I Bet You

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  Look at him. Still trying to win me over. He’s persistent, I’ll give him that.

  I tilt my chin up and glare at him. “Why do you even care?”

  He sighs heavily, and he seems to gather himself as he searches for the right words. “I don’t know…maybe it’s because you take great pains to walk around me on campus. You sit on the opposite side of me in class, and that was before you wrote that stupid article about me last year. It’s like there’s something about me that repels you.”

  “You repel me because you’re a douchebag.” Not waiting to see his reaction to that, I forget about getting the towels and bend down to pick up the glasses, setting them back on the tray. My hands are shaking as I whip off my apron and use the dry parts to dab at the floor.

  “Here, let me help.” He squats down next to me, raking the ice up into a pile and then scooping it onto the tray.

  “Stop.”

  “No, let me help.”

  I pause what I’m doing and glare at him. “Just quit the acting, okay? Whatever bet you and the team have going about me, forget it. It won’t work.”

  He stops and pales, and that’s all the confirmation I need.

  I was right.

  Part of me, the silly girl inside who would be flattered to have the honest attention of the most popular guy on campus—even if he is a football player—wants to cry. I stuff her down in a box and throw away the key.

  For half a second, I honestly thought the article I wrote didn’t matter and he was being sincere. I thought he liked me. My hands clench. I let down my guard for half a second, and this is what happens.

  I stand up. “You only came over here to talk to me for a bet.” My lips flatten. “Just leave me alone. Please.”

  He’s picked up the tray and is standing now, a look of unease on his face. “Wait, that’s not the whole story—”

  “And the next time you attempt to win a bet like this, consider the feelings of the person you mess with.”

  He swallows. “Penelope, it wasn’t—”

  I hold my hand up for him to shut up, and he does, his teeth tugging at his lower lip, a torn expression on his face. I flick my eyes back to Archer and company. Some of them are guffawing and chortling as they watch us, and anger tightens in my gut.

  “Ignore them,” he says. “They’re just laughing at my pants. They knew I didn’t have a chance with you, and now you’ve proved it.”

  I shake my head. “I guess the bet was if you could get me to kiss you? Go out with you?”

  He rakes a hand through his hair and stares at me. “Look, I didn’t mean for it—”

  “What was the bet?”

  His shoulders dip. “They bet me I couldn’t get you to go out with me.”

  “A date.”

  He gives me a terse nod.

  “Huh. So, you actually thought you and I would go out? Even though we don’t like each other?”

  “I never said I didn’t like you.”

  “But you don’t,” I insist.

  He hesitates, the words leaving his mouth reluctantly. “It was assumed I’d stand you up, but—”

  My hands tighten. “So, your plan was for me to come over to do laundry and then you wouldn’t be there?” My face scrunches as I try to picture the scenario. Hurt slices through me. “I have my own washer anyway, jerk.”

  He shakes his head. “I didn’t have a real plan. I was just winging it—”

  “You knew exactly what you were doing and you lost, Baby Llama. You lost. I hope it was worth the laugh.”

  “I’m not laughing, Penelope.” He frowns. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “Only because you lost.” Mustering up as much gumption as I have left, I turn my back to him and march over to the football table. I put my hands on my hips and make eye contact with each player. They don’t faze me. Blaze reads my face and mouths I’m sorry, but I brush my eyes right over him. We may know each other, but right now, he’s an asshole just like the rest of them.

  “He lost, boys. Ryker Voss asked me out and crashed and burned. If there was money involved, I expect my cut of whatever the amount was. Understood?”

  They all gape at me except for Archer. With a stare that seems to see right through my bravado, he grins. There’s a carefree nonchalance to his stance as he shakes off the jersey chaser and stands to shake my hand. “Yes, cher. Absolutely,” he murmurs. “You can have it all as far as I’m concerned.” He pops the table with his hand and addresses the players. “Let’s go ahead and give the lady our winnings. Ryker can even it up with us later.”

