Текст книги "Black Number Four"

Автор книги: Kandi Steiner

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

But how? She looked exactly like she did when she cleaned out tattoo guy, what did he see?

I’m failing at this studying shit.

The final card is dealt and Skyler checks it to frat daddy, backing off her strong bet. He shakes his head. “No way, can’t back down now. All in.”

He pushes his pile forward and Skyler inhales deep as the dealer counts out the chips.

“Four-thousand-four-hundred to call,” he says to Skyler. She looks down at her own pile, counting. That would only leave her with twelve hundred if she lost. Her knee bounces a little, she bites her lip, then, with a heavy breath, she pushes her chips forward.

“Call.”

Frat daddy flips his cards, revealing a straight. A solid hand, but he wasn’t betting on his cards – he was betting on hers.

Suddenly, a smile breaks on Skyler’s face, her knee steadying again. “Oh Ken,” she says, throwing his Barbie comments back in his face. “Barbie never bluffs.” She lays her cards out, her smile widening.

Four deuces line the table.

I’ll be damned.

Frat daddy’s mouth drops and everyone claps, some of the guys laughing. Skyler smiles and nods as people congratulate her and the dealer collects the cash from the back of the bar, retrieving a large envelope and placing it on the table in front of her. Skyler thanks him and tucks it into her clutch, standing.

“That was a good game,” the dealer says. “You know, you look familiar. Do you play a lot around here?”

She shakes her head. “No, but I have a familiar face. A lot of people think they know me.”

He narrows his eyes, scrutinizing her, but doesn’t push further. “I guess that’s it. Well, at any rate, good job tonight.”

“Thanks,” she says. She glances at me briefly and nods toward the door. I drain my beer and start heading that way when frat daddy cuts Skyler off.

“Wait a second,” he says, grabbing her arm. “You’re Skyler, aren’t you?”

She yanks her arm free and steps around him. “Nope, I’m Barbie, remember?” She tries to stay calm, smiling as she moves toward the door again. Frat daddy grabs her other arm and spins her around.

“Don’t touch her,” I say loudly, quickly making my way across the room. I pull his hand from her elbow and push my chest into his, standing tall. I may not be the most solid guy in the world, but I lift enough to hold my own.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asks, pushing me back.

“He’s leaving, we both are,” Skyler says, shoving me toward the door. “Let’s go,” she urges under her breath.

“Hey, I thought we were going out after this,” frat daddy says, grabbing Skyler around the waist and pulling her back into him. “You just hustled me, the least you can do is put out tonight.”

I clench my jaw and shove him hard, sending him flying back into the table. Chips fall onto the floor and a drink spills on the felt, making the dealer curse and call for napkins.

“Take that shit outside!”

“Yeah, let’s go, playboy,” frat daddy says through clenched teeth, pushing himself off the table. I rush toward him, ready to swing, when Skyler presses her hands on my chest.

“Go. Now.”

“I’m not going to let this asshole put his hands all over you,” I say, my eyes still trained on frat daddy. He’s smiling manically, which should make me terrified but only fuels my fire.

Skyler rolls her eyes and shoves me hard, making me stumble back toward the door. I hold up my hand and point at frat daddy, letting him know we aren’t finished, before Skyler pushes us both through the door. We walk down the hallway and out onto the street where the cab I called is waiting. After we climb in, Skyler slaps my chest hard.

“What the fuck, Kip?! You almost screwed everything up!”

“I wasn’t just going to stand there and watch that shit happen, Skyler! I don’t care if you did take that douchebag’s money, he shouldn’t have put his hands on you.”

“I told you, I can handle myself!” she screams, crossing her arms and looking out the window. She tells the driver where to go and adds, “I don’t need you to save me, Kip.”

I grit my teeth and go to punch the back of the passenger seat but stop myself, running my hands through my hair instead. I’m heated, I’m being crazy. I need to calm down before I chase this girl away for good.

I have to get close to her, and this isn’t the way to do it.

I exhale a long, steady breath and turn to face her, but she just keeps staring out the window. “Hey.” I reach over and put my hand on her leg. “Listen, I’m sorry.”

She smacks my hand away. “Whatever.”

“Shit Skyler,” I say. “I don’t know what you want from me. I’m into you, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t sit back and let some Abercrombie model wannabe molest you. Next time I’ll back off. Just, come on, I don’t want to end the night like this. Come home with me.”

“Are you serious?” she asks, turning to face me with a disgusted look.

