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“You’re right. Men don’t deserve me.”
“Speaking of men,” Chelsea White, a left winger, says with a coy little smile. “Wanna go fish for some at O’Malley’s tonight?”
She’s the one who passed out beside me the first day, but only because she’d been struggling with a cold before bootcamp. On a normal day, she can bench-press me and you’d never think so. Out of anyone in this locker room, she’s the one who could make it to a beauty pageant.
“What’s O’Malley’s?” I pull myself up to a sitting position to finish my stretching.
Chelsea sits with JT and me. “The main bar on campus, according to my roommate.”
“Oh, cool. You talk to your roommate,” I grumble to myself. Mine has zero interest in anything that comes out of my mouth. Which makes me think this socializing idea may not be so bad.
“I’m in.” JT bumps her fist with Chelsea’s. “If only because I don’t have money to renew my Netflix subscription right now.”
I’ll lend her my password. Later. Tonight, I also want to see people outside of a screen.
“Great! I’ll text you the meeting place and time later.” She hops back to her feet and over to another group until the whole team is in the know.
JT rubs her hands. “Let the college life begin.”
This week has felt surreal. Wrapped up only in intensive training, I haven’t had time to look around campus—probably the way Chelsea’s roommate found out about the bar—or even glance at the syllabus or the map of buildings to scout out where the library is or the cafeteria. But if there’s a way to officially kick off college life, it truly is by hitting up the local bar.
Later, I head over to the bar with most of the team. A few of the girls are dressed to the nines, maybe hitting up a nightclub after. I kept it casual. And by casual, I mean I only changed my outfit like five times.In the end, I picked high-waisted shorts that make my butt look ah-may-zing. I tucked a T-shirt that has the That’s all Folks! logo at the front into them and slipped on a pair of Converse. Some lip gloss and loose hair, and I look kinda cute.
JT drops an arm over my shoulders. “What’s tonight’s game plan, Rodriguez?”
“Hmm. Going with the flow? I honestly don’t know what to expect here.”
And I don’t mean it just because it’s officially my first college party of sorts.
St. Cloud is one of those Ivy League schools people sell a limb to be able to attend, unless applicants are old money. Their reputation has been built on almost two hundred years of academic achievements, including the stem cell treatment that helped restore my ability to walk six years ago. Never in my life would I have dreamed about attending this place. But here I am, all thanks to some alumni with enough cash to spare, and a dean who wants to put the school on the sports map.
The students at this college are famous for being uppity brainiacs, and the odds are high that that’s the kind of people we’ll encounter.
“Chill vibe. I dig.” JT lets go of me to grab a flask someone sneaked in from who knows where and chugs.
She offers it, and I pass. I had to pop a couple of ibuprofen earlier aside from my usual chronic pain medication, and though the combination wouldn’t be too dangerous, I really don’t need the secondary effects. The fact that JT doesn’t give me any crap about turning down booze puts her in my good books forever.
O’Malley’s looks like a hole in the wall. It has the ambiance of an authentic Irish pub down pat, complete with the red brick walls and the rusty overhead sign. The fogged-up grid windowpanes add an extra touch of casual eeriness. Is it going to be full of grumpy old men, angry we’re on their turf?
But then I walk in, and the place morphs. The inside is well lit and packed with high-top tables and a few booths crammed with people. There’s an old-school jukebox in a corner, and just beyond are a couple of pool tables, a table hockey one, and a few dart boards. The bar is teeming with people waiting for drinks, and music and noise reverberate off the walls.
I whistle. “Okay, okay. Not bad.”
Like ten of us cram around a high-top that typically fits four people. It catches a lot of eyes, and a few of them belong to Bolts.
“Ugh, why are they here?” JT sneers.
“It’s only now clicking with me that we’ll also have to see them around campus.” A sad little sigh escapes from my lips. I refuse to let them ruin my night, though. “Anyway, want a drink?”
“A beer would be nice.”
I give her a look. “We’re still underage, you dork.”
“Eh, had to shoot my shot.”
“Leave that for the ice,” I say while shaking my head. But it makes her chuckle.
The table isn’t so busy now that people have migrated to the bar, to the games, or to the dance floor. I approve of the sound system, although the ’80s music isn’t my thing.
