She doesn’t have the money for an Uber. Her Toyota is old, and there’s a dent in the bumper. She winced when she paid for her groceries.
“Hey, Babycakes,” Ashley calls from behind me. “You coming? I won and get to ride up front with you, wahoo! Can we listen to my songs? I have a playlist—”
“Sure, sweetheart, whatever,” I call back, cutting her off, barely listening because Four Dragons has swiped up her bags from the car and is marching across the parking lot. I hear the clinking of the beer bottles as they bounce against each other.
“Hey!” I shout at her back. “Where are you going?”
“Walking home, duh,” she says as I jog up next to her.
“Can’t you call someone? A friend?”
“I know how to take care of myself.” She throws her chin in the air—so proud—and picks up her pace, but she’s no match for my long legs.
“You’re running from me like you’re scared. Are you?”
“No, Damon, I’m not. You annoy me. You refused to hand over just one package of Oreos because I wasn’t attractive enough for you.”
“I never said you weren’t attractive!”
“It was on your face.”
“No, it wasn’t. Look, let me call you an Uber.”
“I don’t want an Uber, thank you.”
“I just want to help.” I’m worried about her. She’s barely holding on to all those bags.
We’ve reached the edge of the parking lot and she’s about to step onto the sidewalk. A big truck roars past us on the road a few feet away, and my gut clamors for her to stop, protective instincts flaring. “Come on, let’s put aside the fact that we don’t like each other. Since you don’t want the Uber, let me give you a ride.”
“I don’t know who you are.”
“I’m Dillon McQueen, the quarterback for the Tigers. I promise, you know me.”
Her brows arch. “Um, never heard of you.”
I take my cap off and rub at my disheveled hair as I laugh. Sure, sure. Keep saying that…
“You’ll have to skirt around a few bars and dark alleys, and you’re on your own with all those bags.”
She inhales the humid night air, making her chest rise. She’s maybe a B cup, but it’s hard to tell in that loose shirt. My eyes linger there, watching as she breathes.
I can see the wheels in her mind turning, debating as she flicks her eyes down the darkened busy street, taking in the multiple red lights, and then back to me, her top teeth worrying her bottom lip.
“You think I’m a jerk,” I say as I shrug, trying to be nonchalant and non-threatening. “I’m not, you know. I help old ladies cross the street, volunteer at the local schools. Cats like me, and they’re finicky. Not gonna kidnap you. Plus, my posse is with me. You’re fine.”
“Posse…ugh.” She scrunches her nose up. “And?”
“You want more?”
“Please. I want to hear all about how awesome you are.”
I squint my eyes. She is infuriating. Why am I still talking to her?
Several moments pass as she searches my face, and then she looks back at her car, uncertainty on her face. “Alright, you convinced me. I live off Highland on Burgundy Street, if it’s not too much trouble? Thank you.”
“Cool. Driving past there anyway.” Not on the way at all.
“You love it that you have the upper hand now, don’t you?”
I huff under my breath. She thinks I have the upper hand? Holy… She ran circles around me in the Piggly Wiggly, and now I’m chasing her across a parking lot?
“Right.” I tuck my hands in the pockets of my pants—and her gaze follows, as if she can’t help it, lingering on my crotch. I smirk.
The streetlight illuminates one half of her face, devoid of makeup, a smattering of freckles dotting her dainty nose. Our eyes cling, and I’m aware of the moon coming out from behind the clouds above us, illuminating the hue of her eyes.
“Champagne,” I murmur.
A frown puckers her brow. “What?”
I’m silent, just taking in the long lashes behind those glasses. My fingers itch to rip that ugly hat off her head. I want a good look at her.
Her shoulders rise and fall. “Stop staring.”
“You’re staring at me.”
Her lips twitch, barely. “We sound like toddlers.”
“It’s your fault.”
“No, it’s yours.” She dips her head, as if hiding a smile, then glances back up at me and I’m snared. I can’t see much of her, one high cheekbone, a pointy chin, the pulse at her throat…
Cars whiz past and moments tick by, me looking at her, her looking back. A buzzing sensation runs over my body—
One of the girls, probably Ashley, blows the horn on the Escalade.
