Page 7 of End Game

“It’s all your fault. I didn’t want to take a nap.” Struggling upright, I take in the disarray of my room and groan. “This is going to be fun to clean up later.”

“I’ll help you,” he promises. The bed dips as he rolls to his feet. He offers me a hand and helps me up. “Tonight is just the guys. And Sam and Mason.” He swallows nervously. “If you’re okay with a big group thing. We can have dinner just the two of us, if you don’t want to deal with my asshole friends.”

“Your friends aren’t assholes.”

“Yeah, they kind of are.”

I roll my eyes, hiding my smile. “Dinner. Feed me.”

The scenery on the walk is pretty. It’s a half-mile trek through Athlete’s Village to the Athletic Student Center, the student union designated for student athletes. It’s a glass monstrosity with study rooms, conference rooms, a banquet hall, two gyms and workout rooms, and of course, the dining hall.

I don’t have a student ID card yet—that’s a tomorrow project—so Barrett badges me in with a visitor pass. We grab trays and take in the cafeteria-style lines. It looks infinitely better than the dining hall at USC.

“Anything you recommend? Or don’t recommend?”

He pauses, giving the question his full consideration. That’s one of the things I like most about Barrett. He treats me seriously, no matter the question.

“The chicken dishes with sauce tend to be better than the plain chicken dishes,” he finally says. “The Thai curries are better than the Indian curries. And the vegan options usually include nuts, so stay away from those.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not going to purposefully ingest something I’m allergic to. I presume there are signs.”

“Well, tonight is cauliflower in a cashew cream sauce, so don’t pick that one.” He chooses two cilantro lime chicken breasts and scans it into his nutrition app.

We make our way through the cafeteria lines and fill our plates. He warns me away from the whole wheat rolls—they taste like cardboard—and points out the sandwich and salad bar, in case I don’t like any of the hot entree options. Apparently, his friend Tucker is known for his affinity for peanut butter sandwiches.

His friends are already waiting at one of the tables in the back. A lesser woman would be intimidated by the sight of five enormous defensive linemen staring her down. But I’ve met the guys—one time, it still counts—and know they’re all as cuddly as teddy bears.

Well, except for Wes. He doesn’t really talk. I don’t know what his deal is.

Greg stands as we approach the table. “Dee. Good to see you again.”

“You, too.”

I’m surprised when his soft lips brush my cheek. “We’ve missed you.”

There’s a low growling noise beside me. We both turn to see Barrett frowning, his eyes shooting daggers at his roommate. He looks like he’s about to tackle him.

I clear my throat and shift closer to my best friend. “Glad to be here.”

“Come, sit, sit,” Greg says, all but pushing me into a chair. But I know Barrett usually takes the one on the end—he’s very particular—so I slip into the seat beside his.

Wes is reading his book. He lifts his gaze briefly, makes eye contact, and returns his attention to his novel.

I recognize the rest of the guys. Miles, Amir, Tucker, and Greg are all decent dudes. Sam is sitting across from Miles, her heart in her eyes.

There’s an unfamiliar girl next to Tucker. She’s fairly dark-skinned, maybe black, maybe biracial. It’ll be nice to have some non-white friends. Not that Barrett isn’t great. We’ll always have the Chinese-American connection in common. But that’s just half of my heritage.

“Hi, I’m Mason,” she says, leaning over Amir to shake my hand. “Welcome to Newton. I transferred in last fall.”

My eyes dart back to Tucker’s. This must be the girlfriend he mentioned when we met a few months ago.

“Diana.”

“Nice to meet you,” she says. She bites her lip as she considers me. “Biracial?”

I nod. “Black and Chinese. You?”

She laughs. “Black and Korean. We’re going to be best friends.”