Page 8 of Players Love Hard
She rolls her eyes. “Ugh, please don’t say that. I like Killian, but not in that way.”
“How come I’ve never seen you with anyone on campus?”
Shannon gives me a confused look. “I’m with you right now. On campus.”
I laugh it off. “You know what I mean. With a guy.”
“Oh.” She tips the mug to her lips to avoid my question. “Um…”
“You don’t have to answer if it’s personal.”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. I don’t know. I just never connected with anyone at this school. I don’t have a lot in common with people who have enough money to buy every house on the block where I live.”
“What about me?”
She chuckles, reaching across the table to cover my hand with hers. “You’re different, Jamie. No one at Strick U is like you.”
“I hope that’s a good thing.”
She squeezes my hand, her long nails painted a dark shade of pink sliding along my skin. “It’s a very good thing. Some students here are so… vapid.”
I laugh. “Interesting word choice.”
Shannon shrugs, holding up her hands with a cute smile tugging at her plump lips that I can’t stop thinking about. “I don’t know how else to describe some of these people. But you’re not like them.”
I wink. “Good to know. At least I’m not vapid.”
She laughs, moving her hand back to the other side of the table, and I already miss her warmth.
“Want to know something ridiculous?” she asks. I lean forward, holding her gaze, and she continues, “I have to dance on a bar this weekend for money.”
“You?” I point a finger at her. “I can’t see you dancing for money.”
“It’s true. All the sororities on campus are part of this dance competition at The Sixth Floor. Abby takes this shit seriously. She uses the pretense that the money goes to charity as an excuse to embarrass us all.”
Abby Gale is the president of Kappa Delta and the coldest, most miserable bitch I’ve ever met. She puts Cece to shame, and that’s saying a lot.
“I’m sure she does.” I stuff the last of my sandwich into my mouth. “At least it’s for charity.”
“You know the Greeks.” She sighs. “We have a philanthropic quota to meet. We’ve won the award every year. Abby takes pride in that fact.” A quick pause passes between us before she adds, “When is your next home game?”
I smirk. “Why? You going to come watch me play for once?”
She snorts. “I’ve seen you play before.”
“When?” I challenge.
“I saw you score against Penn State last year.”
My mind drifts back to that game, and I’m surprised she still remembers when I almost forgot. We barely won that game. The last second flick of my wrist saved our team.
Digging my elbows to the table, I lean forward. “You should come next weekend.”
She finishes her cappuccino and sets the cup on the saucer with a loud clang. “I will if you come to watch me dance this weekend.”
I stretch my hand across the table, waiting for her to shake it. “Deal.”
“You’re a weird one, Jamie.” She shakes my hand. “But I like you.”
