He came back because his knee was blown out, and he had contacts here to get a teaching job. Something hard twists inside me, and I suck in a sharp breath. I can’t forgive him for not having a life with Mom while she was alive. They were college sweethearts—the cheerleader and the quarterback—but after she got pregnant their senior year, he left her to play for the Seattle Seahawks.
Magnolia is my town, the place I grew up.
Why did he have to come and mess it all up?
“OMG, are you still trying to teach that dumb bird the word of the day?” Charisma says in her drawn-out New York accent as she bounces into the room. Petite, curvy, and sassy, she’s the product of an Italian family from the Bronx. She was my first friend in college, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.
“Crazy is here! Crazy is here! Shit! Give me a cigarette!” Vampire Bill belts out along with a screech that’s halfway between a wolf howling and a cat being murdered.
She flips him off. “I am not crazy. You are, bird.”
“Be nice to him. His species is the most intelligent in the parrot family.”
“I am nice to him. I gave him the pineapple off my pizza last night and still, this is how he treats me.” She throws her hands up in exasperation.
I laugh.
“You ready to go to the meeting?” she asks a few beats later as she grabs her purse. “I don’t want to be late for the first one of the year,” she adds, and my eyes flare as I realize she’s wearing slacks and a cute pink sweater. I check my watch and see we have five minutes to get there—ten if they start late. Crap. I haven’t even changed clothes.
“Dammit!” I call out as I fly past her and run to my bedroom to grab my pink jersey that bears our Greek letters, pairing it with my red skinny jeans. I slap on some lipstick and throw two-inch suede booties on my feet to dress it up. I check my hair in the mirror, and it’s a riotous mess. Oh well. It’ll have to do.
Better to be on time than to look good.
Penelope
Two minutes later, we’re crawling into my car, an older model Toyota Camry I inherited from my mom. Also parked in the driveway is a brand new, white-silver metallic convertible Volkswagen Beetle—a gift from my dad a few months ago on my birthday. Boy, talk about an uncomfortable moment when he took me outside and presented my gift in his driveway, dressed up with a big red bow on top just like in the commercials. Confused, I looked from him to the car, trying to figure him out. Did he think a car would fix the fact that he abandoned me when I was a baby and now has a whole new family? Never going to happen. My pride refuses to enjoy it.
I pop in some Eminem and we peel out.
I break the speed limit driving the few blocks over to where sorority houses dot the street, all in a line. Pulling up to the curb, I manage to find a small parking spot and squeeze in after a bit of maneuvering.
“I’m glad you know how to parallel park,” Charisma says quickly as we get out and dash for the Chi Omega house, a two-story mansion constructed of red brick with four Doric columns on the front. Built in the late 80s, it’s got everything you could ever want in a grand house in the South: big front porch—all the better to dance on—and huge trees in the front yard with moss hanging from the limbs.
We rush inside to the large den and have barely taken our seats on one of the long benches in the back when the side door opens and our president waltzes in.
Made it! We fist-bump each other.
My gaze goes to the front. Everyone please welcome Margo Whitley, the Barbie at the top of the heap. From the top of her shiny, shoulder-length blonde hair to the little pink cardigan she wears around her shapely shoulders, she’s the epitome of the perfect Chi Omega girl. She points her button nose toward the ceiling as she walks toward the podium at the front of the room. Definitely a snooty patootie.
She’s also my new-ish stepsister.
My dad met her mom in a whirlwind romance and married her a year ago. Baby Cyan arrived six months later. Yeah, you do the math. The only thing that reverberates through my head is that Margo’s mom was good enough to marry but mine wasn’t.
She passes me as she walks down the aisle, but then backs up, her gaze critical, taking in my jeans.
Feeling defiant, I glare back at her. At one point during our freshman year when we were pledges together, we were friendly, even though we’re obviously complete opposites: I’m fun and colorful; she’s an uptight know-it-all.
