The Score (Off-Campus #3)(36)

A wolf whistle slices through the music, courtesy of Logan. “Je-sus,” he marvels at me. “You look bangin’.” His blue eyes twinkle. “What’s the occasion?”

I smile demurely. “Just felt like looking pretty.”

Hannah snorts. “Babe, you look more than pretty. I think every dude in this bar just sprung a boner.”

I shrug. I only care about one boner in particular. I wonder if Little Dean has noticed me yet.

“So you won the game, huh?” I say to Logan.

“Damn right we did.”

“Nice. You guys are back on track, then.” I know Big Dean was upset about their three-game losing streak.

“Yeah, don’t get ahead of yourself. We were up against a Division II team. And even then we barely squeaked out the W.”

“Yo, Logan!” Garrett shouts. “Think I can make this shot?”

“’Scuse me, ladies. My supreme billiards skills and best friend services are required.” He wanders off.

Hannah leans in closer. “So. Does this mean you’re ready to dip your toe in the dating pool again?” Grinning, she gestures to my outfit, which, if I’m being honest, doesn’t really say “I want to date.”

It says DTF.

My royal-blue bandage dress stops at about mid-thigh. I wore a push-up bra, so my cleavage is out to there. My smoky eye shadow makes my eyes look huge. My five-inch stilettos make my legs look impossibly long. Sure, they nearly froze off during the walk from the cab to the bar, but the quest for hotness sometimes requires a sacrifice. That’s Beauty 101.

“Naah, I’m just testing the waters.”

Her smile widens. “Well, consider this test aced. I’d do you.”

I tense abruptly, feeling Dean approach before he even sidles up to me. “Looking good, baby doll,” he says lightly.

But I hear the edge in his voice, and his displeasure is unmistakable. Which is preposterous because what does he have to be peeved about? I’m not the one who was making out with someone else.

“Thanks. Who’s your friend?” I ask in the sweetest voice I can muster.

His expression goes blank. “Huh?”

I nod toward the brunette, who’s inspecting us with visible suspicion. I can’t believe Dean has the gall to act like he doesn’t know her. I just saw them talking.

“Oh,” he answers. “Polly? Paula? I didn’t catch her name.”

Of course he didn’t.

“Penelope,” Hannah supplies. “I sat next to her during the game. She’s a massive Dean fan. Talked my ear off about you the whole time.” My best friend smirks. “I finally had to interrupt and tell her you don’t live up to the hype.”

I second that.

“Bullshit. I’m better than the hype.” Even as he protests, he sounds distracted. I can feel him staring at me.

“I’m going to get a drink.” I push away from the table.

“Great idea,” Dean says in an overly cheerful voice. “I could use one too.”

I clench my teeth as he follows me. It’s damn hard to run in these heels, so I settle for a speed-walk and hope I lose him in the crowd.

God, it was a stupid idea to come out tonight. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. If anything, I’m even tenser and angrier than I was before.

A squeak flies out of my mouth when I’m suddenly tugged backward.

Dean’s lips brush my ear as he growls, “If you came here to tease me, it’s working.”

My jaw stiffens. I spin around and level him with a glare. “Contrary to what you believe, the world doesn’t revolve around you.” Except he’s right. That is why I came, and now I feel totally and utterly foolish, because I’m not the kind of girl who plays games.

I should have stayed home. Rehearsal had left me in a bad mood, and then I let the thought of Dean with someone else turn me into a character from a rom com. Dressing up like a harlot to get some undeserving guy’s attention? Who am I?

My self-disgust spurs me to keep walking. I approach the counter, where the throng of men there parts for me like the Red Sea. I guess that’s one benefit of looking like sex on stilettos.

I order a Cosmo, because why not? I might as well live up to the image I’ve created. I brought a little black clutch with me, but when I open it to get some money, three different hands brandishing twenty-dollar bills fly up in the air.

“I got this—”

“It’s on me—”

“Let me buy you a drink—”

Dean rumbles out an annoyed sound. The next thing I know, he’s yanking out his own twenty and shoving it at the bartender. “On me,” he says sharply. He glares at my other suitors, who all avert their gazes.

