by Alley Ciz
“Quinn, Bailey, get your asses in here and meet Kay,” Em shouts.
It doesn’t take long for the door to my bedroom to be filled with a Demi Lovato Latina lookalike and a girl so pretty I want to call her Cheerleader Barbie.
I’m a little intimidated by our other roommates.
My pulse starts to pound and my hands get clammy as flashbacks from high school hit me.
Don’t jump to conclusions, Kay.
The mental pep talk does nothing to talk me off the ledge of panic, but when Quinn—Ms. Lovato’s twin—gives me a beaming smile and waves, it starts to ebb. I’m mature enough to know better than to lump all cheerleaders together, but it’s hard to fight my instinct for self-preservation.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Em give me an encouraging nod, and another layer of reservation falls away.
“Wow!” Quinn walks over to the huge makeup artist kit open on my desk. “This is such an awesome setup.”
“Thanks. My sister-in-law is a stylist so she hooks me up big time. If you ever need anything, let me know. She lets me abuse her discount.”
“Shut. Up.” He eyes go round as saucers as she does her best impression of Mia Thermopolis being told she’s a princess.
Em giggles like a loon, and even I can’t help being charmed by such a genuine reaction.
“Oh yeah. Kay lets me use it all the time with her,” Em confirms, joining Quinn at the case and riffling through the contents, trying to scope out all the new additions.
It doesn’t escape my notice that the last time I smiled this much when meeting someone new was when I met Em, G, and CK, the fourth member of our tiny crew.
Could this be a sign?
Those warm fuzzies start to cool when I look to where Bailey, the blonde, stands in the doorway, still not entering the room. She must find me lacking in my blue V-neck I like to party and by party I mean take naps tee, jean cutoffs, and royal blue Chuck Taylors—at least that’s the impression I get from the forced smile on her face.
Quinn breaks me from the awkward stare-down by coming over and flipping the ends of my long hair between her fingers, fanning the strands out so the colorful highlights underneath show more. “Did your sister-in-law do this?”
“Yeah. She’s always foiling in new colors. I swear it feels like I’ve had the whole rainbow in here.” I circle a finger around my head. “It’s easiest for me to let her do whatever she wants. My only rule is I have to stay predominately blonde.”
“I love it.” Quinn’s perky friendliness catches me off guard, but not gonna lie, I like it.
“We’ll have to take a pic later.” I move around her to load four more pairs of shoes into the organizer leaning against the wardrobe. “She’s going to die when she sees your color.”
“Thanks.” Quinn fluffs her long, straight, perfect-shade-of-red locks with a beaming smile. “It’s a bitch to maintain, but I love it.”
I bet it is. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve heard Bette complain about how fast reds fade.
“Well…after I make her jelly, I can almost guarantee she’ll send you something to help with that before the week is out.”
Bette may be fiercely protective of me, but she also has the biggest heart of anyone I know. How the hell E managed to lock her down as his wife, I’ll never know.
“Emma, best roomie recco ever!”
“I know.” Em gives me a wink.
My heart may be lodged in my throat and a sheen of sweat may be coating my skin, but with each interaction with Quinn, the anxiety starts to ease.
I hate how whenever I’m outside my familiar bubble, I feel like retreating.
You didn’t always feel that way.
“We were thinking of going to Jonah’s for food. Wanna come?” Em asks a few minutes later.
Oh, a burger from Jonah’s would so hit the spot right now.
My automatic response would normally be to say no, but as I look at the hopeful expression on Em’s face and the excitement on Quinn’s, I think, Why not? Baby steps.
Ignoring a bored-looking Bailey, I offer to drive.
“You have Pinky?” The way Em starts bouncing on her toes tells me everything I need to know about how she became close with Quinn.
“Who’s Pinky?” Quinn asks as we make our way into the living room.
“My Jeep.”
“You named your car?”
Why am I not surprised that the first time Bailey speaks to me, it’s full of judgment?