“Not like that,” I clarify, holding my hands up in surrender. “It’s almost four in the morning and I know you’ve got to be hungry. Let me make us breakfast.”

She rolls her eyes and turns back toward the window. I scoot a little closer and rest my chin on her shoulder. “I make killer chocolate chip waffles.”

Skyler doesn’t budge, but I see that smile starting to work in my favor again.

“I’ll strip down to my boxers and wear an apron for you.”

She purses her lips together, fighting the smile.

I lean in closer and whisper in her ear, “What if I told you I had bacon?”

She breaks down and laughs, pushing me off her and shaking her head. “You’re the biggest nerd, you know that?”

I shrug. “I’ve been called worse. So, waffles and bacon? Please? I promise to keep my hands to myself and you can punch me if I start to annoy you.”

She sighs. “Fine. But only because I love bacon.”

I smile. “Who doesn’t?”

Skyler cuts into her first waffle with the side of her fork. It makes a little scraping sound against her plate as she dissects, her face so concentrated you would think she was performing surgery. She lifts a small morsel to her mouth and I watch her chew, waiting.

Her brows shoot up. “Okay, I was wrong. These are delicious.”

“Wait a second.” I cough, taking a sip of my orange juice. “Did you just say you were wrong? Shit, what time is it? What’s today’s date?” I jump up and grab the magnet notepad on my fridge and a pen off the counter. “I need to write this down.”

She smiles and takes another bite. “Asshole.”

I laugh a little and munch on a strip of bacon, still watching her. Even though it’s after six in the morning and she’s been up all night, she doesn’t look the least bit tired. If anything, I’d say she’s on a high – her eyes wide, the smile that was refusing to show earlier now cemented on her face. I wish it was me behind her happiness, but the girl just won ten thousand dollars. I don’t think I can compete with that.

“You were amazing to watch tonight,” I say, picking my fork back up.

She shrugs, still smiling. “It wasn’t a big game, I was expecting more players – more competition. They were novices, at best.”

“I think you’re being modest,” I say, watching as her tongue darts out and runs across her bottom lip, catching runaway syrup in its wake. God, this girl is killing me tonight. First a poker game and now waffles. I should start a list.

Strange Situations That Have Turned Me On.

Bizarre Every Day Things That Skyler Makes Sexy.

I’ll work on the title later.

“I have a question though.”

Skyler finishes the last of her waffle and picks up a strip of bacon, sliding it around on her plate to coat it in syrup. “I might have an answer,” she says, leaning back in her chair and taking a bite. Her eyes roll back and she exhales heavily. “Oh my God, I love bacon.”

Damn, what I wouldn’t give to hear her say she loves something else in that same way.

Focus, Kip. Poker. POK-ER.

“Okay, my question is this… Is it true that you don’t ever bluff? Or was that just a shot at Mr. Frat Daddy Douchebag?”

She smiles, picking up another strip of bacon. “It was just a shot. I bluff, everyone does – I’m just really good at it. I’m good at decoding other people’s bluffs, too,” she replies, her eyes shooting up to mine at the last sentence.

Shit. Can she see right through me? Does she know why I’m here?

Calm down, Kip. There’s no way she knows anything. Stay focused.

“So when he was going to pay you to show your cards, were you bluffing then?”

She shrugs, standing and grabbing our empty plates. “He was going to pay me for those cards, and now you think I’m just going to tell you for free?”

I grab the plates from her hands. “I got these, sit down and relax. And yes, I want to know your secrets.” I walk to the sink and drop the dishes in, waiting.

Skyler leans against the wall and crosses her arms. “Oh yeah? In poker or in life?”

I tuck my hands in my pockets and shrug, my eyes locked on hers. “Both.”

She stays there for a while, smiling and scrutinizing me at the same time. Suddenly, her face falls, and I feel the same resistance from earlier stretch between us like a tense rubber band. “I should probably go,” she says, lifting from the wall.

I check my watch. “Why don’t we go watch the sunrise? It’ll be up in twenty minutes.”

Skyler chews her cheek, her foot tapping on the floor. “I don’t know, I think this would be a lot easier if I left now.”

I shake my head, walking toward her. “What do you mean by this?”

She goes to back up but hits the wall. “This. Us. I just, I don’t think we should get caught up. I have to focus on poker this semester and you’re pledging. It would just be easier if we didn’t complicate things.”

I keep walking until our chests touch and place my hands on the wall around her head, my face inches from hers. Her breath hitches in her throat, but her bright blue eyes don’t leave mine.

