I Promise You

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  Chantal did call, and we are going out. I’m looking forward to it because I never go anywhere. Plus, she’s helping me with football jargon, and I owe her some drinks. “You’re welcome to come,” I offer, wondering how anyone can tell a girl like her no. I’ve been a fan of Mila Kunis since Bad Moms.

  She squeals and gives me another hug, this one tighter as she whispers in my ear. “He’s deliciously sweet underneath that cockiness, isn’t he?” She winks as we pull apart.

  I start. Something is up with her reasons for being in this competition, because it can’t be for Dillon, can it?

  “I have an idea,” Bambi says as she crooks her arm in mine. “Chantal said your girls’ night is at Cadillac’s tomorrow, right?”

  “Yeah.” I get a sinking feeling.

  “Why don’t we all meet you there? It will be fun. All of us together.” Her gaze sweeps over the group. “We’ll play pool for a prize,” Bambi adds, a gleam in her eyes. “And Serena will compete—”

  “She’s not in the contest,” Ashley interrupts. “She doesn’t even go to the formal. She’s not an active Theta, didn’t hold a real office—”

  “Oh, please,” Bambi says. “She’s a Theta and I want to get to know her.”

  “I second all of that,” Sawyer adds.

  Ashley fumes, her face flushing. “Dillon, this isn’t fair.”

  “It’s fair,” he replies to Ashley, still holding my eyes with an intensity that makes me quake. “But I don’t think Serena likes the contest.”

  “Then she shouldn’t play,” Ashley declares.

  “Scared I’ll win?” I chirp, glancing at her.

  She sniffs. “No.”

  I turn to Dillon and he’s moved closer to me. Let’s ditch them and get out of here, his eyes seem to say.

  I fidget. Need to get out of here before I take him up on that offer.

  “Please, Serena. You don’t have to be part of the contest per se, but I insist you at least hang out with us. Are you any good at pool?” Bambi says, sending me a pleading look.

  “There’s a cue stick,” I say vaguely.

  “There, Ashley, does that make you happy? She won’t win.” Bambi smiles at her.

  Ashley shrugs, her eyes hard, but she puts a smile on as she grudgingly says, “Whatever. If you want her to play, fine with me.”

  “Just this once, Serena?” Bambi implores. “Come on, say yes.”

  Sawyer cocks an eyebrow at me. “You in for some fun?”

  My eyes are firmly not looking at Dillon. Do I want to hang out with Ashley while she competes for Dillon’s attention? Hell no. But this was my night out, and nothing is keeping me from it. “I’ll be at Cadillac’s tomorrow.”

  I rush out a goodbye and flip around.

  “Serena, let me walk you—” comes from Dillon as he attempts to follow me, but I cut him off with a hand over my back. As long as he has an entourage, I just can’t go there. Yeah, I’ll play pool with them, but…

  “Later,” I say, my feet moving fast until I’m at a jog and out the door.

  13

  “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails plays from the speakers in the den, the song drifting into my room as I rifle through my closet for something to wear to Cadillac’s. Nope, not the button-up shirt (dressy and screams trying too hard), and no, not anything loose (I need to show off my assets), and not the Henley (it’s too damn hot). Yeah! I snag a faded navy Tigers shirt with the orange paw on the pocket. It’s an oldie, all the way back to my sophomore days, and it’s snug, but not too snug. Passed a killer psychology test and won a wet T-shirt contest with it last year.

  “You gonna stare into your closet all night, bro?” It’s Sawyer from the door. “Ah, the lucky shirt.”

  “Don’t need luck,” I lie as I slip the shirt on and tuck it loosely into my jeans. The orange Converse are next. The truth is, she brushed me off—after getting off. A long sigh comes from me. So, yeah, I want another chance. I did avoid her after I took her car to her. She cut her nana off while she was inviting us, and I get it, I do. We just showed up out of the blue, and Serena is what I call a “runner”. Because of Vane, she’s built a fortress around herself. Yeah, I asked for the kiss as payment for her car, but got nervous about it later and wondered if I put her in the uncomfortable position of agreeing.

