I Bet You(36)

Penelope



“I don’t want to go home,” I say to Charisma as we get closer to the house. My chest aches at the thought. It’s where he and I hang out. Make love.

She shifts her eyes toward me. “You wanna go find Ryker and kick him in the nuts?”

I clench my hands. “No. I-I can’t talk to him yet.”

She sighs and bangs her hand on the steering wheel. “I really want to punch him.”

“No.”

“It might make you feel better?” She sends me a wry grin.

“No.”

She does a U-turn at the next intersection, tires squealing.

“What are you doing?” I say, hanging on to the side of the car.

“We’re going to Cadillac’s. I can’t handle you being all quiet and monosyllabic.”

“I can’t face people,” I say, hands fluttering.

“You can. People adore you, Pen. Adore. You’re kind and sweet, and you didn’t do anything wrong. He’s the one who needs his dick cut off for spouting off about you at practice. Come on, let’s go and just have a drink. I won’t ask you to shoot pool.” She grins, and I know she’s just trying to make me feel better.

I sniff.

Because her comment just brings back memories of Ryker showing me how to play.

“I guess I don’t really have a choice,” I say on a small half-laugh, half-groan noise when she pulls into the packed parking lot.

“Nope.”

She tugs a makeup bag out of her purse and gets to work on me. She helps me remove the dark mascara under my eyes and repair my red lipstick. I let my hair out of the messy bun and fluff it up, checking it in the visor mirror. I straighten my Word Nerd shirt and skinny jeans.

I frown. “I’m really not in the mood for this.”

“Just come inside for ten minutes. You need to decompress, and this is the perfect place.”

I don’t tell her I don’t need to decompress. I need to process. But when she gets something in her head, she’s a dog with a bone, so I sigh and nod.

“You’re gorgeous,” she says. “Let’s get you some tequila.”

We walk into Cadillac’s, and thank God, there isn’t a football player in sight. We aim for the bar in the back, both of us settling on stools.

I’ve just slung back my shot when a text pops up on my phone.

Penelope. I can explain.

At first, I’m not going to reply, but I can’t help myself. Is it true? My palms are clammy as I grip my phone.

Another pops up. Let me tell you why. Please.

My jaw flexes, and I suck in a breath.

“Don’t respond,” Charisma says, reading over my shoulder. “Let him worry.”

Another text comes in after a few minutes. Where are you? Blaze said you left the library to go home. I’m here, and you aren’t.

My lips tighten, and I turn my phone over so I don’t see his texts.

Margo walks in and makes a beeline for us. Charisma texted her earlier and told her we were moving the meeting to Cadillac’s. She’s looking a little harried if her fast stride is anything to go by as she maneuvers her way through the crowd, clutching the navy cardigan around her neck and smiling tightly at the people she passes.

Some of them give her a surprised look.

Winding around the masses of co-eds, she finally reaches us, her pale pink lips tight. “This is where you want to have a meeting? This place reeks of stale beer and body odor.” Her nose sniffs.

And it’s so Margo…that I have to flash a small smile. At least she hasn’t changed.

“Get down off your high horse, MP. We had a crisis at the library. And have you seriously never been inside Cadillac’s? WTF is wrong with you?” Charisma says.

“MP?”

“Madam President,” I say, deciphering Charisma’s acronym.

She frowns. “And what crisis?”

I recount the incident, my tone cool. Hard. I’m holding it all in right now. Barely functioning in a tequila-fueled haze.

“Holy shit.” A frown burrows in her forehead. “That type of bet doesn’t sound like Ryker. I mean, everyone knows they do them, but they’re usually harmless, stupid pranks.” She gets a steely look in her gaze. “And you heard this from Archer? He’s a first-class dickhead.”

“The Chi Omega MP just said dickhead,” Charisma calls out to the randoms surrounding us. “Everyone drink!”

“Here, here,” comes from several patrons and they eagerly comply.

She signals the bartender. “Garçon, bring me a glass of wine for the lady, please.” She looks over at Margo. “What kind, MP?”

“Champagne?” she answers. “Do they serve that here?”