“Baby, you made me lick tequila off you the first night we met. This is nothing if not complicated.” Her eyes flick to my mouth, her heart racing against my chest. I bite my lip and lean in closer, wanting desperately to close the remaining inches and feel her mouth on mine. But, she’s right – this can’t get too complicated. I need to get her close, need her to trust me – but I also can’t get caught up in feelings I’m not allowed to have. Not for her, anyway.

I push back off the wall. “Come on, watch the sunrise with me. I’ve been in Florida for over a week now and still haven’t set foot on the beach. And I get what you’re saying, so we can keep it simple. We can be friends, right? Just because we made out in a crowd full of people doesn’t mean this has to be weird.”

She laughs, but seems shaken as she stands up straight. “Fine, let’s go. But I’m serious – this is a friend zone.”

“I’ll be sure to wear my friend zone crash helmet,” I say, giving her a cocky smile as I grab her coat and open the door. “But that means you’ll have to keep your hands off me. Think you can manage?”

She snags her coat and throws it on, rolling her eyes. “I’ll do my best to refrain.”

I laugh and lock the door before jogging down the stairs to catch up to her. “Something tells me we should bet on this,” I say. “I don’t think you’ll be able to last.”

“Put your money where your mouth is, Four Eyes,” she says, smiling at me from a sideways glance. “I’d love to take it from you.”

“I know you would,” I say, returning her smile. As we walk down the stairs and out toward the beach, I note the way Skyler looks in the early morning light. Her eyes are bright, her skin warm, the small smile still playing on her lips. It’s a little chilly this morning, causing her cheeks to run a slight shade of pink, and her hair is now completely wavy and unruly blowing in the soft breeze. She’s absolutely breathtaking.

I know I can’t get involved with her the way I want to, but I can’t help but curse my luck. I’ve only known the girl a few days but already I’m more interested in her than any girl I’ve ever met. I hate that this is the way it has to be, that if I want my dream, I can’t have her. It’s a battle between what I want and what I can’t give up. The last thing I want is to hurt her, yet I have to.

I’m going to get her to trust me, to let me in, to tell me her secrets, and then I’m going to show up and sit across the table from her in May.

And she’s going to hate me.

I wrap my coat tight around my waist and tuck my hands under the sleeves as we walk the beach. It’s not cold, not really, but I’m a wimp and a true Floridian so naturally – I’m freezing. Even though the water is like ice, we still walk barefoot along the shore, letting the waves wash over our toes.

I know I’m in dangerous territory being here with Kip. I started out strong tonight, or at least I thought I did. I was kind of a bitch to him earlier, yet he still wanted me to come home with him.

Damn it.

I need him to just tell me to get lost so I can tell my Big he changed his mind, that he’s not into me. The more we dance on this side of the line, the harder it will be to get her to drop this game of hers. If she’s hell bent on getting him back and there’s any way I can help make it happen, she’s going to use me.

There’s also the fact that I like being around him. I like it way more than I care to admit and that’s not good. It would be hard enough to stay away from him, but if I have to be around him and yet not have him the way I want to? Yeah, I think that would be worse. He was my target – I zeroed in on him the first night we met. And now I have to take my finger off the trigger seconds before shooting and aim another direction.

I’m not a happy camper.

Kip’s shoulder brushes mine, waking up my senses to realize just how close we’re walking. He turns toward me, his bright eyes reflecting the turquoise blue of the water. “So, why poker?”

“What do you mean? Like why do I play?”

“Yeah, how did you get started playing? And why do you do it professionally?”

“Are you interviewing me for ESPN?” I ask, lifting my brows in amusement.

He smiles and looks back out at the water. “I’m just curious about you.”

“Well, it’s a pretty boring story.”

“Boring is in the eye of the beholder.”

I stop walking. “I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to be beauty.”

“I amended it. So I’ll ask again – why poker?”

We start walking again and I tuck my hands deeper into my coat. “My mom taught me how to play when I was really young. I didn’t exactly fit in when I was younger and I never got invited to birthday parties or any of that stuff that happened on the weekends.”

“You? Miss Social Butterfly? I can hardly imagine any scenario where you didn’t fit in.”

I shake my head. “Palm South is different for me, which is part of why I love it so much. I used to be pretty much invisible, and here, everyone knows me. It’s something I’ve always wanted.”

Kip scrunches his nose. “Why? Doesn’t it bother you to have everyone watching you, talking about you?”

