by Shae Ross
Let the games begin...
Team Ryan
Ryan Rose and her fellow Spartans are finalists in a high-profile entrepreneurial competition. They’re competing for life-changing money and for their futures. They have a solid plan to win. All they need to do is trounce the competition: rich frat boys from an archrival university. Easy, right?
Team Jett
Jett Trebuchet’s first mistake was not realizing that Ryan and her friends were the competition. His second was expressing his unabashed confidence in his team’s ability to win. After all, everyone knows the only thing MSU does better than U of M is produce beautiful, easy women…oh, and he almost forgot to say “dumb.” And boy, does his team pay for that one.
Game On
As each side tries to game the other, something else seems to be getting in the way—attraction. Now Ryan and Jett must keep their teams from getting distracted by the opposite sex...and each other. All is not fair in love and war when it comes to winning this game.
Pretty Smart
Girls:
Lace Up
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Discover more New Adult titles from Entangled… Fall With Me
Unethical
Definitely, Maybe in Love
In Bloom
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Shae Ross. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 109
Fort Collins, CO 80525
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Embrace is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Candace Havens and Nicole Steinhaus
Cover design by Jessica Cantor
Photography by Shutterstock
ISBN 978-1-63375-137-8
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition January 2015
Chapter One
Ryan Rose
“I can’t believe I let you guys talk me into this,” Devi says.
We’re sitting on top of our suitcases along with our friend, Jade. Devi is whining about how we scammed her out of a real spring break. Across the street, the Beta Pi sorority girls are loading SUVs. Words are painted on the side panel of each vehicle: Betas—Head—2—Florida—Spring Break 2015—Live—Beta—Love—Life!
“I’m sure we’ll have some free time. We can still have a little fun,” I offer, trying to sound enthusiastic.
Devi cranes her neck and pins me with a you can’t be serious look as three more Betas stream out of their house, swinging Vera Bradley bags. She points a finger toward them. “Daddy’s condo in Miami Beach would have been fun, Ryan—not some business school-entrepreneur competition in New York.”
“Yeah, well, we’re not those girls, Devi, and we don’t have those kind of daddies,” I say. Devi’s dad has been out of her life since she was three, Jade’s dad spends most of his time in an alcohol-induced stupor, and my dad died of pancreatic cancer when I was in grade school. “We’re from the south side and that’s exactly why we all need this win. This competition has huge potential for us.”
The Betas are shouting back and forth, “I want to get a frappe for the drive,” “I need gas,” “We’re still waiting for Hannah.” Finally they agree to meet up at the gas station and half of them load up. Horns blast and hooting erupts as part of the ten-car caravan pulls out.
“You two owe me,” Devi says in a resigned tone.
The SUV with the word “Head” painted on it swerves toward us and stops abruptly. I recognize the driver as the royal witch that had Devi’s car towed last month for being half a foot over their driveway. Your car’s spilling over like your back fat, she had said to Devi. I’m sure the only reason she’s still alive is that there was a police officer present, writing the ticket.
The window slides down and the witch hangs a forearm against the door.
Super, this is just what we need right now.
“Ya know, girls, it works better if you put it up. Like this.” She arches a hitchhiker’s thumb into the air.
Devi yells back, “Does everyone have their herpes medication? I heard there’s a real shortage in Miami.”
The thumb flips into a raised middle finger and they cruise away. Devi’s glare is so focused on the royal witch she doesn’t notice that with the cars out of order, the caravan now reads: Betas—Love—Head—Spring Break 2015.
I pull out my iPhone and click a series of pictures.
“How far do you think they’ll get before they realize they’re a rolling advertisement for blow jobs?” Jade mutters.
“Probably Atlanta,” I respond, handing Devi my iPhone. “Here, this will make you feel better.”
“Oh my God.” She rolls her head back and laughs hysterically. “This is soooo going on my Facebook page!” She wipes the tears from the corners of her eyes and squeezes me into a hug. “I love you, Ryan Rose, my beautiful, wicked friend.”
A white limo is easing up next to the curb in front of us. Its lacquer finish gleams in the morning sun as the engine hums to an idle. The chauffeur pops up from the driver’s side. “Pick up. Team Ryan,” he says with a thick accent I can’t identify.
“Yes,” we chirp in unison, turning to load our bags.
I pull the door open and Jade half laughs, half gasps, as she falls onto the seat. “And here you thought we weren’t going to have any fun on spring break,” I say to Devi, presenting her with a triumphant look.
We high-five each other as the limo circles onto the entrance ramp. “We are on our way to victory, girls.”
Jade lifts a file folder out of her oversized purse. “Did you guys get a chance to read the paperwork?” She peers at me from beneath thick black lashes and pauses for my reaction.
“I read it,” I say, pretending to be as aloof as an overfed alley cat.
