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The quarterback always gets talked about like he’s practically a mythical creature and especially Elias O’Shea, but everything I know about him has been background noise. I don’t even think I’ve seen a photo of him. The few times I’ve watched clips of him playing football, he was wearing his helmet.
Isla picks up Gabe’s beer to take a sip but before she can, Jake takes it out of her hand.
“Don’t even think about it, Pixie,” he scolds her. “You’re underage.”
“So?” she protests. “I’m about to become the biggest party animal on campus and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”
“Try me.” His reply is surly. I’m trying to get the gist of their connection. They’ve known each other forever, Isla told me, and it’s obvious they have a bond. He’s protective of his best friend’s little sister. But I can’t help wondering if there’s more to it than that. Her cheeks have those pink flags and his eyes haven’t left her.
“We call her Pixie,” Jake explains to me, “because, when she was little, she was this tiny blond-headed omni-present thing, with her round little retro glasses, her hair sticking up and this cheesy gap-toothed grin. She would flit around us all the time, asking a million questions and insisting on following us wherever we went, like an annoying little pixie. The name stuck.”
Isla pretends to be offended. “You can call me Isla now, Bowie. I’m not a tiny little gap-toothed girl anymore.”
“You’re still tiny.” Compared to him, anyone would be tiny. “And just as annoying.” But his teasing isn’t heated at all. In fact, there’s a depth to his gaze that’s more than affection.
Interesting.
I can already read the dynamic. Gabe is oblivious. And when it clicks for him, neither Isla nor Jake know how he’ll react.
I’m watching them for clues but I can’t actually tell if they’re even aware of the spark that’s simmering between them. Maybe their friendship is so ingrained they don’t realize they’re practically flammable. Or maybe they do but their default is to suppress it.
It’ll be interesting to watch how it all plays out. I’ve only known Isla for a few hours so it feels too soon, but since we’re living together, I’ll be waiting for her to tell me more when she’s ready to.
A waitress comes over to take our order. “The usual for you guys?” she asks with a flirty smile, especially for Gabriel. I don’t think anyone can blame her for crushing on Gabriel Dillon. With his dark hair and darker eyes, he’s striking to look at. His moody charisma and cool confidence have the waitress practically drooling. “My friends and I have front row seats to Saturday’s game, Gabe. I can’t wait to watch you play.”
He grins at her, but it’s lightly dismissive. “Three cheeseburgers with extra fries. Zara? Isla? What do you two want?”
“Cheeseburger for me too, please,” Isla says. “And a Coke.”
“I’ll have the same.”
Time slips away in the cozy restaurant. By the end of the night, Gabe, Jake and West feel like old friends. They’re easy to be with and their fun camaraderie is infectious. They refuse to let me pay my bill no matter how much I protest.
We all stroll back to the dorm together.
“So, Zara,” West nudges me. “What do you paint?” Isla mentioned to them that I’m an art major.
I always have trouble describing my style. It’s abstract close up but from a distance it looks almost impressionistic. “All kinds of things.”
“Do you ever paint people?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do you need a nude model?” He cracks up at his own joke. “Oh, shit, did I just cross a line again?”
“For fuck’s sake, West,” groans Jake. “Would you cut that shit out?”
Jake slings his arm around West’s shoulders and puts him in a headlock. “Sorry, Zara. We’ve tried training him but he can’t help himself.”
I laugh. “He’s fine.”
West tries to break free of the headlock Jake has him in. But he’s not giving up easily. “Because that would definitely be a masterpiece, just sayin’.”
The two of them are practically wrestling. Jake pins West to the ground on the grass.
“Don’t mind them, Zara,” Gabriel says.
We’re close to the dorm now. “This is us, guys,” Isla says.