I let out a groan of frustration. “Dammit!”
“Your posse is waiting.” She whips around and heads to my car.
4
“You girls want a beer?” she says from the back seat a few minutes later as I pull out of the parking lot. I watch Four Dragons in the mirror as she looks over at her seatmates, Chantal and Bambi. They got chummy before I even got to the car. They probably got her name and I didn’t. Fine. I’m not asking her again.
The girls decline while she opens one, takes a swig, and chokes.
“Love it, huh?” I say, my eyes holding hers in the mirror.
She takes another drink—just to spite me. “Wonderful balance, a little toasty with a hint of biscuit. Might pair well with a cookie.” She bends down and I hear packaging tearing as she rustles around then pops back up with three Oreos clenched in her teeth.
“You’re opening my stuff?” I snarl, my voice incredulous.
“Obviously,” she says.
The girls pause and dart their eyes between us.
“You two know each other?” Chantal asks.
“No,” I say as Four Dragons snips, “As if.”
“Seems like you do. Could cut the tension in here with a knife,” Chantal chirps as she takes a cookie from the sleeve. The girls tilt their heads together, talking, most of which I can’t hear, so I turn down the music.
Ashley pouts and pokes me in the arm. “Hey, that’s my playlist I made for you.”
“I’ll listen to it later, ’kay?” I tell her, my tone distracted. Did I just have a moment with Four Dragons in the parking lot? Nah. It was a fluke. She doesn’t like me; I don’t like her.
Ashley huffs then turns around to the girls in the back and says, “I’ve never seen you on campus, Serena. What’s your major? Are you in a sorority?”
Serena! I rack my brain for a girl with that name but come up empty.
“I’m a grad student in journalism. I pledged Theta freshman year, then went inactive,” she says.
“Oh no. What happened?” Bambi asks.
Serena pauses, her brow wrinkling. “Um, my parents passed away my sophomore year. I tried to be part of the sorority, but I had to get a job and didn’t have time to do the activities.” A long sigh comes from her. “Plus, the dues were pricey.” She says it matter-of-factly, but there’s heaviness in her words.
“Oh, wow, sorry about your parents. That must have been tough,” Chantal says quietly. “But, hey, small world. We’re Thetas. You still know the secret handshake?”
Serena laughs as they do something weird with their hands.
“I’m thrilled to meet an alum,” Bambi says. “We all pledged three years ago. We’re seniors now.”
Ashley frowns at Serena. “You don’t look like a Theta.”
“We don’t all look the same, Ashley. Chill out,” Bambi says. “She’s one of us.”
“I was a junior when y’all were freshmen, so I was already gone.” She grins wryly. “My picture is up in the house if you want to check. I was president of my pledge class. My last name is Jensen.”
“I’m the current president,” is Ashley’s curt reply.
The girls, being nosy and maybe a bit intrigued by the way she defied
me in the checkout line then me chasing her through the parking lot, slam her with questions: how old is she (twenty-four), where’s she from (Magnolia), who does she know (a few people they do), does she like football (no), what does she do in her free time (yoga and sewing). Sounds boring.
They continue to bombard her with questions, but she skillfully turns the conversation to them, asking about their majors, where they’re from, and the party we’re headed to. She compliments them on their leather attire, even asking Ashley where she got her dress. She talks to Bambi and Chantal about where they’re applying to graduate school next year, offering tips and advice about the process. I’m listening to every word, analyzing her. She’s much nicer to them than she was to me.
“So, you three and Drake,” Serena says later as she licks at a piece of chocolate wafer at the corner of her mouth, “I can’t help but notice you’re all together. It feels like an episode of The Bachelor, campus style. How do you manage? Set up a schedule? Rock paper scissors for a night in his, um, bed?”
Ashley glares at her. “His name is Dillon.”
“Oh,” she replies innocently. “I don’t follow lacrosse.”
