Right of First Refusal (Radleigh University #2)

by Dahlia Adler

  “You seeing anyone these days?” she asks as I twist my hair up beneath my Patriots cap. I should probably blow dry it before leaving the gym, but now that Tessa’s clearly waited for me, I feel bad taking any longer.

  “Nope.” I pull on my coat and scarf. “Not lately.” If by lately you mean in the least two years or so. “You?”

  As we make our way out of the gym, Tessa chatters on about a guy in Omega Nu she’s hoping will ask her to some party or other this weekend, but I’m only half listening. Being in a five-block radius of the gym, I can’t help my eyes darting all around, keeping an eye out for Mase’s standout height. Tessa’s distraction efforts are sweet, but they’re not working. Nothing’s working. I hate this, and I don’t know how to fix it.

  I don’t even understand how it—how I—got so broken.

  • • •

  Oddly, it isn’t the last I hear of the Omega Nu party that week. Jake and I hit the library the following night to talk about our project and get some homework done, since neither my room—which now contains a violin player, I learned upon returning to the suite last night—nor Jake’s frat house makes for particularly ideal study conditions. We’ve been reading silently side by side for maybe twenty minutes when he says, “Hey, any chance you wanna come to this fraternity thing Friday night?”

  I glance over at him. “With you?”

  He laughs. “Yeah, with me. Does that make the offer more or less enticing?”

  “Oh, hush.” I whack him on the arm. “Sure, I should be free.” A funny little feeling churns in my stomach as I say it, though. Usually when I go to parties, it’s with Lizzie and Frankie or a couple of the lax girls on my arm, and I feel the need to make sure we’re on the same page. “As friends, right?” Jake’s cute, but—

  “Yes, as friends. Man, you are tough, girl. Would you believe there are plenty of other ladies on campus who’d love a piece of the Moss Man?”

  “Actually, I would, which is why I’m confused as to why you’re not taking one of them. Hell, I’m surprised you didn’t ask me about Frankie.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Do you think she’d come?”

  “Depends how talented you are.”

  It takes him a few seconds to get the double entendre, and then he bursts out laughing. Everyone in the library turns to glare at us as I clamp my hand over his mouth. But then I start laughing too, and people are not pleased. We force ourselves to calm down, and I shake my head. “God, I’ve been spending too much time with Lizzie Brandt.”

  “I approve,” he says with a grin, blue eyes twinkling. “But would she? Come to the party, I mean.”

  “It’s possible. Though she’s working pretty hard on my suitemate right now.”

  “Your suitemate?”

  “Samara. She’s new.” I pause. “You did know Frankie’s pan, right?”

  “Pan?”

  “Pansexual.” He blinks. “Attracted to all genders,” I add.

  “Isn’t that just bi? What makes her pan?”

  “The fact that she spent three weeks last year fucking a non-binary kid in her Italian class?” I shrug. “Loudly, I might add.”

  He shakes his head. “Okay, I didn’t really follow any of that.”

  “Spend more time with Frankie,” I suggest. “You learn a lot.”

  “Good to know. But I think I’ll stick with you this time around, if you’re still up for it.”

  “Super flattered that you’ll settle for me.” I smile so he knows I’m kidding. “Yeah, I’m still up for it.” Why not, right? Free booze and a night off from thinking about my family and Mase sounds like exactly what I need. Plus, Jake and I are just friends, which makes things gloriously uncomplicated.

  “Cool.” He turns back to his book, twirling his pen through his fingers.

  Cool. We get back to work and push through for another hour, but after that, we both start burning out so fast, there’s no point in going on. We agree to call it a night, and start packing up our stuff. “Do you wanna meet up again on Sunday?” I ask. “Get it over with bright and early over breakfast at the diner.”

  “Can’t,” Jake says sourly, stuffing his notebook in his backpack. “Gotta head to church.”

  “Oh! I didn’t know you were religious.”

  “I’m not; Mason’s new rule—we’ve all gotta do community service with their pee wee basketball team once a month. Now I’ve gotta spend my Sunday morning teaching a bunch of little kids how to shoot a ball. Fucking pain in my ass.”