She tilts her head toward me. “No casual attire.” She looks pointedly around the room at the other girls in sundresses, skirts, and dress pants.
I send her a tight-lipped smile. “You’re right, and I apologize. I was running late because I worked today. It won’t happen again.” My eyes dare her to say anything else. Sure, she has the rule on her side, and she could ask me to leave, but it wouldn’t look good to start off the first meeting by kicking out a sister. Plus, I did say I was sorry—and I truly am.
I make a note to set an alarm on my phone for meetings. I’m a bit of a daydreamer, and deadlines do get away from me. I blame the mystery man who texted me.
She narrows her eyes. “Fine. Consider this a warning.”
“Power-tripping,” Charisma mutters as Margo continues down the aisle.
I nod my agreement and watch her as she maneuvers behind the podium, taking in the hair that’s pulled back with a simple black headband. She looks perfect.
Yet…
She isn’t happy—it’s plain as day in the tight lines on her forehead and the dark shadows under her eyes.
“Hello, everyone.” Her smile is brief. “Before we begin, I’d like to remind everyone to please dress appropriately when you attend our meetings.”
“Oooo, she’s talking about you,” Charisma says while wiggling her eyebrows at me.
I laugh and Margo swivels her head in my direction, her eyes like lasers as they find mine. Great.
Charisma mouths, Sorry.
Margo inhales a deep breath. “Penelope, is there something you’d like to share with the group?”
I clear my throat. “No. I’m sorry for the disturbance.”
“Good.” She continues and levels her eyes at each fresh new face. “Let’s discuss the first matter of business. It’s recently come to my attention that one of our sisters has gotten caught up in the football betting hoopla. While we love the football players and want them at our parties, it only demoralizes a Chi Omega girl if we’re the brunt of the joke. Please be aware of this danger.”
My heart drops.
She’s talking about me.
Charisma, who’s been scrolling on her phone, puts it down and looks at me, her face flattening.
Some of the girls are whispering and looking around the room.
“…who was it…”
“…how awful…”
I inhale a sharp breath, embarrassed all over again that he almost had me convinced he really liked me. Just thinking about that stupid bet makes my face redden. Plus, I’ve been on pins and needles for the past few days wondering if the video Charisma said one of the players took would materialize and go all over campus, but it never did. Blaze swore to her he would make sure it was deleted, and I was just beginning to think the incident hadn’t gone any further—but now…ugh.
Margo exhales. “Since there are no secrets in Chi Omega, I feel compelled to tell you it was Penelope Graham.” Her gaze is flinty as she focuses on me.
Compelled my ass. She couldn’t wait to tell them.
My teeth grit as I hear more whispering from the girls around me.
I glare at Margo.
“Would you like to share the story with us and be our cautionary tale?” she asks, her lashes fluttering.
I push my legs to standing and scan the room. “Everything Margo says is true, but I beat him at his own game. My name won’t be on their tally board again.” I give them a smile. “Be vigilant this fall. Go Chi O.”
Margo studies me for a moment. “Indeed. Let’s move on.”
I want to shove her indeed up her ass.
“The next matter of business is the homecoming party. The Thetas will be hosting their own party, and as Chi Omegas, we must own Sorority Row and beat them. I want to make their party seem like a preschool outing.”
Several agreeing murmurs come from our sisters. There’s no love lost between us and the other sorority, and I imagine it pricks at Margo the most—since she lost her long-term boyfriend to a Theta last semester. Gossip runs rampant at our university, and it’s no secret she walked in on him screwing their president, a jersey chaser named Sasha.
Margo continues. “Our party will be the hottest ticket, and that means, first of all, invite the most popular guys.” She’s leaning over the podium and whips out a legal pad. “Personally, I’ve made a list of suggestions of people to invite, and I want us to ask as many as possible.” She gazes around the room. “If you’re willing, I’d love to have you pledge tonight to invite at least one A-list student from Waylon.”
