Page 78 of Break Points and Face Offs

My phone buzzes. Or someone’s phone buzzes. It’s enough to snap me out of my trance.

Will lets me go easily enough and I try not to think about the fact I’m naked right now as I look around for my phone.

When I find it—on the floor in my hastily discarded pants—one of the many obscure college sports-related news alerts I have set has pinged.

“Shit.”

“What is it?” Will sits up in bed, the blankets leaving his bare chest exposed.

“We lost to Stanford at Indian Wells.”

He blinks at me like he doesn’t understand.

“Indian Wells is a prestigious tennis tournament,” I explain. “Princeton were there this weekend representing the Ivy League. Stanford is our closest rival and they beat us in the final round.”

“Oh … sorry?”

“I thought you’d be more sympathetic.” I huff as I search my drawer for clean underwear. “Aren’t you an athlete?”

The way he rubs the back of his neck and looks down sheepishly shouldn’t be doing things to me right now. “Yeah, but I don’t play for BC anymore. Sure, I want them to win games, but it’s not my problem if they don’t. Is your brother on the tennis team?”

“No.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to take a shower and then head over to the frat house to ask them what the hell they were thinking, and check on Jamie.”

“Why are you going to the frat house to chew out the tennis team?”

I roll my eyes. I don’t have time to explain every little detail to him.

“Because the majority of the tennis team are a part of the frat.”

He rubs a hand over his face. I get the feeling he’s keeping something in that might offend me.

“Again, you’re not the president there anymore, right?” he says instead.

I sigh. He doesn’t understand. Why would he?

“Listen, William, I don’t mean to be rude but⁠—”

“Got it. You want me to leave.”

“Last night was fun⁠—”

He holds a hand up. “I’ll talk to you later. You’re obviously not in the same mood you were five minutes ago.”

What’s that supposed to mean? Can I call it progress if I keep that in?

I’m surprised when Will pauses to kiss me before he puts his pants on. “Call you later, Rosie. Go easy on your frat boys, yeah?”

As soon as I reach Alpha Sigma Psi house, a wave of nostalgia threatens to drown me. I never thought I’d miss this place. Those guys drove me crazy. Incompetent, lazy, hygienically-challenged morons.

Some kid I’ve never seen before opens the door.

“Who are you?” he asks.

I try to remain composed. There’s no reason why this pledge should know who I am. But don’t they have a picture of me anywhere? Don’t Nathan or Ben ever talk about me? Use me as a shining example?