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“Ha. Ha.” Alina smacks the table. “Claim staked.”
“You two are seriously delusional.” I grab one of the empty glasses off the table and pour myself some beer from the pitcher they ordered. “Do you have anything with Enzo’s number on it?” I try to remember if I’ve ever seen her wear anything of the sort.
“Hell yes, she does.” Enzo is the first to answer. “A sweatshirt, a couple T-shirts, and even an old jersey she wears to games.”
Right... Shit. Of course I knew that. I’ve seen her in that jersey several times, but for some reason, in the moment, that information failed to come to me.
“Whatever,” I grunt, lifting the glass to my lips before taking a small sip. “Where’s Tigs anyway?”
“No idea.” Enzo shrugs. “I tried calling him, but he hasn’t answered.”
“Should we be worried?”
“Nah, you’re here. He’ll show,” he reassures me.
As if on cue, the front door swings open and Tigs walks in.
Titus Riggs is exactly what you would expect a collegiate athlete to look like. Tall. Lean muscle. Hair styled in such a way that you can’t help but wonder what kind of miracle product he uses to keep his dark, shiny locks so precisely placed. For someone who spends most of his days in chaos—created by himself, of course—you’d never know from his appearance.
He’s clean-shaven, always. We already mentioned the perfectly styled hair. And while his clothes are casual—a basic football shirt, sometimes with a hoodie thrown over it, like now, and athletic shorts with the Trojans mascot on the bottom right side—they are always clean and well, let’s just say he wears it well.
“Hey.” He slides down into the seat next to me, addressing all three of us at the same time.
“Where have you been?” Enzo is the first to ask.
“Sorry, had a meeting with Coach. It ran over.”
“On a Sunday?” Enzo arches a brow, telling me that this is likely not a usual occurrence. “Everything cool?”
“It will be.” His head swivels in my direction and he offers me a soft smile. “Hey, Rory.” Blue eyes meet mine and for the first time, I notice there’s a little green in them too.
You know, when he’s not slobbering drunk, Tigs is actually pretty good-looking. I mean, he’s no Archer Copeland... I mentally bitch slap the thought straight from my brain, quickly refocusing.
Most of the time, when I’m around Tigs, he’s loud and obnoxious and usually drunk. But sitting here next to him now, I don’t know... In all the time I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him seem so... Normal.
“Hey.” I return his smile with a small one of my own.
“So, what did I miss?” He turns his attention to the table again.
“Not much, other than Arch has decided to give you the run for our dear Rory’s affections.”
Heat instantly slides up my neck as Enzo nods toward my torso area.
Tigs’s gaze once again comes back to me, but this time he doesn’t look at my face. Well, at least not at first.
“You and Arch?” His expression is a mix between irritation and curiosity.
“No.” I’m quick to deny any involvement. “I’m working with him on the Clemens art project, remember?” I remind him of something I vaguely remember bitching about the last time we were all out together, after I had a couple of drinks in my system, of course. “We were working on that before I came here. It was raining, so he offered to let me borrow it.”
I have no idea why I feel the need to explain anything to him, or even Enzo and Alina for that matter, but their gazes filled with accusation make me uneasy.
“He’s trying to swoop in on your girl, Tigs.” Enzo laughs.
“He’d be an idiot not to.” Titus nudges me with his elbow.
“One, I’m no one’s to steal,” I tell him pointedly before turning my gaze to the others. “Two, it’s not like that. I promise you, Archer Copeland has zero interest in someone like me beyond the enjoyment he gets from screwing with me. And three, even if he were interested in me in that way, which he isn’t, what makes you so sureI’minterested in him?”
“Because he’s Archer Copeland,” Alina says like it should be so obvious.