I shrug. “No, not really. I mean, the gossiping is the downside to it, but the plus side is that I never walk into a class where I don’t know someone. I always have something to do, whether it’s the weekend or not. I’ve kind of broken out of my shell here, I guess. People love to be around me and I like to be around them, too.”

He seems to chew on that, his toes flicking up wet sand as we continue walking. Finally he asks, “So your mom taught you?”

“Yeah, she started teaching me how to play poker to lift my spirits, I guess, and we had family poker nights. My brother wasn’t as into it as I was, but he played every now and then. Mostly it was me, Mom, and Dad. Dad knew the game better, but Mom knew how to play, if that makes sense. She had a better poker face, better reads on bluffs.”

“So she taught you all your moves, huh?” He asks, quirking a brow.

I smile, nodding. “Yes, definitely. She says I’m better, but I learned everything I know from her.”

Kip is quiet for a moment and we just walk, the sound of the ocean filling the silence. After a while, he asks, “So you used to do it for fun, but when did it go from a family game night sort of thing to something professional?”

We’re getting into deeper territory, and I’m not sure I want to go there. I bite my bottom lip and consider lying, but I’ve never been one to bluff when I don’t have to. No sense in wasting a good poker face on something that isn’t that serious. Most everyone at the school knows why I play the way I do, I guess it doesn’t hurt for him to hear it from the source.

“Honestly?”

He nods. “Of course.”

I shrug. “I’m poor. Like, second-hand clothes, food stamps, lived-in-a-car-for-a-year-once poor.” I turn to see Kip’s reaction, but he doesn’t give one. He just waits for me to continue. “Well, I guess I should say I was poor. My parents work so hard, but they never went to college and their options are limited. They both work retail and Dad is close to getting promoted to management, but things are just tight. So, when I was old enough to enter tournaments, I started playing for money. I’m good at it, I like it – why not make life a little easier for my family and do it for a living?”

We stop walking and face the water, letting our feet sink deeper into the sand with every pull of a new wave. “Plus,” I add after a moment of silence. “I wouldn’t be able to come here if I didn’t do the tournaments. I pay for my tuition, books, and the sorority all on my own. This has been my first-choice school ever since I can remember. I knew coming here would be different, a chance for me to reinvent myself and be who I wanted to be – it’s a small school, everyone knows everyone, and like I said before, I’ve always wanted that. I played the part of the little fish in a big sea growing up. Now, at Palm South, people know me. People love me.” I smile, thinking of my sisters and friends on campus. They’re like my family, and I can’t imagine where I would be if I couldn’t play poker to stay here with them.

I can’t read Kip’s face, but he’s still quiet, so word vomit starts pouring out of my mouth. At this point, I’ve probably told him more than he cares to know, but it’s like I can’t stop – I can’t end the story here.

“And now I have to win enough to pay the entry fee in May. If I win that tournament, I won’t have to play professionally anymore – not unless I actually want to, at least. I’ll be able to give my parents a nice check for them to use however they need to and, more importantly, I’ll be able to pay for the rest of school and finally focus on what I really want to do.” I let that last part sink in, remembering how badly I want this win. “I have to take first place in Vegas. There’s no other option.”

Kip swallows hard, and I realize I just dumped a lot of heavy shit on him. Cool, Skyler, let’s talk about being poor with the new kid at a private school. Obviously he has money and doesn’t understand. I picture him treating me differently, looking at me with sad eyes the way the kids at my high school did. I finally fit in somewhere and instead of embracing it, I point out that it’s an illusion – I still don’t really belong.

He goes to speak, and I brace myself for the I’m so sorry, that’s so sad, you’re so strong, but instead he asks, “So what do you really want to do?”

Wait, what?

I falter for a moment, staring at him like an idiot so he lifts his brows. I shake my head. “Um, well, to be honest I don’t really know. That’s part of why I need to win this tournament. I have a few ideas of what I want to do, but as of now I’m still undecided because I’m too worried about being able to afford next semester to think about my major or future career. I need a clear head to focus on me, for once.”

He nods, digesting. I can’t tell, but for some reason it seems like he feels bad, but not in the way others do when they hear about it. The look on his face isn’t one of sympathy, but almost as if he’s the one who put me in this situation. He looks… guilty, and for the life of me I can’t imagine why. Maybe he’s just one of those types of people, the kind who just feel intensely. For some reason, it makes me uneasy… and I’m never wrong when it comes to my gut feelings. Suddenly, I feel like I should be paying more attention to his poker face.

Maybe there’s something he’s not telling me.