I nod. “It’s terrible, but it’s my fav.”

She looks down at my shot glass.

“For the pain.”

She bites her lip and leans in. “Are you sure all of this is true?”

“He texted me and didn’t deny it.” A horrible thought hits me. “What if this is all over social media?” I recall the video from Sugar’s that was supposedly deleted.

Charisma gets the champagne from the bartender and hands it over to Margo then pulls out her phone, her lips set. “I’m on it. I’ll text Blaze and get the deets. He’s got some explaining to do. I’m never going down on him again.”

Margo’s eyebrows hit the roof, and I bite back a giggle. Thank goodness for alcohol.

She takes a drink and stares at me over the rim of her glass. “I know one thing for sure—there’ll be no football players allowed at our party. And I think we should tell Coach Alvarez. He doesn’t put up with shenanigans.”

Charisma studies Margo. “For an uptight bitch, I like how you operate. Honest to God, I think you’re better since Kyle dumped you. That experience definitely brought you down a peg and made you one of us.”

“Uh, thanks?” Margo says.

I’m feeling warm from the shots. I nod. I like Margo a hell of a lot more than I used to.

Charisma taps her chin. “I have some volleyball guys on speed dial. A couple of basketball players, too. I’ll get them to come.” She nods, as if warming up to the idea. “Yeah, we’re revoking all the football invitations. Those chauvinistic assholes can all go hang out with the Thetas. I don’t give a shit. We don’t need them.”

I’m tearing up and I laugh.

She laughs with me.

“If someone is doing shots, I’d like to get in on that.” The voice is deep and familiar, and when I turn around on my bar stool, I see Connor.

He’s wearing his ball cap and a grin. I’m definitely not crushing on him anymore because my heart doesn’t even skip a beat.

“I’m game for a few if you ladies will let me join you? My treat.” He smiles.

Margo takes him in, her gaze lingering on his broad shoulders. “I’ll have another terrible champagne.”

I nearly gasp in surprise.

He ends up ordering a beer for himself, a champagne for Margo, a screwdriver for Charisma, and another shot for me. His nicely defined bicep reaches between Margo and me to give the bartender a wad of cash.

“This is my stepsister, Margo,” I tell him, and then I sit back to see how it all plays out. She’s looking at him with wary yet interested eyes, and he’s looking at her lips. It just might work. He’s got the money she’s drawn to. Although I do wonder how a video-game designer would stack up in her eyes.

He takes a swig of his drink. “Didn’t know you had a stepsister.”

“No one does. She likes girly drinks and little sweaters. She’s also headed to NYU after gradation to get a graduate degree. Aren’t you going there too?” I recall one of our conversations before class a few weeks back.

He gives Margo a considering look. “Yes, I am.”

Margo draws little circles on the bar with her finger, her gaze bouncing from me to Connor, a bit of an accusation in her eyes that says, Are you trying to fix me up with your one-time crush?

“Yep,” I say out loud before tossing back my shot.

They start chatting about their plans for next fall, and I look down at my phone and turn it over. Just to see.

I’m so fucking sorry. Please talk to me. Where are you?

My teeth grit and I clutch the phone, so tempted to type out a message, but I don’t. Instead, I click my phone off for good and stuff it deep into my purse.





The sound of banging on the door wakes me up. I blink open my eyes and peer over at the clock on the nightstand. Almost one in the morning. Shit. I’ve only been asleep for thirty minutes. I rub my eyes and run a hand through my hair, patting it down. Blearily, I stumble out of bed, walking past the clothes I wore yesterday in a pile on the floor where I took them off when we got in from Cadillac’s. Charisma, Margo, Connor, and I closed it down at midnight.

Vampire Bill squawks from his cage. “Shit! Door! I need a cigarette! Call the cops!”

“No need for that,” I mutter. “I have a pretty good idea who it is.”

And so…

I should just ignore him.

Instead, it’s as if my soul is connected to his, as if I know he’s out there waiting for me to open the door. And part of me wants to see him—even if it’s only going to break my heart.

I grab my long cardigan and tug it around my shoulders then make my way out to the hallway.