  I hide my smile behind my own notebooks as I tuck them back in my bag. This is another Mase-ism I know from the good ol’ days. He grew up on basketball at his church community center in West Philly; they actually helped sponsor him for Stone Creek. He always said he wanted to give back someday. Go figure he’d take the entire team with him.

  It sounds like fun, honestly. I haven’t played basketball in forever, though I used to love to. When you’re a 5’11” girl, you hear a lot of people guessing it’ll be your sport, but I knew the instant I first grabbed a crosse in gym class that I wanted to be on the field, not the court. Still, I was pretty decent, and a little runtime on the hardwood plus some good karma points sound like exactly what I need. “How ’bout I join you, and then we can work on this stuff afterward?”

  He shrugs. “Sure. Hell, maybe you can distract Mason so he can stop being such a pain in my ass.”

  My eyebrows shoot up before I can stop them. “He’ll be there?”

  “Pretty sure he’s there every Sunday morning,” says Jake. “That’s what I hear, anyway.”

  Huh. I’m guessing he won’t be quite as glad for company as Jake, but for better or for worse, I’m joining the boys on Sunday. And if it forces Mase to talk to me, all the better.

  Tessa never manages to wrangle that invite to the party, so when Jake and I show up at Gilded, the club where it’s being held, I’m not sure who I’ll know inside. I do know that the underwire of my strapless bra is digging into my boob, and there’d better be some top-shelf liquor inside to make up for the fact that I had to wear an actual dress to this thing.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me when you invited me that this was a fancy event,” I mutter at Jake as he holds the door open for me. “A girl needs so much more warning when dressing up is involved. Especially a tall girl with a limited collection of both dresses and heels.”

  “Yeah, but I actually wanted you to show up,” he says with a grin.

  “You suck.”

  “Oh come on. This’ll be fun.”

  I roll my eyes but let him take my arm and pull me inside. It’s not that I don’t like going out, but I’m more of a dive bar kinda girl—I’m not crazy about going anywhere I can’t wear jeans.

  This is definitely not a jeans kind of party.

  Omega Nu is the athletes’ frat, which means I do know a bunch of these guys, but they aren’t all as decent as Jake. Some of them see the female athletes on campus as part of the group, and some of them think we’re a joke. Naturally, I think the latter group can go fuck themselves, and I think it double when I see their ringleader, Carlton Hamp, leering at me as he gets himself a drink.

  There’s no escaping him; he makes his way over to us as soon as he slaps a tip on the bar. I brace myself for what’s sure to be an obnoxious greeting. “Hey, Moss,” he says with a nod at Jake. Then he turns to me, leering. “Lax Girl. I already told you—Omega Nu is for athletes; girls just built like NBA players need not apply.” He looks me up and down. “You do clean up pretty good though.”

  “Carlton, step away from me before I throw your own drink in your face.”

  He laughs, and Jake curls an arm around my shoulders. “Dude, she’s my date. Fuck off.” He says it like he’s kidding, though—like “Do not be the reason I don’t get laid tonight”—and it makes me flinch out of his grip.

  “I think it’s time to get drinks, don’t you?” I ask Jake.

  Carlton snorts. “Good luck with that one, Moss.”

&n
bsp; I don’t bother watching them to see what kind of glance they exchange; my eyes are already on the liquid prize.

  As Jake gets me a vodka tonic and himself a Jack and Coke, I survey the room, checking to see who I know. Quentin from Econ is there, and he nods a hello when I catch his eye across the room, though I don’t know his date. There are a couple of guys from the tennis team I’ve hung out with before, and a football player I went on a date with my first semester that could not have ended quickly enough.

  Then I catch a glimpse of a dark-brown head above the rest of the crowd, and my heart thuds. Mase.

  The guy turns. It isn’t Mase—it’s Xavier Thomas, last year’s captain of the basketball team.

  I let out a breath that’s equal parts relief and disappointment.

  “Here you go, milady.” Jake hands me my glass, and I take a long sip of the cold, clear, bitter drink. “Whoa there. Don’t you have your season opener tomorrow?”

