Everything Unexpected (3 page)

Hang out again
?

Is she serious? They’ve had nothing
but
chances to hang out again before now. But this minute needs to be one of those times? I know it. I’m screwed. Call the game now—it’s over.

“Maybe after we finish?” Bryan suggests, his voice barely disguising his forced nonchalant tone. I have to look away. I can’t witness this. I know what’s coming even if he doesn’t.

“I’m actually heading back to the sorority house. Thought maybe you’d want to walk me back.” She takes a step forward.

And there’s the final blow. It’s a hit no man can come back from. Sex. It doesn’t matter if it happens or not. It’s the thought that it
could
happen that I now know I have no chance in hell at him staying to continue this game.

Without even a second thought, Bryan brushes past me, barely giving me glance. “See you later.”

“We’re in the middle of a game!” I argue to his retreating back, already knowing it’s for nothing.

He turns but continues walking further away, following Kendall, mouthing only one word while shaking his head.

“
Dude
.”

Way to leave a man behind. I’m not one to cock-block but I’m also not one who likes to lose.

“We playing or what?” I hear one of the guys yell. “Or should we just take your money now?”

I take a quick look around, noticing our earlier matches have gathered a small audience mostly made up of guys from the frat. Doubtful I can get one of them to fill in against their own
brothers
and I have to no clue where Steve or Eddy have gone. I walk back to the table, figuring I could try and play on my own and take them both on.

“Yeah, we’re playing,” I hear a confident but distinctly feminine voice come from behind me. Before I can turn around and see who it came from, a pair of delicate and perfectly manicured hands with purple nails rest on the rods, testing them out. My eyes travel from those pretty hands with the perfect polish, to a beautifully sculpted arm, fantastically rounded shoulder and a long elegant neck. My eyes move just a fraction more upwards and for the first time in my life, it’s
my
eyes that widen in surprise. Even more unexpected, my breath seems to have gotten caught as well.

“I’ll be your partner,” she says, looking over at me and giving me a half smile.

I hear the words come from her mouth but I’m momentarily dumbstruck. She has honey colored, long, blonde hair that easily falls to her lower back. She’s wearing tight skinny jeans and a white tank top. Her skin is a gold only a native Southern Florida girl could have. Her small smile gives me the slightest view of her white teeth, her cheek bones nearly reaching her deep brown eyes. I can tell she’s got a great body even though it’s not on display like the rest of the girls here.

Blinking back into the present, I regain some composure and turn to fully face her. “Do you know how to play?”

She smiles at me like I’ve said something cute. I almost anticipate being patted on the head. “Doesn’t look so hard,” she answers.

She turns back to the table and test spins the rods once more. I lean my hip against the table and lower my mouth to her ear. I’m close enough I can smell the faintness of coconut on her skin. But not from a perfume. More like she applied sunscreen hours ago and it’s just naturally faded as the hours have passed.

“I’ve got some money riding on this. So I need to know,” I say quietly. “Can. You. Play?”

She tilts her head up to look at me, some of her hair falling off her shoulder. God, she has a lot of it.

She blinks, then smiles. “I can be your Monica.”

I furrow my brows, confused. “Be my Monica? Is that your name?”

Her shoulders drop in disappointment. “Monica Gellar?
Friends
? The TV show?”

Still not getting the comparison, I continue to stare at her blankly. Seeing I’m not understanding, she rises up and rests both her hands on my shoulders. The contact is imposing, and I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have those hands drag down lower on my body. I feel how warm her hands are through the cotton of my t-shirt and even at this seemingly innocent touch, I feel a small stirring happening in my stomach.

“Don’t worry, we got this,” she says winking, turning back towards the table. I take a quick moment to shake off the fluttering that’s going on in my stomach before getting into place beside her. The frat brothers are blatantly gawking with their mouths opens at my new partner. I’m about to tell them to drop the ball so we can both play and also to get them to stop staring at her, but I’m beaten to it.

“Let’s play, boys!” she screams in their face.

It shocks them momentarily but they quickly recover, smug smirks coming over their faces. “Like taking candy from a baby,” one says.

“It’ll taste pretty sour once we’re finished with you,” she snaps back with a smug smile.

The ball drops and before I even blink, the ball is stopped by one of our little wooden men and shot into the opposite net.

“Score!” she yells, raising one arm in the air.

Like my opponents, I’m stunned and left staring at the table. Maybe she wasn’t lying when she told me not to worry. I look back in her direction and see she’s already back in place, waiting for the ball to drop once more. The frat boys make a few comments about beginners luck but quickly shut up when after ten seconds go by, she scores again. And then once more not long after that. The boys stand, both taking a frustrated step away from the table, uncomfortable when the crowd starts chirping at them. Snarky comments about being beat by a girl clearly making way to their ears. They pace back and forth a bit, breathing heavy, their faces becoming red.

“Do you need more time?” she asks, her tone mockingly sweet.

When the ball drops this time, there is no immediate score and it gives me the chance to actually play alongside her. And we play together well. Our bodies move in sync like it’s been choreographed. She ducks under my arms easily as we switch positions, our legs easily stepping in between each other’s as we crisscross back and forth. I realize then her skills at this game may even be better than mine. After our next goal, we high five each other and her smile grows wide from ear to ear.

It’s the prettiest one I’ve ever seen.