  Each player forks over a ten, and then Archer gathers up the cash and puts it in my hand. “I’ve never enjoyed anything as much as seeing Ryker get water dumped on him today. Thank you for that, and I hope you won’t hold this little bet against me.” His gaze is a bit too lingering, and I want to wipe my hand off when he releases it.

  “You can all go fuck yourselves,” I say.

  Archer throws back his head and laughs. “You’ve got some spark to you all right.”

  “Whatever,” I mutter, stuffing the money in my apron.

  I give them one final hard look and then dash to the back of the restaurant, barely hanging on to my composure. My gaze darts to Ryker, standing in the corner with the tray in his hands. The glasses and ice are piled on top, and his face is expressionless, nearly granite as he watches me, and I resist the urge to flip him off. The only thing holding me back is that if my boss saw it, he’d rake me over the coals. Everyone loves the football players.

  So, I fly right past him and blow through the double doors of the kitchen. Without a glance at anyone, I run all the way to the pantry, where I slam the door. I fight it with everything I have, but I can’t stop the hot tears that spill down my cheeks.

  The infuriating thing is I don’t even know why I’m so let down and disappointed by a guy I knew was a dick to begin with.

  Ryker

  My eyes follow Penelope as she storms across the floor to the bar and disappears into the back of the restaurant. Fuck.

  Guilt washes over me. I have to fix this. I’m not a horrible human being, and I never meant to upset her; in fact, I never thought I’d get as far with her as she let me. I only meant to go over and make a half-assed attempt at asking her out, but once I got close to her and started talking…things just happened. True, the ketchup bet was my idea, mostly to annoy her, but this new one was orchestrated entirely by Archer.

  I bet you can’t get her to go out with you, he said earlier when she was cleaning up in the restroom. I resisted, mostly thinking there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d agree, but he egged me on until I accepted.

  Squaring my shoulders, I stride toward the bar at the front of Sugar’s, but before I get there, a female form bounces in front of me. With her pink and black hair and petite frame, she’s instantly recognizable as Penelope’s friend Charisma. I’ve seen them on campus and at parties. I hadn’t noticed her before, so she must have come in while I was talking to Penelope.

  “Charisma. If you don’t mind, you’re in my way.” I give her the standard Ryker glare, which is pretty much guaranteed to make the guys on the team move their ass if I point it in their direction.

  “WTF did you do to my BFF?” she asks.

  I exhale. Charisma talks in acronyms, and sometimes it’s like decoding another language. “None of your business. Please move.”

  I make a move to walk around her, but she steps in front of me.

  “Hold on, QB1. I don’t think you want to follow her right now.” She gives me a hard once-over. “Out of all the girls at this school you could have messed with, you chose the nicest one.” She crosses her arms. “Now, do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

  I widen my stance. I’m not telling her anything. Penelope is the one I want to see. “I want to talk to her.”

  She sends me a death glare. “No.”

  I rake a hand through my hair. Dammit.

  Blaze jogs across the restaurant�
��because he never does anything slowly—waving at me. Tall and muscular with a carefully gelled brown faux mohawk, he skids to a stop and talks with his hands. “Dude!” He laughs, tries to stop, then gives up and lets out a hoot. “You screwed that up so awesomely bad. Dillon got it on video, and I’ve watched it twice already. Shit, that part where she dumps the water on you—your face is priceless!”

  My teeth clench. “I know. I was there. Thanks for reminding me.”

  “But you never saw it coming! You thought she was yours, man.” He lets out a satisfied sigh.

  I never thought she was mine. Penelope Graham is the kind of girl who would never give me a shot. I read her article—she thinks I’m a loser for letting Maverick participate in those fights last year. But the thing is, he’s my best friend and he did it for money to help save his sister. Of course I supported him—even when it meant putting our team at risk. When he was caught, the entire scandal played out on national television for everyone to see—including my part in knowing about it. In all fairness, her article was a drop in the bucket of the bad press we received. Did it piss me off that a Waylon writer wrote shit about me? Hell yes. Do I hate her because of it? Let’s just say it got my attention.

  Blaze gets distracted by Charisma and gives her his famous head nod. “What’s your name?”