  “Don’t remind me.” I take another sip. Mase. Lax. So many things to drink away.

  “Aye aye, captain.” He drinks from his own glass, then says, “Come on, let’s go say hi to XO.”

  We do, and from Quentin I get introduced to a couple other guys, and by the next time I glance at my watch, an entire hour has passed and it’s actually been pretty fun. Even though my date’s brain seems to be somewhere else.

  “Remember that, Moss?” Darrell Watkins is saying, gesturing with a bottle of Heineken. “Fuck, that was hilarious.”

  But it’s obvious looking at Jake that he’s totally spaced out on this conversation, and it isn’t the first time tonight. “I’m sure Jake would never be involved in something as juvenile as drawing a dick on a mascot’s head,” I tease, trying to help bring him back.

  It takes a second before it clicks, and then he cracks up. “Oh, shit, yeah, man. Fucking UConn. Those assholes deserved it, though.”

  “For real.” Jake’s moved on to beer too now, and he clicks his Stella against Darrell’s Heineken. Darrell keeps talking, but I watch as Jake’s eyes drift off again. And this time, I follow them.

  I don’t know who he’s staring at; all I see is a flash of long brown hair disappearing around the corner, presumably to go to the bathroom. I only know a couple of the girls at the party, but if Jake’s got his eye on another guy’s date, that’s probably not gonna go over too well.

  When he declares, “I gotta go piss—I’ll be right back,” I have the sinking feeling that he’s about to do something dumb. But there’s nothing I can do or say about it, so I just say, “Okay, cool,” and reach out a hand to take his beer to hold.

  He doesn’t give it over, though. Instead, he tosses it back and drains it, even though there was half the bottle left. Then he walks off in the direction I just saw the brunette going, putting the empty bottle on a table along the way.

  No one else seems to notice anything strange, so I just stick around, talking to Darrell, Quentin, their dates, and the other guys and girls who wander in and out.

  Eventually, inevitably, the conversation turns to the new assistant coach.

  “He’s such a fucking hardass,” Greg Parsons complains. “I know he’s bitter ’n shit about not being able to play anymore, but he doesn’t have to be such a fucking dickwad.”

  I brace myself on Mase’s behalf, stifling the urge to defend him, especially since I know it’s the last thing he’d want from me.

  “You deserved him calling you out on your runtimes, dude,” says Darrell. “Time to lay off the enchiladas.”

  While the guys continue making fun of each other and talking shit about Mase, I excuse myself to go look for Jake. Not that I really want to go looking for him, but I wanna hear about my ex-boyfriend even less, and I have nothing else to do at this party right now. But when I walk down the same hallway he turned, all I see are closed bathroom doors.

  Seems weird to linger outside the bathroom, waiting for him, but I’m not really sure how else to occupy myself. I pull my phone out of the clutch I borrowed from Frankie, but before I can even light up the screen, the door to one of the bathrooms opens, and a flash of long brown braids catch my eye.

  And they aren’t attached to a girl.

  “Uh, hey.” The guy glances behind him as he pulls the door shut. “I, uh…” He scratches his head, and I try to figure out why he looks so familiar. Then it hits me—he’s a Radleigh running back. Troy something. I’ve never met him, but he’s looking at me like he knows who I am.

  Then his eyes dart back to the door, and I realize why.

  “Let me guess,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “Still occupied?”

  Troy swallows. He’s a pretty hulking guy—at least 6’4”, 240—but he’s not even making eye contact with me right now.

  “Get back to the party,” I tell him with a sigh. “Your secret’s plenty safe with me. I’d just like a minute with my ‘date.’”

  He gives me a jerky nod, and then bolts.

  I rap on the door with the back of my hand. “I’m coming in, so your pants better be on, Moss.” I push it open without waiting for a response.

  Thankfully, they are, but it doesn’t make him look any happier to see me. His face drains of color. “Cait. Fuck.”

  “Nice to see you too.” I lock the door and lean back against it. “You could’ve told me I’m here to be your beard, Jake.”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  I roll my eyes. “Of course it’s what I think. For fuck’s sake, do you really think you need to lie to me about this? Not to pull the ‘I have a queer friend’ card, but you realize Frankie is practically a sister to me, right?”

