“You make friends very quickly,” I note.
“And you break hearts just as fast.”
I flex my jaw. I crashed and burned before I even sat down. Might as well throw a Hail Mary. I lean closer and soften my voice. “Okay, I’ve broken a few hearts here and there but with those eyes, I’m willing to guess you have, too.”
“Oh, my god.” She laughs, twisting toward me. “You did not just try that.”
“Yes, I did,” I say, owning it.
“Does that line ever work?”
“I’ll let you know.”
She leans over to grab her bag and tosses her books inside. “Thanks for the coffee.”
I watch her stand up, not even hiding the fact that I’m staring at her ass. “We should do it again sometime.”
“Nah,” she says, spinning around and looking down at me.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not interested.”
“You’re stone cold now, Eliza Pierce.” I raise a brow. “But later, you’re going to think of this moment, and you’re going to blush.”
She pulls a pair of black sunglasses from her bag and slides them onto her nose. “I doubt it.”
“I don’t.”
“Bye, Junior.”
“Bye, Ellie.”
She twitches at the nickname but doesn’t stop her long stride across the grass toward Talon Hall. Her hips give an unnatural sway, almost as if she’s making the view worth my while but I might just be seeing things.
She tosses her coffee cup into the trash can outside and gives the front doors a hard yank, not even offering me a glance back as she disappears inside.
Shit. I’m officially late for Geometry.
It was worth it.
Chapter 4
Eliza
I take one step into Talon Hall and Grant juts out in front of me.
“What’d he say?”
I gasp. “Jeez, Grant — you’re like a damn pop-up book.”
“Junior Morgan just bought you coffee and sat down beside you for ninety-seven seconds.”
“You counted?”
“Yup.” He nods. “What’d he say? Tell me now.”
I roll my eyes and move around him to head toward the classrooms. “I think you can probably guess.”
Grant follows so closely our elbows bump together with each step. “Did he ask you out?”
“I slammed on the brakes before he got the chance.”
“What?” His face contorts like I just smacked him. “Why would you do that?”
I pause, furrowing my brow. “You’re the one who said he was a player…”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He chuckles. “It’s Junior Morgan, Eliza. He plays to win — if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t think I do…”
He sighs. “Junior doesn’t take no for an answer. Once a girl is in his sights, he doesn’t stop until she’s screaming yes and, trust me, you want to be that girl.”
I laugh. “Sounds too good to be true.”
He points over my shoulder. “Go back out there and tell him you’ll go out with him.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I continue moving across the lobby. “Because, even if I wanted to go out with him, I can’t. He’s on the football team. My dad would flip his shit if he found out.”
Grant deflates, his vicarious dreams dashed upon the rocks. “I forgot about that. You’re supposed to be playing daddy’s perfect, little princess…”
“Yeah,” I remind him. “Sorry, Grant. I won’t be screaming yes for Junior Morgan anytime soon.”
“But you want to, right?” he teases, nudging my ribs.
I blush. I fucking blush. Just like Junior said I would. “No.”
“Liar.”
“I’m sure there are worse ways to spend an evening,” I admit. “But it doesn’t really matter anyway.”
“Find a monologue for the fall semester showcase yet?” he asks me, shrugging as he changes the subject.
I reach into my messenger bag for his book. “Not quite. Need your book back?”
“Keep it. I have like three copies of that thing.”
“Thanks for helping me out, Grant,” I say, letting the book settle in the bottom of my bag. “Mr. Young kind of put the fear of God in me…”
“Don’t sweat it. The guy’s a cuddly puppy on the inside. Just stick to the classic, romantic monologues — he likes those. And don’t blubber during the emotional scenes. It’s too Streep — he hates that.”
I nod. “I can handle that.”
He throws his arm around my shoulders. “I know you can — because you have to. I’ve been waiting two years for a halfway decent ingenue to stroll through here, Eliza…”
“So, I’m halfway decent?” I laugh.
“You’re more than decent. You’re Bergman to my Bogart, honey. You and I are going to blow Young’s frail, old mind at the audition on Friday.”
I grin, completely seduced by his pep-talk. “Yeah. You’re right!”
“I’m always right.” He releases my shoulders. “I need to get to class. I’ll meet you back here tonight and on Friday — we shine!”
I wave him goodbye and he spins around toward the auditorium.
This place is a damn labyrinth.
I’ve only been in the athletic center once or twice before. Now, I wish I’d asked for dad to meet me outside. I’m pretty sure I’ve passed that janitor’s closet three times now.
I round a corner and spot a familiar face in the form of Bob, the assistant coach.
“Hey, Bob,” I greet.
His wrinkled eyes barely glance up from his clipboard. “Hey, darling,” he says. Bob’s only known me a few weeks but since day one, he’s always called me darling. I’d take offense but he’s such a lovable, old man. I find it difficult to feel upset about it.
“Have you seen my father?” I ask. “I’m meeting him here for lunch.”
“In the locker room, last I saw him,” he murmurs, pointing over his shoulder with his pen.
I think to walk inside but I pause, reading the MEN’S sign on the door.
“Go on in,” Bob adds, reading my mind. “The team’s cleared out already. Check the office in the back.”
“Thanks, Bob.”
“If not, just keep your eyes on the floor.”
He chuckles softly, grunting like the dirty, old man he secretly is.
I smile and push the door open, instantly struck in the face with hot steam from recently run showers.
“Dad?” I call, my voice echoing throughout the room. It’s dead silent, save the occasional tap of a dripping showerhead and the sound of my boots thumping beneath me. “Mr. Car-y P-ier-ce?” I say, adding vibrato and listening to it echo back at me.
I walk toward the office in the back, performing quick head tilts around corners as the rows of lockers pass me by.
A white towel comes into view, tossed around the naked hips of a man standing before the last row of lockers.