Ugh, there I go again, always looking for something that’s not there. Mom taught me how to hide my emotions and decode the emotions of others. It’s fantastic in a poker game, but it kind of sucks in real life. I’m more paranoid than the average person and tend to jump to conclusions. No matter how often I’m right, I still think I act a little crazy.

I glance down at my toes sunk into the sand. “Do you see those shells?”

Kip blinks and shakes his head, coming out of his own thoughts. He looks down. “Those little ones? Yeah.”

“Watch them,” I say as another wave rolls over our feet. As it recedes, the shells begin to wiggle their way back into the sand.

“Woah!” Kip yells, jumping back. “Are they moving?!”

I giggle at his reaction, grabbing his arm and pulling him back next to me. “Yes, they’re coquinas.”

Kip gives me a sideways glance and a confused look. I laugh. He looks ridiculous.

“They’re little clams. They hang out on the shore where the waves hit because they eat the plankton that the waves bring in. So they burrow in, and then when a wave comes it washes them out, so they have to dig their way back down. Once they dig down enough, they use little siphons to draw in the water and eat the plankton. And then it all happens again, over and over all day long.”

Kip looks down and wiggles his toes. “So they’re like marathon clams. They make other clams look lazy.”

“I guess so.” I laugh. “I like them because they work hard for what they want and need in life. They don’t let the threat of waves thousands of times larger than them crashing down stop them. They persevere, and it’s not easy – but they do it.”

He quirks a half smile at me, his blue eyes saying something that I can’t quite decipher. He bends down and picks one of the coquinas up, examining it between his fingers. I watch him as he studies it, wondering what he’s looking for. It’s as if he wants to know the secrets, like he’s thirsty for the knowledge on how to beat the waves in his own life.

I think I am, too.

“I want to help you this semester,” he says, delicately placing the coquina back in the sand and standing.

“Help with what?”

“Poker. I know you already know what you’re doing, but I can help you prepare for May. I’ll find you small tournaments to play in and I’ll sneak video so we can review it, work on your weaknesses.”

I laugh, shaking my head, but then I realize it actually might be a good idea. I’ve always wished I could record a tournament and see what my face looks like when I’m bluffing and when I have a really good pocket pair. I don’t feel like I give anything off, but I’ve been beaten enough times to know I do. The novices don’t pick up on it, but the pros do – and I’ll be playing the best of the pros in Vegas.

I turn to Kip, questioning. “Why do you want to help me?”

He shrugs. “We’re friends, remember? I think this is what friends do. Although, I’d be happy to go back to sucking lime juice out of your mouth, if you’d prefer.”

I blush and shove him.

“Ah!” he screams, tiptoeing on the sand as I push him back. “Careful! I don’t want to step on the little bad ass clams!”

I laugh and we turn back toward where we left our shoes. The sun is shining full force now, and I’m sure it’s at least eight. I yawn, the night finally catching up to me.

“Want me to walk you back to the sorority house?” Kip asks, yawning himself.

“No, I don’t want to do the walk of shame with you in tow. It’s already going to look bad as it is.”

He smiles a lazy, sleepy smile. “Everyone’s going to think we slept together. Want to give them something to talk about?” He waggles his eyebrows and I punch him hard in the arm.

“You’re going to need that friend zone helmet for real if you keep pushing my buttons like that.”

“Oh, I like pushing your buttons.” He winks. I roll my eyes, but can’t fight off the laugh. As annoying as he is, he’s equally sexy. I’ve always said that if a guy can make me laugh, he can make me do anything.

Let’s hope I can resist this time.

I take a sip of the hot liquid wrapped in a trendy Starbucks cup as Kip stares, anticipating. I know immediately that it’s not my drink of choice, the drink he’s trying to figure out, just by the smell alone – but I take my time drinking it anyway. I take a few sips, smack my lips together a bit, smile, and then shake my head.

“No? Hmm, I thought for sure you were a White Mocha girl.”

I pull my textbook from the Vera Bradley messenger bag my Little got me for Christmas and quirk a brow. “And what exactly gave you that impression? Do I have a face that screams White Mocha?”

“You have a face that screams, all right, but I don’t think that’s the phrase I would go with.”

I turn in my chair to face him completely. “So what does my face scream, then?”

Kip places his chin carefully in one hand, his forefinger drumming on his cheek. “Maybe something along the lines of, ‘God, Kip, you are so dreamy. Please take me on a date tonight and I’ll show you why I’m worth that one thousand dollars.’”