  His shoulders slump. “Yeah, that’s kinda why I was hoping you’d hook me up with her. I thought it’d be cool to…I don’t know what. Have a buddy, I guess. But you really can’t tell anyone, Cait. Please. Not just for me but—”

  “I would never,” I say firmly. “I would never, ever out a friend, Jake. Or even a guy I just met for three seconds in the hallway. I prom—”

  A knock at the door snaps both of us to wide-eyed attention. “I gotta piss!” a drunken male voice yells from the other side. “Hurry up!”

  “Oh, shit.” I didn’t think Jake could look any more terrified, but I swear he’s gone translucent. “What do we do?”

  I take one look at Jake and I know there’s only one answer to that question. I turn to the mirror, allow myself one brief moment to appreciate the meticulous curls Samara styled with her curling iron, and then muss the hell out of my hair. Then I rub my thumb across my red lipstick and turn back to Jake, swiping it across his lower lip. I glance at his outfit and decide it doesn’t need any more rumpling; Troy did a pretty good job there.

  Then, while Jake’s mouth is still hanging open, I unlock and yank open the door. “Sorry about that,” I say sweetly to the yeller, who turns out to be none other than Carlton. “Bathroom’s free now.”

  Jake follows me out, and when I glance back, I see he’s got a completely believable “Just got nailed” smile pasted on. I bite my tongue as he accepts high fives from random guys as we make our way back through the party, and as soon as we get to a slightly less crowded area, I feel hands grasp my waist. “Thank you,” Jake whispers in my ear. “I owe you one.”

  I nod toward the bar. “I think I know how you can pay up.”

  “Deal.” One hand remains on my waist as we make our way through the partiers, and I can’t help noticing how nice it feels. I’ve fooled around a little here and there, but lately I keep feeling…partnership pangs, or something.

  Just as quickly as the thought pops into my head, I feel like an idiot. I haven’t given a shit about that in years. I’m clearly getting screwed up by all the coupling going on around me—Lizzie and Connor, Jake and Troy…and then there’s Mase.

  No, there is actually Mase, reaching the bar a second before we do, wearing a dark-blue shirt that looks annoyingly good on him. Though he’s still an undergrad—presumably a junior, since he’s a year ol
der than I am—the fact that he’s a student coach makes him a weird hybrid authority figure that means there’s no way he’s a candidate for Omega Nu. And considering the guys don’t seem to appreciate how hard he’s riding them (if only they knew quite how good he is at that), it’s hard to imagine he was invited.

  And yet, there he is.

  “Hey, Mason,” Jake says cheerfully upon spotting him. He sounds genuine, and for some reason, I like the fact that Jake’s not among the contingent that wants Mase dead. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” He extends the hand that isn’t around my waist to slap Mase’s, and Mase reciprocates.

  “Moss,” he says with a nod. “And—” He turns to me, and whatever he was gonna say dies on his tongue. His eyes flicker downward for only a fraction of a moment, just enough to take in Jake’s arm wrapped around me, and then he regains himself so quickly that I know no one would’ve noticed the slip if they hadn’t been looking for it.

  I was definitely looking for it.

  “Cait Johannssen,” he says with a slow smile. An of fucking course you’re here smile. “Should’ve guessed.”

  “You guys know each other?” Jake looks between us.

  “I know her roommate very well,” he says smoothly.

  “Pretty sure everyone knows her roommate very well,” Jake replies with a smirk.

  I turn to glare at Jake. “A) Frankie isn’t my roommate, or even my suitemate anymore, and B) you say a bad word about her and I will cut off your fucking tongue.”

  He holds up both hands in surrender. “Kidding, kidding. You know I’m a Frankie fan.”

  Ugh. The sleaze he’s trying to project now in the name of hetero-showmanship is just annoying me, and if he thinks he needs to do it for Mase’s benefit, he should probably meet the super-gay little brother Mase adores. “Just get me that drink you promised, will you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Any requests?”

  “Surprise me.”

  Jake nods and pushes into the crowd.