Page 92 of Unloved

“Yeah.” She blushes. “And this one.” She does a little twirl, showing off the unique, vintage patchwork-style denim. “And I have a surprise for you.”

“Because I won?” I ask, slinging an arm over her shoulders and squishing her into my side.

“Sure.” She smirks before turning her wrist over in my hand, showing me the sleeve where she’s embroidered a 27.

My heart is thundering. I want to kiss her, but I know I can’t. Instead, I hold her hand to my chest over my heart like she’ll feel it beating andknowhow I feel for her. The immeasurable level of admiration for her gentle, glimmering heart that she wears on her sleeve so thateveryonealways knows how much they’re seen and loved and cared for.

“Freddy,” Holden calls, heading toward the beer pong table. “Ready?”

I nod before tucking a straightened piece of her hair back.

“You look beautiful.” It slips out before I quickly cover it with a nod to the table. “Wanna play with us?”

The first round of beer pong is fine. Perfect, even.

Ro and I easily win against Holden and averydrunk Paloma Blake, and I hug her around the waist in celebration, lifting her slightly off the ground.

“Fuck off,” Holden huffs, but his eyes dance as he shakes his head at me and slumps back into the empty chair behind him, where some of our friends have been watching the not-so-fierce competition.

“Ro?”

The deep male voice saying Ro’s name likethathas my attention before it has hers.

She spins, her soft mouth curving into a wide, genuine smile as her gaze locks on the tall, familiar guy behind her. With dark brown skin and tight curls atop his head with a sharp fade, he’s a handsome guy, unfortunately.

“Walker,” she says. “Hey, how are you?”

He smiles and steps between us. “I’m great. Actually, we won our game yesterday. Did you go?”

She shakes her head, while my mind races trying to remember exactly where I know this douche bag from.Game yesterday… mildly familiar…

Walker Taylor—wide receiver for the Waterfell football team. Super senior.

“Damn,” he says, hand lifting to his chest like his heart is hurting. I find my own hand reaching in the same motion, my chest feeling a little tight. “You promised last semester—”

“I know.” Ro groans a little and nods. “I’m sorry about that. Things got busy, but I’ve been more adventurous this semester.”

His eyebrows skyrocket and I close my eyes, cursing beneath my breath at her unintended innuendo. Ro rarely evermeansto be flirty like that, butmy godif this guy isn’t taking every little word as a trail of crumbs to follow.

“Yeah? Enough to play a round of beer pong with your old student?”

Old student.

She was his fuckingtutor?

Suddenly, I am rubbing the center of my chest, an ache permeating my body.

Paloma knocks into the table again, giggling even as beer sloshes all over both her and me, and my gaze flicks away from the flirty vignette across from us.

Holden stands quickly, putting his hands on Paloma’s waist and coaxing her into the seat he’s vacated, which she easily goes to. She’s beyond drunk, and something about it feels… wrong. If I had any ability to focus on something other than Rosalie Shariff, I’d try to figure her out or find one of her friends.

Actually, I’ve never seen Paloma with friends. Not any real ones, at least, and no one I could name. She’s always alone.

Thankfully when I look back at her, Bennett is already there, kneeling by her side and whispering something quickly to her, atwhich she shakes her head and closes her eyes. His jaw clenches tight, but he doesn’t move. I relax a little knowing I don’t have to watch her so closely anymore—I trust any of my team to take care of her, but Bennett above most everyone else.

“Freddy?”

I spin, realizing only then that Ro has called my name a few times, but she’s stepping away from our side of the table, Walker at her back, one of his hands hovering over her waist. I want to know if she can feel it, if she knows it’s there or he’s waiting for the right opportunity.

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