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“I saw you.” He lowered his voice. “Talking to that guy.”
“Which guy?” I turned to go. “I know a lot of guys.”
“That guy from your freshman floor. Maxwell something. Tall, looks like he needs to eat, thinks he’s smarter than everyone else…”
“Marcus?” I burst out laughing, driven by nerves. “God, no. There’s nothing there.”
“Good. I heard he deals. Christina—”
“See you around. Have fun at practice.”
“Wait.” He caught my arm.
“Dex, I need to go.”
“Don’t go.”
“I have to.” I gritted my teeth, pulling free. “I’m sorry. I’m late.”
“For what?” he called, but I was already jogging down the path.
When I pulled up in front of the brick Kappa Sig house, I paused to catch my breath. Cautiously, I picked my way around the lawn blanketed with white, my boots crunching on the snowfall as I headed for the back staircase.
I’d hoped to sneak in under the radar, but two guys lounged outside the back door in winter coats, studying their phones.
“‘Sup,” called the taller one, looking me over. I recognized Pool Boy — Chase — from the party Friday night. His friend, shorter and shaggier, stared straight ahead. “I’ve seen you before.”
“Oh?” I skirted the dumpsters, passing close to them.
“Wait, don’t tell me…” He snapped his fingers. “Cookie Girl! Yeah? I remember you from last year.”
Thank Jesus Chase didn’t remember me from Friday night. Apparently, it made more of an impression when I came by to bake James cookies last spring. He’d been dumped by his girlfriend, so I’d gone into big-sister mode and spent some time here.
When guys began flocking to the kitchen, lured by the smell of cookies, I’d baked another batch. And another, until I ran out of ingredients and every last cookie had been gobbled up. I hadn’t thought much of it. Now, I was Cookie Girl. Pizza Girl. Hungry for attention. I thought I was being so nice.
“You here to bake again?” Chase wanted to know.
“Not tonight.” I sweetened the rejection with a smile.
“James is out, but you can hang with us ’til he comes back, cutie.”
His shaggy friend jabbed his arm. “Cheerleader,” he whispered, not very quietly.
I edged toward the door, the clock ticking. “I’m not here to see James.”
“Then who?”
There wasn’t any point in hiding the truth. The least I could do was put a good face on it.
“I’m visiting Patrick,” I admitted. “Caruthers.”
“Oh.” Chase’s flirty smile disappeared. The guys glanced at each other.
“What?”
“Nothing, he’s cool,” the shorter guy piped up. He looked at me, then away.
“Is there something I should know?” I demanded.