I frown, annoyed about the A-list student comment. Connor probably isn’t on that list, but he’s a nice guy, and I want to ask him.
First, I’d have to talk to him, of course.
I raise my hand.
“Yes?” Margo grudgingly nods.
I stand again. “Who are you asking?” We all know it won’t be Kyle, her ex.
Margo’s lips compress and her hands tense as she folds them into a steeple. “Why, the most important person on campus when it comes to homecoming—the quarterback.”
Ryker? The jerk who made me the brunt of the joke?
Anger flies over me. “Football players go to the Tau house for homecoming. Everyone knows that.”
Margo, who usually sports infallible confidence, seems to falter as her hands flutter around her notes. She clears her throat. “Which is why it will be a great coup for us to get him.” She pauses. “I can convince him to come.”
I scowl. “We should invite people we want to spend time with, not ones we don’t know.”
She stiffens. “Maybe I’ll get to know him.”
Oh. Well.
That shut me up. I didn’t think he was her type.
She calls on one of the other girls who has her hand raised, and I plop back down in my seat.
Charisma levels me with a serious look. “If you don’t want him here, I can take care of that real quick. I have connections.”
I arch a brow and can’t help the grin. “Mobsters?”
She rolls her eyes. “Just because I’m Italian and from New York doesn’t mean I’m John Gotti, but one well-placed word in Blaze’s ear and Ryker will never grace our party with his presence.”
“Blaze?”
She shrugs, playing it off. “He likes me. I’m sure I can get him to encourage Ryker to stay at the Tau house.”
Hmmm.
I whip out my red lipstick and reapply, my mind churning. “Hold off on that. I’ll get back to you.”
Penelope
After dinner out at the local pizza place with some pledges, we pull up at our house, the one I grew up in, a rambling cottage-style bungalow built in the 50s. In the light of the streetlamp, I eye the late summer azaleas in the flowerbed, the ones Mom and I planted before she passed away.
A heavy feeling settles on my chest. God, I miss her. Sometimes I forget she’s gone and half expect her to be inside, waiting on me so we can have one of our long chats. She’d know exactly what to do about Dad and Margo and Ryker.
“What’s that next to the door?” Charisma asks me as we step onto the stone porch. She’s ahead of me and bends down to pick it up. Turning to face me, she holds up a bag of suckers with a note stuck to it. “Oooo, it has your name on it,” she says, waving it at me.
I take the note from her and read the sloping masculine scrawl.
I came by at 8:00. I guess you stood me up. Makes sense. I hope we’re even now. Anyway, I thought of you when I saw these.
Later, Ryker.
The R is prominent and dominates his signature, big and cocky just like he is.
“Why is he leaving you your favorite candy?” Charisma ponders, an inquisitive look on her face. “Have y’all talked and you didn’t tell me?”
“No.” My brow wrinkles, a memory tugging at me, and then it dawns on me and I groan. “Oh my God, he texted me earlier, but I didn’t know who it was…” I whip out my phone and reread the messages while she takes them in from beside my shoulder. I recall the phone number he tossed down on my serving tray at Sugar’s, but it got dumped out along with everything else. Then I remember giving him my number. “These must be from him.” I rub my forehead.
She chuckles. “WTF? You told him you wanted him.”
Mortification flies over me. “Shit, shit, shit. I didn’t know it was him. I thought he was some lonely guy pining after some girl.” My face reddens. “I thought I was helping someone out with his relationship woes.”
“That would be a BFN—big fat no.” She holds the bag of suckers up to the porch light. “Look, he drew something on the side of the bag.”
I take the candy from her and study the sketch. It’s a creature with a long neck, small ears, and an oblong body with fuzzy stick legs drawn in black marker.
“I can’t figure out what that is supposed to be.” She looks at me. “Is he deranged? Should we call the cops?”
“No.” A small laugh comes from me. “It’s a llama.”
“Oh?”
I shrug. “Inside joke.”