I roll my eyes. Her smartass remarks don’t bug me like it did in the store. She’s doing it on purpose, obviously, which means she wants to get under my skin.
They give her a confused look, and then Bambi, who’s one of the kindest, most genuine girls at Waylon, offers, “He plays football, honey. You were inactive when the Thetas started the tradition to partner with the team. We pick three girls, usually officers, and we all get to spend time with the selected player. Then he’ll take one of us to the Fall Ball. It’s a lot of fun and we get to hang out with the team during the contest. It’s considered bad luck not to do it. Athletes are very superstitious.”
I make a turn onto Highland, keeping my eyes peeled for her street. “I’m sure Serena doesn’t want to know the details of our contest.”
Oh, but I do, her eyes tell me in the mirror.
And why is that, my eyes say back.
Serena nibbles on her cookie. “Tell me, how did you girls meet him?”
“He sat next to me in art class freshman year, and as soon as I realized he played football, I was a fan,” comes from Bambi. “My dad’s an NFL player so I grew up in the culture.”
The guys on the team consider Bambi our little mascot.
“I met him at Cadillac’s, he’s hot, plus I’m not seeing anyone right now,” Chantal explains with a dismissive shrug.
I hide my smile. Out of the three, she’s the one most likely to ditch me.
“I’ve known him since freshman year, and he danced with me at our Theta party last spring. Three times, and you know what they say about three: it’s the magic number…” Ashley gushes as she reaches over to stroke my arm.
“You’re all half in love with him, I suppose?” Serena inquires.
“You ask a lot of questions,” Ashley retorts.
“I’m a writer,” Serena says with a shrug. “Actually, I’m interning for the Magnolia Gazette. I answer letters in the ‘Asking For A Friend’ advice column.”
“Huh. Is that why you know how many ridges an Oreo has?” I ask.
“I collect random facts, yes. It’s a quirk.”
“Oh my God! I’ve read that,” declares Chantal, turning in the seat to give Serena her full attention. “You’re hilarious. I loved the one from the girl who said her boyfriend had to dress up like a superhero to have sexy times.”
“Oh? What did you tell her?” Bambi asks.
Serena laughs, the sound husky. “I told her role-playing is fun as long as it’s consensual. I might have said Spiderman could bite me any time. And Thor—hello, bring out the hammer. Then there’s Benedict Cumberbatch as Doctor Strange, and Chris Pratt as Star-Lord, and who can forget Henry Cavill as Superman? Those lips are to die for, and of course Ironman—”
“We get it,” I snap. “You have a fetish for capes.” Irrational jealousy fires over me.
“It’s Black Panther for me,” Bambi whispers to Serena.
“Winter Soldier,” Chantal throws in. “His long hair, mmmm…”
Ashley traces her red nails down my arm. “I don’t fantasize about superheroes. I’d pick you any day, Dillon.”
I give her a look. Maybe I’ll cozy up to her tonight. I’ve yet to mess around with any of them, and she’s been giving me the fuck me, please eyes all week…
“Everyone wants Dillon,” Bambi says. “He’s perfect.”
“He is so perfect,” Serena says sweetly as our eyes hold in the mirror.
“What is love anyway? At this point, I just want some great sex,” Chantal tells the car.
Serena holds her beer up in salute. “Vibrator. All day long.”
“You just ran that stop sign, Dillon!” Chantal calls out as she and Bambi giggle.
Dammit. I ease up on the accelerator. Must stop looking at her in the mirror! I shift around in the seat to ease my erection. That’s what I get for imagining Serena’s orgasm face.
“Honestly, we’re doing the contest because Dillon is a great guy. Plus, there’s the competition,” says Chantal. “I love to win. I’m the current vice president.”
“Speaking of love, I miss my Pekingese. Her name was Taffy,” Bambi says randomly. “The feeling isn’t romantic, of course, but I never had any siblings and she kept me company. People say you can’t really care for dogs like people, but you can. She died of old age my freshman year. I never got to say goodbye.” She whips out her phone and shows Serena a picture, presumably Taffy. Serena coos at the image, murmuring her condolences. Chantal leans over and commiserates with them.