  Charisma rolls her eyes. “My name? As if. The question is: Who are you? A toddler on steroids. What did you do to hurt my friend?” Her head does the wagging thing.

  Blaze backpedals. “Nah, nah, it wasn’t meant to hurt anybody. I dig Penelope. She’s wicked smart. She tutors me in math.”

  “Not anymore,” she snaps.

  Blaze looks concerned and eases in closer to Charisma, his hilarity forgotten. “I’m a good guy. So is Ryker here. True story. Now why don’t you tell me your name?”

  They’re talking, and I figure Blaze is working his mojo on Charisma—which is the perfect distraction. I look past them, wondering if I can get to the back of the restaurant and find Penelope without Charisma tackling me. With a quick glance at her, I see she’s up in Blaze’s face, asking him about the details, and he’s telling her about the bets in little spurts. Her eyes flash over to me, and I see the warning there: Don’t even try to follow Penelope.

  My lips tighten. I guess I could just sit here for a while and wait to see if she comes out. I take a stool at the bar, the same one where Penelope was sitting earlier. I recall watching her write in her notebook.

  Yeah, I was checking her out.

  Taking her in.

  With her pouty red lips, nerd glasses, and mane of thick auburn hair, she’s pretty in an understated way, nothing like the jersey chasers who hang all over us. She’s not my type, to be honest.

  Yet…

  There’s something about her.

  She’s… I can’t find the words.

  Sexy as fuck, a voice says.

  Pfft. I push that thought away. Never going to happen.

  I don’t do quirky.

  Or girls who can’t stand me.

  Besides, I’m focusing on football, not girls. I have a reputation to rebuild after last year.

  My eyes land on her laptop and I frown. Granted, the bar area is a bit deserted, but there isn’t a bartender in sight, and college students can get desperate for money sometimes. Computers aren’t cheap. I gather up her laptop and notebook then take them to a cleared space behind the bar near a shelf of glasses. I’m sure she’ll find it. I’m turning to go when my shirt catches on the notebook, tugging it out from under the computer, and I see what’s written on the top. Surrounded by kitten and heart stickers are the words: THIS JOURNAL IS PRIVATE. IF YOU OPEN IT, I WILL RIP YOUR NIPPLES OFF.

  Oh, babe. You can’t throw down a gauntlet like that and expect me to not peek…

  With a glance to make sure Charisma is still talking to Blaze, I flip open the first page, skim a few lines, and when I see my name, I start reading.

  What the hell?

  The words are enough to make me sweat.

  I slam the journal shut, shoving it back under her laptop. Penelope has a crush on Connor, but her imagination goes all over place—even to me?

  I push down the hard-on in my pants and go back to the stool at the bar. I thought she hated me…right?

  She does for sure now—look what you did to her.

  Hell, she’s probably back there crying.

  I swallow. Shit…that bugs me.

  Feeling my neck prickle with awareness, I glance over at the table and see Archer staring at me, an amused sneer on his face. He raises an empty glass and mimics pouring it out on the table, obviously making a point about the tray Penelope dumped.

  My jaw tenses and my hands clench. Ignore him. He’s just trying to piss you off and get a reaction. It’s no secret we butt heads, which can be expected when I’m offense and he’s defense, but our personalities just…clash. He doesn’t like that I’m the captain of the team and goes out of his way to nitpick at anything I do, whether on the field or off. In fact, he wasn’t even supposed to eat with us tonight but somehow managed to wrangle an invitation out of Blaze.

  Charisma has shooed Blaze off, and his shoulders slump as he goes back to the table. She focuses back on me, and if looks were bullets, I’d be dead. “As for you, I suggest you get out of Sugar’s and don’t come back. Penelope doesn’t deserve what you did.”

  I heave out an exhale. “It’s the best restaurant in Magnolia. I eat here all the time.”

  She purses her lips. “She might poison your food.”

  I shake my head. “Can you just tell her I’m sorry?”

  She arches an eyebrow at me. “Go to hell, QB1. She doesn’t like you anyway.”