Lying in bed later, I’m reading a romance book about a pirate, but my gaze keeps going to the note and the bag of candy on my nightstand. With a sigh, I put down the book and pick up the note—for the third time—tracing my finger over the confident strokes of his penmanship. The candy was a nice touch, but it hardly excuses what he did.
I nibble on my lip, thinking back to the sorority meeting and how Margo vowed she’d get Ryker to attend. He did say he wanted to make up for what happened, so what if I invited Ryker to the party? I mean, I can also ask Connor, but if I wrangled Ryker then everyone would know the bet fiasco is over and didn’t bother me at all. I wouldn’t have to be embarrassed, and everyone would think we’re…friends.
But that’s just silly, my inner voice says. You hate him.
Do I?
YES, YOU DO.
But my fingers aren’t listening as I grab my phone and type out a message to him.
Got your note. We’re not even close to being even, Baby Llama. And before when I was texting you, I didn’t know who you were. I was just messing around.
I don’t get a response for several minutes and am about to put my phone back down when I see the three little dots that tell me he’s responding.
I still want to make it up to you.
Visions of him ravishing me on my bed come to mind. I squash those thoughts down.
How? I ask.
I’ll explain tomorrow. It’s midnight and I need to be at practice by six. That means breakfast is at five fifteen.
Oh! I didn’t realize he was so…conscientious. I guess I pictured him with two girls on either side, being rubbed down with oil as he drifts off to sleep.
Sorry I woke you, I text.
You didn’t. I was lying here thinking about you.
A sizzle of heat ripples through me. Damn that sizzle.
Oh, so you’re alone?
Uh-huh. You? Or is Connor there?
My teeth grit. I hate that he knows I have a crush on him.
Just me. I throw a glance over at Vampire Bill. At night, I put his cage in here. He doesn’t like to sleep alone. Neither do I. And you need to forget about Connor, I add.
Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. Good night, Penelope. I’ll find you tomorrow.
Find me tomorrow…?
I stare at my name typed by his fingers…and it feels surreal that I’ve just had a decent conversation with him.
Still, I’m not sure I’ll talk to him when I see him.
With a sigh, I pick ba
ck up my pirate romance, and before long I’m asleep, dreaming of my own blond, curly-hair-chested pirate.
Penelope
Someone clears their throat. A male. “Hey…you down there. Do you have any clue how hard you are to find?”
I stiffen at the husky words, embarrassed that Ryker has, once again, caught me with my butt straight up in the air. This time I’m scrounging around on the bookstore floor, looking on every shelf for the right workbook for my next class.
“What do you want?” I say without looking at him, tautness in my tone, although it’s a bit muffled from speaking while bent over.
“You. I told you last night we’d talk, and here I am.”
Ignoring him, I move another collection of books aside on the shelf, but my search is fruitless. A long frustrated groan comes from me.
“We do have a class to get to, so today would be nice,” he says from above me, “although the view from here is stellar. Your curves are…lush.”
He’s staring at my ass.
“Keep your eyeballs in your head, quarterback.”
“Hard to do when you’re bent over.”
“Try harder,” I snap.
I huff out a breath and put my hand on the shelf above me to help me stand up. Ryker immediately extends a hand, his fingers clasping mine as he heaves me up. It’s the third time we’ve touched skin to skin—yes, I’m counting—and I inhale sharply as the sensation ripples up my arm and out like waves from a skipped rock on the water. Breathlessly, I stare down at the place where our hands are joined, and he’s looking as well, a look of speculation on his face. He swallows and drops my hand swiftly. His face changes, closing in and shuttering like a window, becoming contained.
No one really knows him, I think, except Maverick.
What I do know is he’s a god on the football field, an authoritative kickass quarterback that has kept Waylon in the top ten of the SEC for the past three years. Back last year, there was even talk of Ryker being a Heisman candidate, but that day is long gone…
I glance down at my hand, my skin burning where we touched, as if an electric current has had its way with me. I press my palm against my leggings.
I Bet You Page 5