Page 48 of End Game

He slides his arm around my shoulders and draws me to him in a side hug. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

“There isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be.”

Barrett steals a French fry off my plate. I push the plate towards him and he takes another, still hugging me. He brings the fry to my mouth, like he’s about to feed me, then yanks it away and eats it himself. Jerk. I pinch his side, and he twitches. More than he should.

“You okay?”

“Bruise,” he says quietly, not trying to catch the attention of the other guys, who are ignoring us.

“Where are you not bruised?” It’s a serious question. I’m not being petulant; I’m genuinely concerned.

“I’ll be fine.”

I roll my eyes. Not what I asked.

"You don’t have to worry about me,” he says.

“Evidently I do.”

Barrett sighs. “My whole body is one giant collection of bruises. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I’ll go home, sleep like twelve hours, and then get a massage tomorrow.”

I purse my lips.

“Tomorrow is recovery day. I’ll rest. Tonight we’re going out.”

“Yeah we are,” one of the sophomores across the table chimes in. I turn to glare at him, and the tough guy shrinks back. “Sorry, I’ll stop eavesdropping.”

Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.

We get our checks, and without a word, Barrett plucks mine from my hands.

“Hey!”

“I’ve got you,” he says, pulling out his wallet.

“But—”

“You’ll get the next one,” he says, like there will be a next time. This isn’t the first time he’s pulled this stunt.

“Thanks, B,” I say, because that’s all I can really say. I don’t like being dependent on my best friend’s charitable nature to be able to afford a decent college experience. I order the cheapest things on the menu, I eat at the dining hall for most of my meals, I don’t spend frivolously. I can’t afford to.

He opens his mouth, like he wants to say something, before he sighs and shakes his head.

“We’re going to head back to the house,” he says to Tucker, who nods.

Mason lights up. “We’ll go with you.”

The five freshmen and sophomores perk up, clearly fishing for an invitation.

“We’ll meet you at the Delta party in about an hour,” Barrett says, handing his card over to the waiter.

The walk to the guys’ house is slow and unhurried. Tucker and Mason are holding hands. They look cute, as they usually do, completely wrapped up in one another. They’re so clearly in love with each other, my teeth hurt from looking at them.

Tonight I don’t feel like changing my clothes. My jeans, stolen Dalton sweater, and Barrett’s Newton sweatshirt are all the effort I want to put into tonight. I’m not looking to hook up with anyone. I’m going to go home and sleep in my own bed all by myself. The only thing I do is take my hair out of its ponytail and pull it back into a fresh one.

Still, I’ll put on a pretty smile and hang out with Barrett and his friends for a few more hours. I’m not ready to go back to the soccer house and deal with Johanna and the minions. I would be fine hanging out at Barrett’s place and watching a movie or playing cards. But he wants to go out, so we’re going to go out.

The Delta house is packed by the time we arrive. The place already reeks of a thoroughly unpleasant aroma that permeates through the house. Sam and Miles are with a cluster of women I recognize as her sorority sisters, mainly by the Greek letters on their shirts and the fact that I don’t recognize them as her softball teammates. Miles is talking with another dude, probably one of the sisters’ boyfriends. He looks thoroughly uncomfortable.