  “Why is that?” I’m baffled by her bitter attitude toward me, and it must get across to Charisma because she gets this funny look on her face. She opens her mouth to respond but then shuts it.

  “What?” I ask. “It’s more than just the article she wrote, right?”

  She shrugs. “She doesn’t have the highest opinion of quarterbacks. Her dad was one and was a real jerk.” She pauses as if she’s said too much. “If you really want to make it up to her, how about doing something nice for her.”

  “Like what? Flowers?”

  “I’m not telling you how to apologize, QB1. You’re a smart guy. You figure it out.” She rakes her gaze over me. “BTW, wet khakis aren’t a good look for you.” With a hair flip, she’s off to the back where Penelope went earlier.

  After Penelope brought up the bet and I saw how upset she was, I mostly forgot about my pants. I look down at them now and grab a few napkins from the bar to dab up the water. It doesn’t do much good. Fuck. It does look like I peed myself. With an annoyed exhale, I pivot around and head for the door to go back to campus, not interested in returning to the football table and dealing with Archer and his gloating.

  Plus, a part of me is miffed that Penelope turned me down cold.

  For some reason, my gaze lands on Connor.

  I study him, taking in the dark hair and square glasses as he sits at a table near the window. He even has a calculator in his hand. What on earth does she see in this pasty dude? I guess he’s handsome? Hell if I know.

  Then I narrow my gaze, realizing all at once that he’s pretty much the complete opposite of me—thin, dark hair, unathletic.

  Observing Connor gives me an idea…and I think I have the perfect way to prove I’m not the asshole Penelope thinks I am.

  Ryker

  Inside the locker room, Blaze’s naked ass does the Whip and Nae Nae as several hoots and cackles come from the team.

  “Get in gear,” I call out as I saunter by out of the shower and slap him on the butt with my towel. “We have to be in class in thirty.”

  He keeps on dancing, hyper as hell, and I grin, glad he makes that energy work for him on the field as our star wide receiver.

  Making my way to the lockers, my gaze lands on the golden wildcat statue that serves as the bet award and sits in
side the glass trophy case on the far wall. My mood plummets. I take in the white board on the wall where the bets are listed. The one with Penelope is now there: Ask Penelope Graham out and get a YES: Completed. Points were given to Archer, Blaze, and Dillon, who bet that I couldn’t. I have a giant goose egg.

  The ketchup bet isn’t listed since it wasn’t players against players.

  Coach Alvarez stomps into the locker room wearing a don’t tell me you’re screwing off expression on his square face. Slashing bushy eyebrows accentuate his brown eyes as they spear every player in sight. His voice careens around the room. “Turn that fucking music off!” A mouthy man with a barrel chest and dark skin, Coach loves football—and cursing. “And why are y’all still in this goddamn locker room? Get the hell out of here and get to class.”

  My teammates pick up the pace, rummaging around in their lockers.

  “You know the drill. I expect you back at three for practice with your heads on straighter than they were this morning. I need to see some fucking teamwork. You looked terrible out there. Get your shit together and stop acting like girls in a hair-pulling hissy fit. Our first game is this fucking Friday.”

  A few players hang their head. Yeah, we had a few scuffles on the field, a late hit and some shoving on the defense. Things aren’t right with our team, and it’s because our star defensive player, Maverick, is gone. Regret tugs at me, and I wonder if there was anything else I could have done to stop him from fighting last year.

  Coach’s militant gaze pins me. “Remember, Ryker’s your captain. Listen to him and don’t bring your shit onto the field. Got it?”

  I nod. Coach and I get each other. We both want a championship this year, especially after the fiasco last spring.

  “What about the defense, Coach?” It’s Archer’s voice, and I swivel my head toward him. “Don’t we get a captain?”

  Coach crosses his arms. “Maverick’s your captain.”

  Archer shrugs and lifts his hands. “Yeah, but he’s gone for three games because of the NCAA ruling. Can’t even practice with us.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “With all due respect, sir, Ryker doesn’t cut it for us. He knew what Maverick was doing and didn’t tell anyone.” His eyes are on me. “He was there at every fight Maverick participated in and should have stopped him.”