He froze to the ground when he registered that I was heading right up to him.

"Cross." His eyes darted back to Kassie.

I didn't say anything. I just stood next to her.

He tried to smile. "We're having a conversation."

"Great." I nodded back to the rest of the party. "And now you're getting out of my way."

For a moment, he grinned at Kassie, but she just raised her eyebrows at him. It was a simple question. All three of us knew that. He had to decide how much he wanted to argue over this. But I wasn't in the mood to argue. If he wanted to test that, he'd regret the decision.

The baseball player shuffled away.

"Love-love-loverboy." Kassie turned in slow motion to face me, one hand holding the underside of the counter. "Welcome to the party."

"Who's that?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. A hot and bothered guy at a frat party? They're in abundance here."

The realization hit me hard. "You're drunk."

"And you're late."

"Late?" I frowned, taking a look at the frat party in full swing. "I texted you ten minutes ago."

"Ryan, you told me eight . I've been here for two hours."

Two hours?

The flush in her cheeks, her braids coming undone, she was absolutely drunk. And she'd been here? I took stock of the frat party, at the people dancing to the music and the guys leering at the edge of the groups. A deep sense of unease took hold of me.

"We had game reruns at the training center," I told her. "The emails say if I don't show up within a twenty-minute period, you're supposed to contact me or Cleo. Eight o'clock was just the party's timing. This isn't how this is supposed to go. This isn't the plan."

A new song started from the speakers and some girls tried to pull Kassie towards the dance floor.

She urged them to go instead and turned back to me. "Isn't part of the plan? Ryan? Do you hear yourself?"

"And you've been drinking." I picked up the glass next to her and dumped it out to a nearby plant. "We need to redo the introduction."

Kassie stared at me, dumbfounded. "How are we redoing it?"

"You come when I call. Wearing my jersey."

"There's no way you hear yourself." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Cleo wanted this natural. So, in your perfect scenario, you stroll up to find me stone cold sober at a frat party, searching you out, wearing your merchandise? That's some weird shit."

I brushed the comment aside. "Girls do it all the time."

She rolled her eyes and leaned back far enough to thump against the counter behind her. I wasn't done with the conversation though. I reached down and bunched up the jersey, gripping it tight. Slowly, I pulled her back up to talk to me. Kassie gazed at me in surprise as I tugged her closer until she was only inches away.

My eyes flickered down to where the jersey left her skin. The hint of her hips.

Slowly, I released her.

"You're so goddamn demanding," she muttered.

"I don't like this," I said. "You're drinking. What if something happened? What if you got hurt? And I wasn't here?"

For the first time in my life, I was playing a game I didn't understand. I had no clue. Last November, we had a football practice at the start of a tropical storm. That had been easier than what Kassie and I had going on.

"Fine," she sighed. "We can redo it."

"Good. How'd you get here?"

"We walked."

"We?"

"My roommate, Zariah, and I," Kassie explained, searching the crowd. "She's my designated walker for the night. Over there."

I took a long look at the girl with curly hair, hunched over. "Your designated walker is throwing up in the bushes."

"Then…Lyft's my designated driver."

"No."

"No?"

"I'm driving you home," I told her, leaving no room for argument. "And I've got another shirt in my car."

"Why?" Kassie raised her eyebrows.

I took a step closer to the counter, pushing between her legs. " Why? "