“She’s worthy of a name,” I shrug.
“You have to see her. She’s so cool,” Em gushes. “She’s all pink, white, and animal print.”
“Really?” The deadpan way Bailey voices the question is lost on Em because she loves my Jeep almost as much as I do.
“Oh yeah. Basically, Barbie has nothing on Kay’s Jeep.”
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
#Chapter2
The tink-tink-tink of water hits my ears, and without even opening my eyes, I know it’s pouring outside. I let out a groan; rain is so not a friend to my curly hair.
Snuggling under the covers, I long to stay in bed all day. If the roomies and I didn’t have plans to buy our textbooks today, I would do just that.
It’s been a week and I still can’t believe that, except for the two nights I stayed at the Taylors’ house with T (Tessa) when Pops was on shift at the firehouse, I’ve spent my time with my roommates.
Quinn might be the most adorable human I’ve ever met. She’s perky and bubbly and has a way of making you feel like you’ve been friends for life, and thanks to her abuela’s recipe, she makes the best enchiladas I’ve ever tasted.
Bailey is harder to get a read on. I chalk it up to her spending most nights at the end-of-summer parties happening on Greek Row instead of drinking wine and watching chick flicks with us.
With the shit weather, I pull on a pair of black leggings—because leggings are life and hey, they make my butt look good—red knee-high Hunter rain boots, and a red off-the-shoulder Nap Team Captain shirt. On most people, the garment would drape attractively, but on my five-foot—yeah, yeah, four-eleven, but who’s checking—self, I need to knot the material at my hip so it doesn’t fall to my knees.
My bra, which peeks out of the open collar, is also red, and I finish off my need to match head to toe with a red fitted Yankees ball cap.
Knowing I’ll be loaded down with a million pounds of textbooks, I slip my phone into one rain boot and slim wallet with school ID and credit card in the other.
“Ugh, I need coffee if you expect me to function,” Em says as I step into the living room.
“Um, have you met me?” I tease. “Coffee is life.”
“Coffee now, wine later.” Quinn, who I’ve already started to think of as Q, throws her hands in the air like she just don’t care. She’s a nut.
“God, how could I forget how much of a morning person you are?” Bailey asks Q, joining us.
“You seem to be faring better than Em and me.” I accept the umbrella she’s holding out.
“I may not be as morning-averse as you two”—she bounces a finger between me and Em—“but Quinn’s picture belongs in the dictionary next to the word.”
There may not be a bond forming between us, but I still hold out a fist for Bailey. The chick has her moments of being funny.
“Kay, caffeine,” Em whines.
I can’t help but chuckle as I link our arms. She really is my coffee soul sister.
“Would it make you feel better if I text CK and ask him to grab us some?”
“Yessss.” The word comes out as a hiss. “Tell him I love him and I’m so happy you forced him to be our friend.”
Now I’m full-out laughing at the spot-on description. Em’s status as a member of the Red Squad may have made me reluctant to accept her friendship, but CK (Chris Kent) had a similar issue with me. Because, you see…what I haven’t told you is I’m also a cheerleader.
Didn’t see
that coming, did you?
It’s not something I make public knowledge. In fact, Em, CK, and G are the only ones at U of J who know. I have my reasons for not broadcasting this information, but that’s a story for another time. Let’s just say that went a long way toward gaining CK’s acceptance. Thank god for it, too, because I would have failed chemistry without him.
“Have you heard from G at all?” Em pants after our mad dash to Pinky.
“Yeah, I talked to him last night before I fell asleep. He’s back, moved into the AK house yesterday.” I flip my turn signal on and head for the main section of campus.
“You’re dating an Alpha?” Shock laces Bailey’s tone.
The way I see her perk up in the rearview mirror has my back up. Remember how I said G was the most unlikely of bestie candidates? Well, it stems from not wanting to be used for my famous associations. The brothers of the Alpha Kappa fraternity? They are the kings of campus. G’s lucky I love him.