  When she’s around, my usual charm is just poof, gone. I’ve never been this unsure over a girl. I don’t need more anxiety. I mean, freshman year, I imagined the day I’d find her, but now that it’s here… What if I fuck this up? What if I’ve built up this idea of her and she’s just going to mess with my head?

  Sure, she remembers me at the bonfire, but she was in love with another man.

  I adored him. Those were her words. I frown.

  “Just nail her. I’m sick of your moping.”

  My brow furrows as I give him a sharp look. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

  His voice is surprised. “So it’s like that. I apologize. You’re gonna be cuddling up and watching Netflix in no time.”

  “This coming from the guy who teared up at A Star is Born, The Big Sick, and Crazy Rich Asians, which is a comedy.” My words are grouchy. I’m thinking about Vane and Serena together as a couple. My hands clench. I’m assuming she went home with Vane the night of the bonfire—was in his arms. I push those images out of my head.

  “I had a cold. It was a sniffle, and you swore you’d never tell anyone that.” He tucks his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “First of all, A Star is Born has been made four times. It’s iconic, and if a person doesn’t cry when watching it, they’re a psychopath. Second, The Big Sick is original. She’s in a coma, and they somehow manage to have a relationship. Third, Crazy Rich Asians portrays a rich heritage that I appreciate, and you have to admit, the scenery is amazing. Constance Wu is drop-dead gorgeous—”

  “Ah, you do love brunettes.”

  He starts, his eyes narrowing. “I prefer blondes. This is law. I’ve proclaimed it many times.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You’re insinuating something. Spit it out.”

  I’ve noticed this past week who he’s been eyeing lately, and she isn’t blonde.

  He leans against the doorjamb. “Anyway. Tonight’s like a date for you and Serena.”

  I fidget in front of the mirror. Damn, my hair needs a cut. “Technically, it’s girls’ night, and you and Bambi weaseled us an invite.”

  “You’re nervous.”

  I am. “Never.”

  “You keep touching your hair. Sadly, you don’t enjoy romantic movies, so you can’t wow her with your sappy side. Let’s prep what not to do. These rules are foolproof and came straight from my dearly departed granny. Ready?”

  I adored that woman. I went home with Sawyer several times on the weekends during the off-season. She baked us cookies and enjoyed scary movies. She gave me hugs like I was her own. When she passed away last summer, I drove to Georgia, went to the funeral, and spent two weeks with Sawyer, helping him get her things packed up. Thinking of her makes me soften. “If Granny had rules, they must have been from God’s own lips. Go for it.”

  He nods, hearing the respect in my voice and accepting it. “Obviously, don’t talk about her ex, the famous Vane Winchester. You’re already in the con column because you’re three years younger—”

  “Two! I’m almost twenty-two!”

  “—and a college student. He’s got a voice like honey and a megawatt smile women scream over.”

  Thoughts of Vane make my hands twitch. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “Don’t forget your manners.”

  I spread my hands, exasperation rushing in as I recall the night I took her home. “I try.” Maybe I tried too hard? Yeah. I was overbearing. Damn.

  “Don’t stare at her tits.”

  She barely has any. And I don’t care. I just want my hands on them. I recall her against the fridge, the silky feel of her nipples in my mouth—the way she came on my fingers.

&
nbsp; “Don’t bring up the L word.”

  My eyes jerk to him and my throat dries.

  “Don’t ask if she wants to go to a strip club.”

  “Dude… I am not that bad.”

  “Don’t mention that you want ten kids. That should be introduced around date ten.”

  I gape. Kids? Maybe in the future—after I’ve found my groove in the NFL.

  “Don’t reply to any texts from other people.”

  “Jesus. What are you, Dear Abby?”

  “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain. You do it a lot. On that note, don’t ask if she’s found Jesus. Granny was pretty insistent about that one. She was a hardcore Bible thumper but wasn’t in your face about it, and she respected other people’s religion.”

  I know what he’s doing. He’s seen me in a weird funk for the past few weeks and wants to lighten me up.

  “Make her laugh. Best way to bond. Women like funny guys.”