We are well on our way to beating their asses by an embarrassingly high score. After a few more minutes, the score is so outlandish, there’s no chance of them having a comeback. We show mercy and end the game, but not before I collect my winnings. Grumbling and obviously irritated, they hand over the cash and leave the room, catcalls from their brothers following them out. I count the cash and pocket most of it but hand a small share over to my partner.

“Well deserved,” I say.

Smiling, she doesn’t even hesitate before accepting it, which only makes me like her more.

“Looks like I’ll have to look into this Monica girl,” I say, smiling.

“You should,” she nods, her eyes narrowing in a playful dare.

A small laugh escapes my lips. “Well,” taking a step towards her, “you can be my Monica anytime.”

She bites her lower lip, trying to keep her smile somewhat hidden. I want to pull that lip free with my finger, not allowing her to hide anything from me.

“I told you,” she winks, crossing her arms over her chest. “We had it all along.” Her eyes shine with teasing amusement.

Christ
.

What is it about this girl? I mean, sure, she’s gorgeous, but I’ve been around gorgeous girls before and it definitely took a little more than a small bite to the lip and some teasing to get me this interested.

“Maybe we should take this on the road. Make a killing off all the frat houses in Florida,” I suggest.

She laughs. It’s loud and authentic. Not like the small giggles I’m used to hearing from girls. This laugh is real.

“You go to school here?”

She nods once more. “I do.” She tilts her head to the side, studying me. “But you don’t.”

I shake my head, wondering what gave me away. “University of Art and Design.”

“Ah…makes sense. You’re the only one wearing clothes without the University insignia. No hat. Plain t-shirt. Almost like you don’t belong,” she says, teasing.

“I could say the same about you, Honeycomb,” I answer back, pointing to her own choice of clothing. It also gives me a chance to look her entire body up and down once more, but slowly this time.

She smiles then blinks in confusion. “Honeycomb?”

I stand straight, pushing myself off from where I’ve been leaning against the foosball table and take one step closer to her. She stiffens slightly at my new closeness but doesn’t shy away. I lift my hand and take hold of a few strands of her honey colored hair, lifting it up between us.

Her smile returns but she looks away, hiding her blush. It makes me want to see what else I can do to make her blush like that.

Suddenly an arm appears out of nowhere and wraps itself around her shoulders. I drop her hair from my fingers and take a defensive stance. The arm belongs to Mr. College Varsity. Not only is he wearing a t-shirt with the school’s insignia all over it, he also looks like he could be the quarterback of the football team. Muscular build, straight cut hair, small Greek letters tattooed across his arm. He looks me up and down, sizing me up as I do the same to him. He’s about the same height but probably outweighs me by about thirty pounds—of muscle.

“Sorry I’m late. Got caught up,” he says leaning into her but keeping his eyes on me as he drops a kiss on her temple.

Just like women, men also have a way of communicating to one another without the need of using actual words. Sometimes it’s a grunt or a simple hand gesture. Sometimes it’s by doing nothing at all. But that slow, controlled, claiming kiss to the temple was a clear method of communicating one message to me.

She’s mine
.
Step back
.

He follows the kiss with a simple curt nod, looking for acknowledgment I’ve received his directive.

For now, I ignore it.

“Trevor! You missed it. We annihilated that game,” she says extending her arms out to the table, completely oblivious to the silent conversation already being had.

“I believe it,” he says giving her a swift glance before looking back at me. “Thanks for keeping her entertained, but I got it from here.”

Oh, I’m sure you do, douchebag.
Nothing screams insecure to me more than a man who needs to piss around his girl.

“Trev, don’t be an ass,” she mutters under her breath. I glance at her and can tell she’s slightly embarrassed at his behavior. Her face tightens, her earlier smile faltering and a light flush starts to creep up her neck. But the worst part? She’s seems too uncomfortable to even look at me now.

It’s for all those reasons I keep my mouth shut and let this guy have his way. I don’t want to add to her obvious discomfort.

“Thanks for leading us to victory, Comb” I tell her, hoping the nickname will bring those big brown eyes back up to mine. And it does. She looks up at me and smiles.

“Let’s go. They’re waiting,” Trevor tells her, slightly pushing her away from me.

Nodding, she complies and turns to leave with him, but not before she gives me one final look filled with apology.

I wave my hand, letting her know not to worry about it. I watch them as they leave the jam-packed room and continue to watch until I lose sight when she disappears into the hallway.

“I don’t know what she sees in that dillhole,” Eddy says coming out of nowhere and standing beside me. His eyes are pointed in the same direction as mine, to where Honeycomb just left.

Two things surprise me. One, Eddy just swore, or at least what Eddy considers swearing, and two, he may know who this girl is.

“You know her?” I ask him, following his stare.

He nods. “Leah. She’s in a few of my pre-law classes. Smart. Knows her stuff. The guy she’s with is Trevor, also in some of my classes. Complete dickwad to most people.”

“Calm down, Hulk,” I say with a smirk, teasing him for his use of language.

Eddy shakes his head. “His parents are high class lawyers in New York. Thinks he owns the world. Arrogant type,” he says. When I turn back and look at him, he realizes what he just said and begins to backtrack.

“I mean, except you, of course,” he says, nervously.

I laugh and look back towards the area where I lost Leah.

Leah
. Pretty name.

“I mean, not once have you ever acted better than any of us because of your parents, or where you grew up—”

Is he still blabbing about this?

“Eddy, stop talking,” I say, grabbing his shoulders. “Actually, tell me one thing. Where would I find all you pre-law students during the week?”