“No. As much as his mama would prefer otherwise”—more like hopes, prays, and constantly asks if we’re sure—“we’re just friends.”
“Do you talk to all your guy friends before you go to bed?”
Having lived my whole life with a male best friend, I’m used to this kind of blatant disbelief. Hello, people! It is possible for two straight people of opposite sexes to be just friends.
“No, just two.” I hold up two fingers for emphasis.
“Oh, right there.” Em’s arm brushes my nose as she thrusts it out, pointing to an open spot close to The Hawk Nest. The three-story student center, more commonly known as The Nest, features a large food-court-style cafeteria that serves up an amazing selection of food all day, a coffee shop, and the school’s bookstore. We spend a lot of time here.
The four of us clamber out of the Jeep and huddle under our umbrellas—Em and me under one, Bailey and Q the other—hustling inside the building as quickly as possible.
With class not officially starting until tomorrow, I’m surprised by how crowded it is. I scan the tables as we walk, looking past the sorority girls, frat bros, and athletes, searching for the geek-chic, Grant Gustin-looking cutie in the Clark Kent-style glasses.
“CK!” I cry out when I spot him and rush around the table to give him a big hug where he sits behind an open laptop.
“Hey, Kay,” he replies, much more subdued.
“Dude, we missed you.” Em comes in, and we bookend him in our embrace. “Why’d you have to go back to Kansas for the summer?”
He looks down when he sees Q and Bailey standing on the other side of the table, still so shy that, even a year later, I feel like we’re force-feeding him our friendship. His reaction doesn’t shock me. What does is how vivacious, gregarious Q has not said a word. I flick my eyes to Em and we share an Interesting… look in response to the blush blooming on Q’s cheeks.
Looks like I’m not the only one who should be giving cheerleaders a chance. If only CK saw himself the way we do.
“Please.” He waves us off. “You act like any of you were in Jersey.”
“Semantics.” Em can’t hold back a laugh; she lives for teasing him.
“I was here for most of it.” I lean forward on my elbows, falling into our typical banter.
“Why do I hang out with you two again?” He closes the lid to his laptop and stows it in his bag. I bet he was working on the video game he’s been designing, but it’s only a guess. The only person he lets see it is G.
“Because you love us,” I smirk.
“And your life would be incomplete without us.” Em flashes her dimples.
He looks around the dining room, probably searching for someone to save him from our crazy, but there’s no stopping us. Em has pointed out to me—multiple times this week, I might add—how the walls that typically only come down when our small crew hangs haven’t been fully up. As I make introductions for Q and Bailey, I can’t help but note she’s not wrong.
#Chapter3
Lifting the barbell above my chest, my arms shake as I push through the twelfth chest press of this burnout set. Little puffs of air escape my mouth with the effort to make it to the rack.
Burnouts fucking suck.
“Come on, Casanova. Push through it. Don’t be a pussy.” The devilish smirk of Travis McQueen, my best friend and the Hawks’ quarterback, taunts from where he spots me.
If my hands weren’t currently wrapped around the stainless-steel bar to keep it from crushing my sternum, I would flip him off.
One…more…inch.
Metal clangs as I rack the bar, Trav’s annoying-AF chuckle assaulting my eardrums as I sit up, wiping my face with a towel.
“Nice, man.” The fucker holds out a fist to bump. He’s lucky I love him like a brother.
“I’m wrecked. I don’t know why I let you talk me into burnouts.”
I guzzle down an entire bottle of water and leave the towel I used to wipe the rivers of sweat from my face draped over my head.
“Please…you’re a total beast. We’re gonna kick ass this season.” He slaps me on the back.
Damn fucking right we are. We’ll be taking it all this year. Classes don’t officially start until tomorrow, but already the U of J Hawks have our first official win under our belt. I don’t care that the BTU Titans are more known for their hockey program; every win puts us one step closer to the national championship.
Football.
School—because I can’t play if my grades suck.
Work out like a beast.