Out of the sixty teams that competed for a slot in this competition, it figures we’d end up facing off with a team from U of M. The rivalry between our schools is legendary—and for me, it’s personal. The team we are competing against is an all-guys team, and they’ll be riding with us to Detroit Metro Airport.
Devi glances at her fingernails. “I despise them already.”
Jade flips the page. “We should probably reserve judgment until we’ve met them, don’t ya think?”
I lower my chin and raise my eyebrows. “Oh, I’m pretty sure we’ve met them—probably arrogant, probably think they’re better than us…in everything…probably have a trust fund and a name with roman numerals after it.” I glance out the window. “Yep, pretty sure we’ve met them.”
“Did you know at the game last week we chanted, “GO GREEN, GO WHITE” and they responded, “CAN’T READ, CAN’T WRITE?” Devi says, and her mildly a
mused tone becomes more indignant. “Can you believe that?”
I hold up a clutched fist. “All the more motivation for us to crush them.”
Jade continues reading. “On behalf of the Association of Collegiate Entrepreneurs, welcome ‘Treps! Your first mission is to relax and get to know your competing team members as you enjoy your first-class travel experience.” She pauses and skims the paper. “When we arrive in Manhattan this evening, we’ll be attending a cocktail reception. The teams will have an opportunity to meet business leaders from the Manhattan community…seven p.m. tonight in the lobby of the Met.”
“Aren’t the Mets a baseball team?” asks Devi.
“The Metropolitan Museum of Art. It houses one of the most significant art collections in the world,” Jade responds, giving her a flat look.
Devi shrugs her shoulders. “I’d rather see a game. Well, at least a cocktail reception sounds kinda fun.”
“We’re not here for fun, Devi. We’re going to work our tails off and win this thing. And when we do, I’ll have enough money for law school, you won’t have to move back to your mom’s house after graduation, and Jade will finally be able to help her mom.” Jade gives me one of her “You don’t have to do this for me” looks. It’s that same look I’d seen a million times in elementary school. But this competition is about more than just defending Jade from school kids who didn’t understand the quiet Asian girl with downcast eyes, who never wore clothes from Abercrombie, and had ingredients packed in her lunch most of us had never seen. This competition is about winning a $100,000 employment contract and giving all of our lives a major overhaul.
I put my hand on Jade’s knee and nudge Devi with my shoulder.
“Oh, all right,” she grumbles, smacking her hand on top of mine. “I didn’t give up Miami Beach to lose. Hell yes we’re going to win!”
“Hey, have you noticed we all match today?” Jade asks, interrupting our laughter.
We have on white button-up shirts and black pencil skirts. “Very businesslike.” We nod, admiring each other.
An hour later the limo is exiting onto Main and turning down Huron. We’ve crossed enemy lines and are now entering the U of M campus. I strain to see over the dashboard, feeling the first sparks of anxiety flickering in my stomach.
I know the city of Ann Arbor because my jackass ex-boyfriend attends U of M. I stare out the window as we roll by neon signs, parking garages, and students carrying plastic bags. The limo turns, then we’re driving past old, Tudor-style homes and columned estates—likely built by an auto mogul and now occupied by one of the many sororities or fraternities on campus. I squint and swallow. This route is looking way too familiar. My knuckles rap on the window, and the driver slides it down. “Are we picking up at a frat house?” What are the odds?
“Michigan…University Michigan…” he mumbles in a high-pitched accent, handing over his clipboard.
“Phi Sigma.” Shit. “That’s Phil’s house.” I throw my head back against the soft leather interior, my stomach churning with the dread and shame of a nine-month relationship that ended badly. Very badly.
“Would he be there now?” Jade asks with concern.
“He’s probably on his way home to the East Coast for spring break, but I don’t know for sure.”
I glance at the clipboard and notice it’s just one pickup, labeled “Team Jett: Phi Sigma Fraternity House.” They must all be from Phi Sigma. Great. God, I hope I don’t know any of them. In all the time that Phil and I dated, I was only at this house a handful of times, and always after hours to accommodate Phil’s baseball schedule—or so he claimed. I rub my index finger over my lips as the limo eases up to the tri-level house. Prominent Greek letters hang above the double doors like a hood ornament. My breath suspends in my chest as we lean to the edge of our seats, anxious to size up our competition. A cell phone chirps crickets. Our limo driver shifts into park, blasts the horn, and answers his phone. We stare at the double doors, waiting. And waiting. Five one-more-minute hand signals later, our driver is still on the phone.
Devi clicks her tongue against her cheek. “What’s taking them so long?”
“Probably picking out their matching polos,” I reply.
Jade casts a look at our driver and I see her facial muscles tighten with annoyance. “Someone’s gonna have to go up and get them or they’ll make us late.”
I ease back behind the tinted windows. “Well, it’s not gonna be me.”
Jade sighs. “I’ll do it.” She grabs the clipboard, shoves the door open, and marches forward like a soldier to the front lines.