“Pig!” I laugh, smacking him and facing the front again just as Dr. O’Neal walks in. His hair is a bit more disheveled than usual today, but it’s his quirkiness that I adore. He’s one of the most interesting professors on campus, though I’m not sure why I even took this class other than to be in one with him all semester. I have no interest in screenwriting – at least, I don’t think I do – but I always see Dr. O’Neal walking quickly around campus and I’m curious about him and where he hurries to. I looked up classes he taught and settled for this one, wondering if maybe I could find passion in writing. It’s only been a week, but just from our initial assignment I can tell that I won’t.

I hate writing.

Dr. O’Neal starts frantically scribbling on the white board, spouting off a television pilot scenario as he does so. Kip leans in close to my ear and whispers, “I’m serious, when can I take you on that date?”

“We already had our date,” I remind him for the fiftieth time. He’s been texting me all week trying to set up a date, but I knew after that morning on the beach that it would be trouble. My Big has been so busy with adjusting to her new role as president that she’s either forgotten about our deal or hasn’t had time to bring it up to me. Either way, I’m skating under the radar and I prefer it that way. Maybe I can get out of this.

But not if he won’t drop the date thing.

“That wasn’t a date and you know it,” he whispers back from the corner of his mouth, his eyes trained on Dr. O’Neal.

“What happened to our agreement?”

“I never said it had to be a date-date, like the end-the-night-with-you-tangled-in-my-sheets kind of date, but you owe me. I paid a thousand bucks for a date with you and I’m going to get it.”

I don’t say anything back, I’m a little too distracted thinking about being tangled up in bed with him. With those arms, those lips…

“We need to go over your poker schedule anyway,” he adds, still not looking at me directly. Dr. O’Neal glances back in our direction, pausing a little before continuing on about writing the perfect pilot. When he turns to the PowerPoint up on the screen, I wheel around quickly to face Kip.

“We can talk about poker, but that’s not a date. We can easily meet at Greek Library or the cafeteria for that.”

“Fine, but I’m still taking you out on a damn date. So shut up and tell me the day and time that works best for you this weekend.”

I bite against the smile fighting its way onto my lips and shake my head, turning to the front. He’s relentless. “I’m busy this weekend.”

Kip goes to respond, but a girl in the row behind us shushes him before he can speak. I stifle a laugh and his fists tense, but we stay quiet the rest of the class.

Dr. O’Neal assigns us another writing exercise to prepare us for our first project and then I’m free for the weekend. My phone buzzes on our way out of the building with a reminder to call my parents. They work the evening shift tonight, which means I should be able to catch them having their morning coffee. Talking about them to Kip earlier this week made me realize how much I miss them, and how little I keep up with them during the semester. Even though I just saw them for Christmas, I already feel guilty for my busy schedule. Dad always tells me not to worry about it, that they understand and they want me to be busy, but I still worry regardless.

“So what time should I pick you up tonight?” Kip asks and I roll my eyes.

“Seriously, Kip, not happening. I have a study group tonight, anyway.”

“At Greek Library?”

“Yes, and no you can’t come.” I start walking toward the sorority house and he jogs a little to catch up.

“Why not? We can go out after you finish.”

I stop mid-stride and turn to face him. “You’re really not going to give it a rest, are you?”

He shoots me a cocky grin, his glasses lifting on his cheeks slightly. “I’m not one for giving up easily.”

“Well neither am I, so I hope you’re prepared for a stand-still.”

“Eh,” he says, shrugging. “I think your defenses will weaken over time. See you soon.” He gives one last smile and heads off in the opposite direction. I watch him leave, losing my ability to respond due to my eyes drifting to the way his jeans hang on his hips. He’s dressed casually, his faded jeans paired with an Alpha Sigma shirt, yet still I witness three different girls crank their necks to watch him walk by.

Shaking my head, I start walking again and pull up Mom’s contact, hitting the green phone button to call.

“Morning, pretty girl! You’re on speaker phone,” she answers. Dad says hello through a mouth of what I can only assume is buttered toast. He’s had buttered toast with his coffee ever since I can remember. I smile at the thought and wish I was there with them.

“Hey guys! I can’t talk long but I missed you and wanted to check in. How’s work going?”

Dad groans. “Just peachy as always. I’m officially on the list for the next management meeting, so hopefully they actually move me forward this time.”

“They will, Dad. No one works harder than you,” I say, but in reality I’m not sure they’ll actually follow through. They haven’t the past three years they’ve promised him a promotion, so I’m doubtful but hopeful at the same time.