Crush the combine.
Enter the draft.
That’s all that matters this year.
Nothing is going to stop us from adding the championship trophy to our case.
Sure, I’ll have the occasional hookup—I’m a man, I have needs, and who am I to turn away willing pussy? As both a star football player and an Alpha Kappa brother, there’s a lot of it available.
With Trav’s torture—er, workout routine—done for the day, we filter into the locker room with the rest of our teammates and hit the showers.
As one of the top collegiate football programs in the country, our boosters have been good to us. Unlike most, our shower area is broken up into individual stalls, half-doors covering us from mid-chest to the knees, the walls low enough to talk over.
“Lunch?” I ask Trav, letting the hot spray work the tension from between my shoulder blades.
“Fuck yeah. The Nest?”
“Works for me.” I rinse the soap from my body.
Less than ten minutes later, we are both showered, dressed, and parked in the lot closest to the familiar building. The glass and metal structure is built into the side of a hill, so even though the food court and cafeteria are technically the second floor, it’s considered the main level.
Hawk cries ring out and we’re surrounded by fans, fellow Greeks, and jersey chasers.
“Hey there, Casanova,” a sultry voice calls out before a particularly hot brunette with heavily glossed lips presses the tits spilling out of her skin-tight V-neck against my arm.
“Hey, QB1.” Her equally attractive friend does the same to Trav.
Neither of us turn them away—you don’t earn the nickname Casanova by ignoring primo talent—and I meet my best friend’s It’s good to be king smile with one of my own.
All thoughts of lunch are put on hold as we bask in the adoration of our awesomeness. It isn’t until I see a flash of movement across the room that I even realize how much time has passed.
“Is that Grayson?” Trav asks, spotting our fellow Alpha brother.
Grant Grayson is a hard person to miss. At six-eight, the power forward is one of the only people who can make my six-five stature feel short.
“Yup,” I answer then continue to study the person I selected as my “little” brother in the fraternity. With the conflicting schedules of our respective sports plus the fact that we’re guys and we don’t discuss our feelings, I don’t know much more about him than that we get along—a fact dr
iven home more by the scene unfolding before us.
With someone wrapped around him, I watch as my friend spins in a circle before placing one of the shortest girls I’ve ever seen back down. She’s tiny, like super tiny, and not just because she stands next to such a giant. If you told me this chick’s height broke five feet, I would call bullshit. Her head barely comes to the center of his chest.
“Damn,” Trav says on an exhalation as shorty stretches up to kiss Grant on the cheek. “I didn’t know Grayson had a girl.”
Neither did I.
Uncharacteristically ignoring the ladies vying for my attention, I continue to study the couple, marveling at their differences. They are like yin and yang. She’s all short stature, milky complexion, and golden hair to his tall, dark looks.
Stop creeping on your bro’s girl, Nova. Isn’t there enough female talent around you?
Before I can take my own advice, the two of them shift and I get the first glimpse of her smile. Damn if it isn’t worthy of a toothpaste commercial.
It’s hard to get a read on her thanks to the shade created by the brim of her hat, but I can’t recall if I’ve ever seen her around.
“GRAYSON!” Trav bellows, cupping his hands around his mouth.
Both Grant and his girlfriend look our way, and even without being able to see her eyes, I feel like she’s judged me and found me lacking. It’s a bit unsettling—more than a bit, if I’m being honest. I can’t remember a time a girl felt that way about me, ever.
#Chapter4
I hate mornings. Like seriously hate them.
Why do early-morning classes have to be what works best with my schedule? Thank god I can braid my hair in pigtails in less than a minute, put mascara on in two, and only need one more to brush my teeth. My red Yankees fitted hides any messiness of my hair, and my tight jeans and red Chuck Taylors make it look like I made an effort when that’s actually not the case.
Since I’m allergic to mornings, as my white t-shirt proudly states in red lettering, I snoozed my alarm one too many times to stop for coffee before rushing to class—story of my life.