Page 94 of The Pass Protection
Taking a long drink of my Coke, I lean back and scan the room. Standing at the edge of the seating area is a man I’m desperate to runto—a man I want to throw my arms around and claim right here in the dining hall. I want to stand up on my chair and shout that Crew Ryan Riggsby has stolen my heart. A heart I thought was hardened. Dark-chocolate eyes land on mine. I feel my pulse tick as a smile plays on his lips. Briefly, his eyes flash to the back of Grant’s head, and I watch Crew steel his shoulders and start making his way toward us.
“Am I interrupting?”
“Yes,” Grant grits out while I say, “No.”
“S’up guys,” Cody greets as he slides up behind Crew. The guys sit at the table and the bubble between Grant and I is broken.
Idle conversation fills the table as the guys talk sports. Something about their fantasy football league and their predictions for who will win the Super Bowl this year. I zone out as I scan the faces in the dining hall. I watch as couples openly hold hands. As groups of guys give each other claps on the back as they greet each other. A table of girls throws their heads back in laughter. I enjoy the chance to observe and people-watch. For once, I did not feel like I needed to scan the room for familiar eyes that made up my nightmare.
Shouts and chairs scraping against the tile interrupt my people-watching. Attention forms around a table a few sections away from us. JP stands chest to chest with a man who is built bigger than him. A sobbing girl stands between them. You can feel the tension radiating from the men as JP tries to convince the guy he didn’t know the girl was taken.
Oh, the drama.
In seconds, Grant, Crew, and Cody are on their feet and moving to the commotion. All I can do is stand by and watch as the guys try to sort out the issue before exchanging punches.
As calm as things seem to be for me, it looks like we should focus on our other roommate.
Arriving at my parents’ house for Thanksgiving dinner is nothing short of overwhelming. Cars line the driveway, forcing us to park down the street. It’s been a few years since I’ve been home for one of my mom’s famous Thanksgiving dinners, and it seems the guest list has only grown in size.
JP practically jumps from the SUV as Tyler shifts the car into park. Apparently, Thanksgiving is JP’s favorite holiday. He woke everyone up by yelling, “Wakey, wakey! It’s Turkey Day!” from the living room at seven o’clock this morning. The Thanksgiving Day Parade coverage was blaring from our TV starting at eight thirty.
With coffees in hand, the four of us lounged around all morning, watching float after float before we switched the channel to the first NFL game of the day. It was a very chill, very basic morning until we all had to get ready for the four o’clock dinner at my parents’ house.
“Bro, would you chill? The food isn’t going to be gone.” Tyler shuts the driver’s side door as the lock sounds beeping.
JP glances over his shoulder as he’s already quite a few feet in front of us. “But Mrs. C makes the best mashed potatoes.”
I shake my head. My mom makes good mashed potatoes, but dinner isn’t served until five. She instructs everyone to get to their house at four to allow plenty of time for everyone to settle. Someone is alwaysrunning late, so to avoid her plate getting cold for hosting duties, she tells everyone the start is at an earlier time. I think it’s kind of genius.
Passing the next-door neighbor’s driveway, we follow the sidewalk past the perfectly manicured lawn my parents pay a landscaping company to maintain. The two-story white brick house stands out against the black trim and green bushes in the flowerbeds—another thing the landscaping company takes care of. As much as my mom loves to garden, with my dad’s coaching schedule, they’ve resorted to hiring some help around the property. Their home sits on an acre in a gated community thirty minutes from campus. A mixture of CEOs, doctors, retired NFL players, and even a celebrity or two live in our community.
We followed a few people up the front steps, where my mother stood inside the door, welcoming her guests. Her brunette hair is slicked back in her signature chignon bun. The brown plaid dress clings to her and accentuates her frame. She’s dressed as a dutiful housewife, simple and stylish, prepared to host a lovely dinner.
With the slightest of touches, I feel Crew’s fingers slide against my hand. Glancing up, he flashes me a subtle wink as he creates more space between us. It’s the smallest of gestures, but it warms my heart. It’s his way of saying that he’s keeping his distance, but he’s still thinking of me.
“My favorite daughter!” Mom’s excited voice welcomes us as it’s our turn to enter the house. With arms open wide, I step into her embrace.
“Mom, I’m your only daughter.”
Pulling back, she holds me at arm’s length, taking in my appearance. Today’s outfit is out of my go-to comfort zone. A burnt orange sweater vest hangs off my exposed shoulders and is slightly tucked into my black, cropped flared jeans with the knees ripped out. My sneakerswere exchanged for black-heeled booties, which I rarely wear anything heeled. And my long black hair is curled voluptuously down my back.
“You look lovely, darling.” Mom’s eyes bounce from mine to where my three roommates stand. “All of you look so handsome.”
And they do. JP is dressed in dark-washed denim and a lightweight cream sweater, which contrasts with his dark skin. Tyler is wearing khaki dress pants and a navy polo shirt, while Crew is wearing medium-washed jeans and a plaid shirt. He looks like the country boy he is.
“Please come in. There are coolers lining the back patio filled with everything under the sun. Make yourselves at home.” Mom steps aside as each man bends down and hugs her as they thank her for hosting.
Following the guys, we made our way through the entryway into the open living room, which led into the large kitchen. Every surface was covered in burnt oranges, browns, and creams, as all of the fall decor was placed in the perfect location, creating an inviting and cozy atmosphere. The air smelled of an array of scents, from pumpkin-scented candles to the roasting turkey.
Groups of people mill around the space, spilling out to the backyard where tents and tables are placed. Familiar faces of relatives and family friends greet me, some pulling me in for conversation. Comments on my hair, questions on where I’ve been, and everything in between are asked. And while I knew the shock of seeing me would have people flocking toward me, I was hoping to find a table in the corner and just people-watch.
“Bret, sweetie, there you are,” Mom interrupts my conversation with a nosy family friend looking for the scoop. She’s the type who acts incredibly sweet, hoping you’ll open up to her, and then spreads your gossip around town. I welcome the interruption from Mom.
“Excuse us,” I tell the lady as I turn toward Mom, who smiles politely as she ushers me away. We weave through the crowd until she finds a quiet spot inside the kitchen away from eavesdropping ears.
“Sweetie, your father and I would like you to meet friends of ours’ son. He’ll be joining us for supper and is a medical student at CTU.”
Mentally processing the news, I quickly rack my brain as I try to figure out how to get out of this. I’m not interested, and my parents don’t know I’m dating.
