D1 hockey went a long way around here.
But because it’d gotten out that the team hung out here, a lot of upperclassmen also started coming as well. Which normally wasn’t an issue, but I saw a back booth where Carrington was at, along with a few other Alpha Mu brothers.
Barclay sat down next to me, nodded in their direction. “Wonder if Miller is here?”
I glanced over, hearing Mara’s roommate. “Over there.”
“Sweet. I like the Miles kid too.”
They weren’t alone.
Miles Gaynor, Gavin Miller, a few other guys were heading in from the other section of the bar and right behind them were a bunch of sorority girls. Burford was there. She was grinning, her head down, her hand lightly touching Miller’s back, but when their attention shifted our way, so did hers.
Her hand fell away. Her head jerked up. The grin vanished, and her eyes got real wide. She stumbled in her step before righting herself.
“What’s that about?” Labrowski joined us, setting the pitcher down and a pile of plastic cups next to it. He was talking about Burford.
“Nothing. I know her from school.”
“College?”
Labrowski stifled a laugh.
I rolled my eyes at Barclay. “High school, dumbfuck.”
“Really?”
I nodded.
“You two don’t look cool. I thought you were cool? You studied with her when you first hooked up with Daniels.”
“How do you know that?”
Labrowski snorted, laughing under his breath.
Barclay winced before also snorting. “You came back reeking of sex. After that, Daniels was the only girl sneaking out of your room. Figured that was the first time. Was I wrong?”
I swore, long and low. “Had no idea you were this observant back then.”
Labrowski hooted, hitting the table with his palm. “Observant! Barclay?”
Atwater was coming back to the table, a wide grin on his face and his own pitcher of beer in hand. He set it down, rounding the table to drop down on my other side. “Barclay? Too bad he doesn’t use that skill on the ice.”
“Hey!”
Labrowski’s head tipped back, more laughter came out. “Burn!”
“Dude.” Barclay was scowling and he motioned to the second pitcher of beer. “We have a game tomorrow. One pitcher is fine, but two? Everyone has a phone nowadays. What are you thinking?”
Atwater didn’t seem to care, shrugging and pouring himself a cup. “If we ask real nice, they won’t post. No one wants to get us in trouble.”
Labrowski grunted, taking his own pitcher and pouring for himself. “Don’t say that around Styles. He found out sometimes they gonna post what they wanna post.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Fuck off, all y’all.”
“Damn.” Atwater shot upright, motioning behind Labrowski. “Watch it. They’re coming over.”
The rest of the team was heading in, but they weren’t alone. Gaynor and Miller joined, along with a couple other Alpha Mu brothers. Burford and her sorority sisters joined too, lingering at the end except for two of the girls. They were eyeing me.
“What’s up, everyone?” Gaynor went around the table, fist pumping half the team. I held mine up as he went past. He paused, just briefly, but kept on, rounding and sinking down on the other side of Keys.
Miller joined him, giving everyone a nod hello. “You all going to win tomorrow?”
The guys started to talk, but I was feeling attention from one of Sabrina’s friends. Slender. Pretty face. Dark hair. She had mean eyes, the kind that say they know something about you that you don’t want them to know. Because of that, I leaned forward. “Who’s your friend, Burford?”
The mean-eyed chick just grinned, all knowing and shit. Smug.
Sabrina sighed, looking defeated for one second, which wasn’t a typical Sabrina Burford thing. She’d picked up a drink and set it down before motioning to the girl. “She’s from a sister sorority.” Her mouth closed and it was obvious she had no inclination to say anything more.
The ‘friend’ didn’t care. Her grin widened and she half leaned over the table. “Hi! I’m Kit. Kit Carlson.” She gave one pause before the Cheshire smile came out. “We have a friend in common.”
I wasn’t getting a good feeling here. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Sabrina glanced my way, saying quickly and almost rushed, “She’s from Fallen Crest.”
Fuck.
Miller went still before turning my way. He was real even-keel when he said, “She came in with a friend of mine. Zeke Allen–”
Jesus.
I’d heard enough.
I was up from the table with my phone in the next half second. I was dialing and the line was ringing by the time I got outside.
I hoped she wasn’t going to ghost me tonight. I hadn’t called all week. She hadn’t called either, so I was hoping that was the extent of it, but me actually calling–fucking pick up, Mara.
“Hello?”
She sounded tired.
“I’m at Pete’s. You got at least one Fallen Crest friend here and judging by the look of her and Miller, I wouldn’t be surprised if the guy shows up–”
“Who?”
“Kit Carlson. Hanging with Burford, a Kappa girl. Miller’s here, talked about a guy named Zeke Allen.”
She was quiet before she swore, low and under her breath. “They’re idiots who think they’re friends.” She swore again. “I’m coming.”
“You need a ride?”
“No.” But she hesitated before saying that. That told me she somewhat wanted me to come and get her. That said a lot. A whole week. We’d not had sex in a whole week.
“Hey. Uh.”
I frowned, hearing the change in her tone. Self-conscious.
“What?”
“Is Zeke alone?”
I cursed but answered. “He ain’t even here, yet. There someone you’re expecting with Allen?”
“God, I hope not. I’ll be there in a second.”
“Mara.”
“What?”
“Do you need backup?”
She swore a third time. “Funny thing is, both of them are supposed to be my friends. But I have no idea how to answer your question because the sad fact is, I might need support.”
We ended the call, but I lingered, leaning against the bricked wall.
Did not like how the one girl was looking at me, and really didn’t like how Miller looked away when I called the ‘friend’ out. He knew. That said everything.
The door opened. Barclay and Atwater came out at the same time a Jeep pulled up. There were shouts, laughs, some curses. A guy who thought he was something special had just pulled into Pete’s parking lot.
The driver was muscular. Built, probably five eleven. Blond hair. There were a few other guys with him, but one drew the attention. Blaise DeVroe. I would’ve recognized him no matter what because his face was splashed over the NCAA soccer news every other day. I did not like how he moved forward. Lean. Muscled. With intention. His eyes were intelligent. As their friends went inside without a second thought, he drew up short.
His gaze was on me.
I saw the spark of recognition.
He knew who I was. He also knew I was fucking his ex.