A fleeting memory flashes through my mind: my own disheveled self, arguing with Phil on this front lawn at midnight, freezing my ass off in the snow, his new girlfriend lurking on the porch, frat guys pressing their faces to the windows watching the crazy ex-girlfriend have a complete meltdown. A chill moves down my spine as if I can still feel the icy imprint of his hands on the back of my neck. I squeeze-blink my eyes shut and suppress the thought.
“I can’t believe this,” I say to Devi.
“It’s a big house. Maybe they won’t recognize you…and if they do, you have nothing to be ashamed of, Ryan. It’s not your fault you call your boyfriend out for cheating and he shakes you until your brain rattles and throws you to the ground.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. I’m just embarrassed that I actually put up with that much crap from Phil and that I was dating someone who was volatile enough that I needed a restraining order to get him away from me. I used to think I was smarter than that. I rest a fisted hand over my mouth and watch Jade on the porch.
One of the dark doors has opened and she’s speaking to someone. She pauses and motions toward the limo and then pauses again. The door shuts, and she shakes her head, her fingers opening and closing as she marches back.
“They need five minutes.” She ducks into the limo. “They’re not ready.”
Devi’s forehead creases. “What a bunch of divas.”
“I think they’re hungover.”
“Seriously?”
Jade nods. “They may still be drunk. The one who answered the door thought I was an escort from the limo company.”
My mouth drops open.
“What a complete tool,” Devi sneers. “Did you tell him to bite it?” Jade looks at her as if she’s grown rabbit teeth. In all the years I’ve known Jade, I’m quite certain she’s never told anyone to bite it.
“I just walked away,” she says.
“Whoa!” Devi gasps, gripping my forearm with startling intensity. “Holy Mother of Maud.”
“What?” I follow her gaze and focus on the mass of raw male sex appeal coming off the porch as if they’re stepping out of a Hollister billboard. A trio of pop-collared studs sauntering down the walk, their heads turning left, right, and left again as if looking for someone to challenge their badass-ness. Gorgeous and fit, coming our way and exuding a frat-boy confidence they are way too young to have earned.
“I call the tall one,” Devi says, a lilt of excitement in her voice.
“Devi! You can’t call any of them. They’re our competition.”
She snorts and belts out a guffaw. “My perspective on this spring break has so totally changed.”
“They’re the enemy. Our mission is to outplay them in the corporate setting Mr. Trott establishes. Don’t get too chummy.” I bite my lip and glance back at the studs. “No matter how good they look.”
“Well, you know that old saying, “Keep your friends close and make out with your enemies.”
My head snaps to her bulging eyes and smiling lips, checking her expression for seriousness.
“That is not the old saying,” Jade says, and then tips her head. “Do you recognize any of them, Ryan?”
As they draw closer, I strain my mind for a shred of recognition. Nothing.
“I don’t think so,” I reply, feeling some measure of relief. If I don’t remember any of them from my “Phil” days, they’re not lik
ely to remember me, right? God, I hope not.
The limo door swings open and the big blond that Devi “called” pokes his head inside. “Oh man,” he says upon seeing us. He turns back to his cronies and fist bumps them. Their words are barely audible over the laughter…something about traveling in style…beautiful women.
Devi laughs and shakes her head. “I think they think we’re escorts.”
“Oh my God,” Jade whispers in a horrified voice.
Seriously? If they had read the literature, they’d know the limo and plane trip were intended as a “get-to-know-your-competition-better” trip, not a “we-provide-girls-for-your-eye-fondling-pleasure” trip.
We watch them pile in, bouncing with the enthusiasm of little boys loading into Santa’s sleigh.
The faint smell of bar smoke covered by a spritz of musky cologne invades our space. It slowly dissipates as they settle onto the bench seat across from us. We all exchange panning glances—three of us and three of them—summing each other up with completely opposite purposes in mind. A moment of awkward pause hangs in the air. I know I shouldn’t do this, but I can’t resist. I bounce to the edge of my seat, plastering my best escort-girl smile on my face.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen. Mr. Trott requested we accompany you as you travel to compete in the ACE’s Entrepreneur competition.” I swipe my hand across the air like the game show model displaying the washer and dryer no one wants.
Devi catches on to my game, and her grin widens. She moves to sit next to the tallest one. He responds to her with the enthusiasm of a Labrador retriever who hasn’t seen his owner in weeks. She crosses her legs, puts one hand on her hip, and presses her shoulder forward. Jade and I know this pose as “The Devi.” There’s hardly a picture of her anywhere where she isn’t in this position. Someone told her the Devi stance represented the most flattering angle for her generous curves, and it stuck in her mind like bare feet on a frat house floor.
“So, do blondes really have more fun?”
I turn to the dark-haired guy. He’s been staring at me since he sat down. I’m sure that’s the lamest line I’ve heard in my entire four years at Michigan State, but I pretend I’m charmed and acknowledge his question with a smile and quick raise of my eyebrows.
