“Ewww, who invited the trash whore?” I hear a squeaky voice ask as we step into the room.
Before I can even mutter a retort Shay already has it handled. “Shut it Trisha or you can go sit in someone else’s box. Last I checked your family doesn’t have the clout to reserve seats in even the nosebleed section.”
Properly chastised Trisha hangs her head but not before scowling at me. Of course her ire would be for me and not for the person who just read her. I swear this town is full of spineless twits.
“Well, okay then. Whose box is this? I don’t want to be somewhere I’m not wanted. I can just as easily go back to cuddling with Alexander, you know,” I say, looking pointedly back at my friend.
“Oh, shut up. There will be no you and my man tonight, Emma. This is my family’s box and unfortunately, Trisha here is my brother’s girlfriend. Which means we have to suffer listening to her obnoxious voice for the duration of the game.” She sighs as if she’s being resigned to a fate worse than death.
“Oh, you’re dramatic. Please tell me you’re in the drama club or something? Otherwise, you are wasting valuable talent,” I snark back.
We both laugh as we take our seats and wait for kickoff. When I look down at the field I see the cheerleaders are just about to take the field to cheer on the arrival of the team and who’s first in line with a big “C” on her cheer uniform? The queen of mean, Samantha Davenport, who is all fake smiles and spirit fingering away with one hand and shaking her pompom with the other.
Ugh, this is almost too clich? even for me. If this wasn’t my life, I would swear I was reading the pages of
Toxic Creek by KC Kean.
My head snaps toward Shay. “Seriously? She’s the mean girl cheerleader? Why am I not surprised? And let me guess our resident douche is the captain of the football team and they will marry and have a new generation of douche and twat kids?”
Shay snorts, choking on her soda, which only makes me laugh, because her face is now contorting to try and alleviate the burning in her freckle-covered nose. “I can’t believe you would laugh at my pain. After I saved you from a life as a spinster, this is the thanks I get?”
Her question has me in stitches, keeled over cackling with tears starting to form in my eyes and running down my face as I gasp for air. “What? Real friends laugh at each other’s embarrassing moments, once we know you won’t die from them of course,” I say while trying to keep a straight face. I succeed for all of a millisecond.
“Laugh it up ho. Just remember I know where you sleep at night. But, to answer your questions. Yes, she’s the captain. No, our douchey king is not the captain. That’s actually Karl and he wouldn’t touch Sam with a borrowed dick and the guarantee that no one would find out. As for the next generation, if it was up to her she would have that whole group’s babies tomorrow.”
My eyes go wide and my mouth drops open at her answer. “You mean like all of them?”
“Yup, the whole elite crew. It’s kinda a tradition around here.” She nods back with a mysteriously knowing grin.
Tradition? What the hell does that even mean?
I don’t think my eyebrows can arch any higher than they are now. This town is definitely more than what meets the eye if it’s tradition to have more than one partner.
“What do you mean by tradition? Wouldn’t it be frowned upon in this stick-up-their-ass town? I mean I can’t imagine any of the parents here being okay with their high society daughters having a harem.”
Although, now that I think about it, it would be nice to have all those hands in so many different places. Not the assholian’s, he can lose his hands for all I care.
Chuckling, Shay says, “Not at all. Most families would give their right hand and first born for an opportunity for their daughters to be part of the selec-“
Shay doesn’t get a chance to finish, the booming voice of the announcer echoes through the stadium, cutting off our conversation. My head shifts toward the field, just as he begins listing the names and positions of the starting lineup as they run through the pompoms of the cheer squad. I make a mental note to revisit this conversation on the way home.
If she was about to say selection, this would be the second time this week that word was said to me. My hands instinctively brush lightly against my throat, makeup hiding the marks from Rowan, the only indication that my subconscious is linking the two. I need to get more information on whatever this selection is and why Rowan thinks I’ll be chosen at all.
The stadium erupts into chants, forcing me out of my head. Both sides are preparing for the coin toss. I love sports, especially football. When the game begins, I tune everyone out.
The heirs play both defensive and offensive positions and they’re really good. In fact, both teams are pretty evenly matched. When the clock winds down and the shrill sound of the whistle blows to signal halftime, the score is tied at seventeen.
As the players exit the field toward the locker room, Shay taps my shoulder and asks if I want to go with her to the concession stand.
Arching my brow in confusion, I ask, “Why would we go down there? Doesn’t this room have everything you could possibly dream of wanting?”
“Yes, it has all the food you want, but not the hot guys. So, get your ass up and let’s go check out some eye candy before you tune me out for the second half.” She grabs my hand, pulling me in the direction of the door.
I groan, “Are we really going boy hunting in a town full of snobs? Need I remind you that just this week I’ve been called more names for whore than a thesaurus can even identify.”
Not to be deterred, Shay simply smiles then rebuffs what I deem to be very valid points, “That’s why this is perfect. Were you not listening when I said this game draws people from all over the state? That means non-stuck-up guys to flirt with.”
Huh, she does have a point and with the kids safely at their sleepovers, I can be a teenager for once. “Okay, let’s do this.”
My ‘let’s go for it’ attitude lasts until we bump into the crowd of students gathering by the concession stand. That’s the moment I remember I’ve only ever kissed one guy and it was for a dare.
I might not take shit from anyone but in the dating department I’m not even in the crawling stage. Consider me an infant, just opening my eyes and taking in the world outside of the womb.
I get ready to pull Shay toward the stairs, back to the safety of her family’s box seats when we get separated by the growing crowd. I try to call out to her but with all the noise I can barely hear myself much less hear her respond to my calls.
“Crap,” I mutter in frustration.
I decide it’s best if I just stay in one place and wait, instead of the both of us wandering around. In case she thinks of doing the same thing,
I decide to give it ten minutes and then send her a text. Calling would probably be a waste of time since it’s so hard to hear anything. Hopefully, she’ll check her phone and see that I’m waiting in the spot we lost each other at.
I’m about to grab my phone out of my back pocket when a hand grabs my arm. My body instantly snaps into fight mode, readying to strike the person the hand belongs to. My mind flashes back to being grabbed by Rowan. I swear the people in this town skipped the keep your hands to yourself lesson in preschool. Rearing my balled fist back I take aim.
“There you a- woah chill, it’s me,” I hear Shay before I see her, stopping the forward momentum of my swing. My hand drops and I begin to relax.
“You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were a random and I was about to strike first and ask questions second,” I say, as the thrumming in my heart begins to slow.
After averting being hit, the tautness in her shoulders eases. Her gaze searching mine to make sure I’m okay, before she begins to speak.
“Jumpy aren’t we? But I guess I would be too if I didn’t know who was grabbing at me.” She continues, “Okay, let’s go sit over in the food court and get our ogle on.”
“But the second half is about to start, can’t we ogle after,” I plead.
Stopping to look at her smartwatch, Shay lets out a sigh once she realizes time is almost up. “Ughh, fine. But, now you have to go to the after party with me.”
I halt, my Converse clad feet refusing to move like they’re glued to the spot right before we reach the door to the suite, causing her to crash into my back and make a small grunt.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.