  “I’m funny?”

  “And if her nana comes up, see if you can wrangle an invite to their chicken and waffles again.”

  I arch a brow at the wistful tone in his voice. He misses Granny. “Nana is a little different.” Like Serena.

  “The best ones are.”

  “Is that all, o wise one?”

  “I’ll come up with more later.” He pivots to leave, singing “Witchy Woman”.

  After he’s gone, I dash to the bathroom and try to fix my hair, running a hand through it. She likes my hair…right? I falter, my hand dropping. I brush my teeth, again, and study my reflection.

  “You’re pretty enough,” Troy calls as he darts in and edges around me, grabs the cologne and lets loose a long spritz, spreads his arms and walks through it. “Ah, yeah, that’s it. The smell of salt and sun, come to me.”

  I choke as some of it drifts over and hits me in the face. “Winter Soldier dabs on gasoline and gun oil before he goes out.”

  Troy freezes. “She won’t even talk to me.”

  No need to ask who…

  “Ah, sorry. Maybe dress all in black? Leave the cowboy hat at home. Tame your hair.”

  “Tame?”

  “You know what I mean. You look like a wild man with that frizz. Bigfoot,” I say with a laugh, thinking of Serena. “Use some product.”

  He scrunches up his face and looks at his hair, then digs around on the counter and holds up a tube of gel. “This?” He reads the text on the container. “Strong hold, brilliant shine, style versatility… Are you sure?”

  “You’re a cowboy, so let me educate you.” I squirt out a dab and run it through the top of my hair in quick, expert movements, pushing the longer strands back, pulling on it a little to create volume at the top. “Just a little. You don’t want that wet gigolo look—”

  Bambi appears at the door, phone in hand as she snaps a pic. “Grooming with Dillon and Troy. Think I’ll post this. Oh, and send it to Serena so she can see what girls y’all are.”

  Sawyer’s voice comes from the den. “Tried to stop her from snooping!”

  “Guys use gel,” I say defensively.

  She grins, her nose wrinkling delicately as she taps on her phone then shoves it in Troy’s face. “Here’s a pic of the Winter Soldier. Look how he scowls—do that. Got any black football cream for your face? He’s got it around his eyes. Looks emo to me, but Chantal likes it. She talks about him a lot.”

  Troy’s face flushes, his jaw working. “Nah, hell nah. Not wearing any makeup!” He takes her phone and stares at it. “He is dressed in black…” He stares down at his green shirt, blows out a breath, and stomps out of the bathroom.

  “You’re welcome! Any time you need style advice, I’m here all day,” she calls out, gives me a smirk, and then heads back out to the den.

  My phone rings and I make a dash for my bedroom as my stomach jumps, wondering if it’s Serena.

  The phone screen shows it’s Mom, and my chest squeezes. “Mom! Hey! How are you?” It’s been several weeks since I heard her voice. Sure, we text periodically, but it’s on the surface stuff. How are classes? Are you eating well?

  “Good! Happy! You?” I picture her at some fancy locale, her blonde hair cut in a sleek, modern bob that swings against her high cheekbones. She’s a beautiful woman in her mid forties. We aren’t close, like Sawyer was to his granny, like Serena is with her family. I recall snippets of her, mostly on her way out of town.

  I’m headed to the beach with my friends, darling.

  There’s a gala I can’t miss, sweetheart. Hope you win your game.

  Give me a kiss and go ask your father, dear.

  When I was a kid, I used to cling to the dream that my parents would magically fall back in love, but that dream died the day my dad packed his bags for Malibu after my brother’s funeral. He asked me to come with him, but it was my senior year. I had college scouts coming to every game that fall and transferring to another school would have screwed up my choices. I didn’t want him to leave, but he did. Their divorce came six months later. He wanted to erase Montgomery from his mind, to forget the pain of losing Myles—but he forgot about me too.

  “I’m good. You missed my first game.”

  She sighs. “Yeah, sorry. I had to be in Paris for their Autumn Festival, but I’m back in the States.” She pauses. “I know how important it is that you’re getting to shine.” Her voice lowers. “Look, I can’t chat long. I’m at a spa in Little Rock with someone…” There’s a rustling, and I hear her talking to a person in the room, My son, yeah. A male tone replies.