“Are you going to pee on me now to mark your territory?” I hiss at him.

His eyes flash. “I don’t know—should I? What the hell is going on here, Allie?”

“Nothing.” I take the drink the bartender hands me and swiftly duck away from the counter.

Dean stays hot on my heels, so I walk faster, and then we’re with our friends again and I breathe in relief. Good. Now he can’t pester me for answers anymore.

Penelope immediately rushes over, and my spine stiffens when she latches her talons onto Dean’s bare forearm. The black T-shirt he’s wearing stretches across his perfect chest and shows off his perfect arms. The same arms that were pinning me down the other night when he was moving inside me.

I swallow a mouthful of my drink and try to pay attention to Hannah. She’s talking about her showcase rehearsals and how happy she is that the faculty is letting her sing an original composition instead of pairing her up with a songwriting major.

“I’m thinking of sending out some demos to labels,” she admits.

“Really?” She mentioned a few months ago that she might want to focus more on songwriting than performing, but I hadn’t realized it was a serious consideration on her part.

“Yeah.” She toys with a strand of dark hair, which draws my attention to the neon-green clip holding it back. It’s the only splash of color in her all-black getup. “I love composing. I mean, I also love being on stage, but Dexter and I were fooling around on the piano at rehearsal last night, and when he sang one of the songs I was working on, it was…”

I tune her out. I’m an awful friend, I know, but I can’t help it. I’m far too distracted by the evil vulture that’s pecking at Dean like he’s a juicy carcass. Running her manicured fingers up and down his arm. Stroking his biceps. Leaning in to whisper something in his ear.

In his defense, he doesn’t appear to notice that Penelope is glued to his side. His gaze is fixed on me, and it’s growing cloudier by the second.

I sip my drink and spend the next hour making an effort to be social. But I’m just getting increasingly angry—at myself.

I inadvertently cast Dean in a role that he shouldn’t be playing. He’s not my boyfriend. I shouldn’t be texting him after I have a bad day. I shouldn’t be upset that he didn’t text back, or that he’s talking to another girl.

Though, again, in his defense, he doesn’t seem the least bit interested in Penelope. Every time I sneak a peek at them, he’s on his phone and not paying her a lick of attention.

My clutch keeps buzzing, which tells me he’s most likely texting me. But my phone stays in my purse because I’m too busy dealing with the realization that apparently I’m helpless without a boyfriend.

I’m…co-dependent? Is that the right word? And is that why I kept getting back together with Sean? Because I can’t be alone? I had a boyfriend the entire time I was in high school too…

Okay. I might be making a mountain out of a molehill right now. Just because I’ve always had a boyfriend doesn’t mean I’ve got issues, right? I like having a boyfriend. I like holding hands and kissing and snuggling and telling each other about our days. That doesn’t mean I need one at all times.

Maybe I just suck at flings. I’m sure plenty of other women have problems separating emotions from sex.

Still, this is all very disheartening. I decide it’s time to go. I’m not paying attention to a word anyone is saying, and now I kind of want to go home and Google “co-dependency” to see if I can self-diagnose myself.

I do want to pee first, though, so I excuse myself and walk toward the restrooms. I don’t bother turning around to see if Dean is following me, because I know he is. I caught a glimpse of him in my periphery, disentangling himself from Penelope the moment I moved away from the table.

To my frustration, the line for the ladies’ room is unacceptably long. Nope, I’m not waiting thirty minutes to use the toilet. I don’t have to go that bad. But I know if I turn around, I’ll probably bump into Dean.

I keep walking straight ahead toward the emergency exit. I’ve used it before, so I don’t expect an alarm to go off, and it doesn’t. Cold air hits my bare arms and legs when I step into the alley behind Malone’s. I hurriedly put on my coat just as the door flies open and Dean emerges.

“Go away,” I tell him.

His nostrils flare. “No.”

“Fine, then stay out here. I’m going home.” I fumble with the clasp of my clutch. I need to call a cab and tell Hannah I’m leaving. Dean snatches the purse from my hand, summoning an irritated expletive. “Can I please I have my purse back?” I demand.