I realize they’ve lowered their voices in the back.
“…boyfriend?” Bambi asks.
My eyes cling to Serena’s face, watching expressions flit over her features. She takes a swig of beer, winces, then says something I don’t catch. I turn the music completely off, ignoring Ashley’s protests.
“Oh, goody, tell us,” Bambi begs, clapping her hands together. “Maybe we know him.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do,” is Serena’s reply.
Hang on… Her answer was vague. Does she have a guy or not? She mentioned a vibrator, but girls do that with or without a guy. I give myself a mental shake. Why do I care if she has a guy?
“Amen.” Chantal nods. “Hey, do you want to come to the party with us? Trust me, there’s nothing like athletes. I know some guys you should meet.”
Okay, so no boyfriend.
Who does Chantal want her to meet?
“Sawyer is hot,” Bambi says. “Dark hair, tight muscles, loves to sing.”
“And Troy,” Chantal muses. “Huh. I wonder if he’d wear a Winter Soldier outfit…”
“Please come!” Bambi gushes. “I’d love to get to know you. And if you like the guys and want to come to a game, I’ll find you a jersey, crop it, bedazzle it.”
“She has to go see her nana at the nursing home. Isn’t that right?” I say. “Which is interesting—you’d think all the old people would be in bed by now.”
“Trust me, my nana is up, and she’d resent being called an old person. Meh, I may have lied about the nursing home. My nana is on a date with her man. I’ll take you up on the invitation next time, Chantal.” I hear Serena rattling off her digits.
“Here’s my place,” she says a few seconds later, tapping the back of my seat. “On the right. Just park on the street.”
I pull over to the curb of an older two-story house with white siding and a detached, two-story garage. My headlights drape over the rundown residence, a faded red shutter askew on the front, weeds in the flower beds, an overgrown yard. Her streetlight is burned out, shrouding the area in darkness.
I’m out of the car in a heartbeat and open the door for her. She gives me a surprised glance as I grab the bags at her feet at the same time she does. We tussle over who’s going to carry them. She gives up with a puzzled expression and steps down to the street
. She stumbles over the curb and my hand reaches for her elbow, catching her before she falls. The brush of her skin against mine makes goosebumps rise on my arm.
We disentangle, both of us giving each other wary looks.
The girls call out goodbyes to her as I walk toward the house and she follows.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“I’m walking you to your door. I want to make sure you get inside.”
She gives me an uncertain look, hesitating as she points away from the house and toward the detached garage. “I’m at the top, up there, but you don’t have to.”
I should just hand over the bags, but part of me doesn’t want to let her disappear. What if I never see her again? It’s an odd thought, but there it is. “I’d like to escort you to your door. If you don’t mind?”
She pauses. “Fine, but my steps are narrow.”
“I can handle it,” I say as I head up the driveway, eyeing the myriad of rickety wooden stairs that lead to a blue door on the second floor of the garage. The steps are narrow, some missing, and I hear the telltale groan of the wood as I climb. Her footsteps pad behind me.
I reach the top landing, and the tall trees next to the garage hide the moon, making the night almost pitch black. I notice a blown bulb inside a rusted porch light that hangs off the wall. She needs to get that fixed. What if she trips and falls off this deck one night?
The area in front of her door is small, the landing barely wide enough for us to stand without touching, but somehow Serena manages, muttering about forgetting her car keys as she eases around me and leans down to pick up a little gnome, grab a key, and put it in the lock. She cracks her door, keeping it closed so I can’t see inside.
“You need a porch light, Serena,” I say, worried for her safety, even though I sense she’s the kind of girl who knows how to take care of herself. “You shouldn’t leave your key out for anybody to find.”
“Thanks for the tip, Douglas.”
I lean down until our faces are close and our breaths mingle in the night air. She smells like cherries. “You’re gonna run out of D names soon.”
“I’ll buy a baby name book, lacrosse player.” Her lips purse.
I Promise You Page 4