  “We’ll be at LSU soon,” I say. “Little Rock isn’t that far away.” It’s several hours, but still…

  “I wish I could, darling.”

  I think about Sinclair’s mom, wearing his jersey and dancing in the stands. I squash those feelings down. This is Mom’s usual. Why am I even asking?

  I exhale. “Maybe Thanksgiving? Might be easier if you came here since I’ll have a game that weekend. We could hit a restaurant if you want, somewhere nice, maybe spend the night in Memphis—”

  She speaks to the guy in the room, her words muffled, then comes back. “Wait. Dillon, I’m on the yacht to the Virgin Islands for Thanksgiving. Theo reminded me. I should have checked with you first, but, well, it came up and we invited some friends. Can you make it?”

  No, Mom. I can’t jump on a plane to get on a yacht. I have a game. “Theo?”

  A long sigh comes from her, more rustling, as if she’s walking. “I wanted to tell you in person, but there doesn’t seem to be a good time. I’m engaged!”

  What?

  I sit down on my bed. She goes through men like shoes. Last Christmas, it was a Major League Baseball player. The year before that, it was a Greek millionaire.

  “To this Theo?”

  “You haven’t met him.”

  “No shit.”

  “Don’t be like that. Theo’s wonderful. Age-appropriate.” She laughs. “We’re planning the wedding, no date yet, but soon. We’ll come see you, um, let’s see, Christmas? I like the hotel idea. I’ll call the Peabody in Memphis today and reserve two suites.”

  The holidays with my mom and her new fiancé? I sigh. “I haven’t even met this guy and we’re gonna sing Christmas carols?”

  She sighs heavily. “You’ll like him. Don’t be mad. I just…fell in love fast. You know how it is.”

  Yeah.

  “How’s your father?”

  “He texted last week. He’s going to New York with Brianna’s family for Christmas. He asked me to come…” My voice trails off. Brianna is dad’s new wife, ten years younger than him and his former personal assistant. I passed on his invite. I’d be a stranger to Brianna’s family, and deep down, my dad doesn’t want me around.

  “Maybe next time, you can come on the yacht with us…” She details the particulars of her planned trip, the islands they’ll be stopping at, and I respond in the right places, saying what she needs to hear. When we hang up, I lie back on my bed and stare up at the ceiling, wanting
to erase the ache in my chest.

  I’m an afterthought to my mom and my dad has a new family. Loneliness creeps in, snaking over me, and I exhale. Being alone is a feeling I’m accustomed to since Myles died. He was always my little buddy, needing me. I miss him. I scrub my face, my head tumbling. People think I have it all. What a joke.

  Sawyer pops his head in and says they’re ready to go. I get up and grab my keys. I may not have a real family, but I have Sawyer. I have my team.

  She walks into Cadillac’s at eight on the nose and my body buzzes, a long breath coming from me. I feel her pull, that little something about her that makes my skin hum. This, this is how I know she never came within my vicinity in the past three years, because if she had, I would have known.

  She is so damn hot. Devastating.

  Every male in the place looks at her.

  Some of the girls, too, with sweeping gazes of envy.

  I groan. She’s wearing a pair of tiny black dressy shorts that hug her ass and a filmy red shirt with spaghetti straps. It has a split around the midriff, and her belly button piercing flashes. Red heels are on her feet, showcasing her tanned legs.

  She tosses her head and her hair is sleek and straight tonight, the color of honey and mahogany as it tumbles around her shoulders. Her eyes are thickly lashed, her full lips a deep red, currently curved up in one of her cute smirks as she takes the place in.

  My breathing increases as she glides through the crowd then stops at the bar to order a drink. The bartender stares at her with hungry eyes and rushes over.

  “Whoa,” Sawyer murmurs from his seat next to me. “Damn, she cleans up good. I can see her with a rock star…” He laughs. “She is so out of your league, man. Hot, feisty, doesn’t care who you are—”