I smiled, wrapping my hand gently around her forearm and guiding her down a bit so I could press a kiss to her cheek.
“Can’t wait,” I whispered.
She couldn’t hide the shy smile as she gave a small wave to the rest of the table and ducked off, weaving through the tables until she was through the doors and down the hall.
I watched her go the entire way, and the smile I wore was one of genuine surprise as I finally turned back around, grabbing my knife and fork and cutting into the pound of grilled chicken I’d piled on my plate. I had my fork halfway lifted to my mouth when my arm was elbowed harshly, and the chicken went flying down to the table.
“Bro,” Leo said, looking behind me where Giana had disappeared before he stared at me again. “What the fuck was that?”
I shrugged. “What?”
“What do you mean what?” Zeke chimed in from across the table. “Are you two… together?”
A sly smile was all I gave in answer, cutting a new bite of chicken and popping it into my mouth.
Zeke shook his head, Riley watching me cautiously from the seat beside him as Leo threw his arm around my shoulder.
“Hell fucking yeah, man. Giana is hot as fuck.”
I told myself I was still in acting mode as I went rigid at his comment, turning slowly in my seat to face him. His smile slipped, and he coughed, removing his arm from my shoulders and readjusting in his seat.
“You know. Respectfully.”
I gave him a wry smile before shaking my head and getting back to eating, and though they all waited for more details, I didn’t give a single one, and they eventually let it go and moved on to other topics of conversation.
After a few moments, I casually stretched my back, arms reaching up overhead as I twisted left and right. My gaze caught on one of the tables of cheerleaders, on a pair of warm brown eyes that had once felt like home.
Maliyah watched me with a hundred questions brewing in those irises, her jaw tight, lips almost pursed before they spread into a hesitant smile. She lifted her hand, just an inch, a small wave at me from across that crowded cafeteria.
But I simply cracked my neck and turned back around, finishing my lunch without another glance in her direction.
I wore a smug smile on my way out of that room and down the hall to the defense meeting. At least, until Holden caught up to me, pulling me to a stop.
“That was quite a show,” he commented.
“Glad you enjoyed it.”
Holden shook his head, eyes narrowing like he was onto me. “Look, I’m all for you moving on. God knows you’ve been a miserable prick since…”
He didn’t finish the sentence, probably because my glare had turned murderous daring him to.
“But… Giana is a sweet girl.”
I crossed my arms. “And what, I don’t deserve her?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“What exactly are you saying then?”
He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his chin before he looked back at me. “Just be careful, man. Okay? She’s not a rebound. She’s not the kind of girl you fool around with to make yourself feel better.”
There was something in the sincerity of his voice, in the way he looked at me with that request that rendered me without a smartass remark to combat it. I just nodded, and he did, too, before clapping me on the shoulder and heading the opposite way toward his own meeting.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Giana: Well, how’d I do?
I smirked, continuing my walk down the hall as I typed back.
Me: A triumphant performance, Kitten. A+
Giana: I almost passed out when I saw everyone staring at us.
Me: I would have caught you.
She sent back an eyeroll emoji, and then the little bubbles popped up that signaled she was typing more.
Giana: So, when’s my first lesson in seducing Shawn Stetson?
I couldn’t contain the laugh that bubbled out of me.
Me: Eager much?
This time, it was a middle finger emoji that came through.
Me: Name the time and place.
Giana: Let’s just get through Chart Day and go from there. I think I’ve had enough… excitement for one day.
Me: So kissing me was exciting, huh? I thought I felt a little wetness on my abs after I set you down…
Giana: CLAY!
Another laugh barreled out of me, and I tucked my phone back in my pocket, ducking into the meeting room. It buzzed again as soon as I sat down, and I was still wearing my cocky smirk when I pulled it back out, expecting a string of cursing texts from Giana.
But it wasn’t Giana’s name on my screen.
It was Maliyah’s.
And the waiting text only said one thing.
Hi.
Giana
It was blissfully quiet in my bedroom two nights after Chart Day, the gentle hum of the ceiling fan and crackling of my wood-wick candle the only sound. I was propped up against the headboard, fuzzy sock-covered feet folded underneath me as my latest addiction sat spread like a map in my lap.
One hand held my book open, the other kept a consistent stream of crunchy Cheetos flowing from the bowl beside me into my mouth. My eyes raced across the pages, heart picking up its pace as Nino wrapped his hand around Francesca’s throat and pinned her against the door to the room he was keeping her hostage in.
Having my own apartment had been absolutely crucial for me after the hellish experience of having a roommate my freshman year. I learned very quickly that growing up in a large family that mostly ignored me had made me value my personal space.
I could not say the same for my roommate.
Two semesters of her bounding in my room after midnight drunk as a skunk and either crying to me about a boy or squealing to me about a boy, and I’d had enough. Not to mention the amount of dishes that girl dirtied, or how she couldn’t be bothered to clear her hair out of a sink or shower no matter how many times I’d asked.
The final straw had been when she’d taken a stack of my books without asking — and not even to read them, but to use them as a door stopper while she brought in groceries.
Fury snaked down my spine even at the memory.
I’d saved and saved and begged Mom and Dad to help fill the gaps so I could get this place, a tiny studio apartment just a few blocks from the NBU campus. It was small, old, and smelled a little like mothballs — but I loved it. And since I much preferred to be alone than to be in any sort of forced friendship, I was happy here.
And tonight, I was indulging in a self-care night, one I desperately needed after fielding the media circus that had been keeping me busy all week. Things would slow down a bit now that Chart Day was behind us — at least, until the season opener this weekend — and I was celebrating the fact that I survived rounding up more than two-dozen football players for interviews, social media stunts, and fan appearances.
Not to mention the fact that I’d survived kissing Clay Johnson.
Just like it had a hundred times since that day, the memory of it had my pulse racing, and I let my book flop against my chest as I reached for the glass of water on my bedside table and gulped half of it down. After, I just sat there, staring at my bookcase at the foot of my bed as I replayed it.
I’d been kissed before. I had.
There was Ricky in the fifth grade, who threw a dodgeball over the playground fence and then asked the teacher if we could go retrieve it together. He pressed his lips against mine and held them there for three seconds — ones he counted on his fingers — before running off laughing.