Hooped #3 (The Hooped Interracial Romance Series, Book #3)

by Claire Adams

  I barely realized I was approaching the Phi Kappa house until I was nearly walking past it; I stopped myself, shaking my head and taking a deep breath. I was not going to let a petty argument with Kelly ruin my time with Devon. I took another deep breath and put it behind me. I turned around and walked to the front door; but I stood there for a moment, not entirely sure of how to handle the situation. There were obviously guys in the frat house who were still asleep—I didn’t want to wake them up and irritate them. As much as possible I wanted to stay on the Phi Kappa guys’ good side, as long as it didn’t cost me anything. I worried at my bottom lip, thinking. Knocking on the door was out—that would definitely wake up a few people. I took my phone out of my pocket and found the text message thread with Devon. I’m at the front door, but I don’t want to wake anyone up, I wrote. Less than a minute later my phone buzzed; Devon had sent an emoji back: a smiley face with its tongue stuck out.

  A minute later, the door opened, and I nearly jumped in spite of the fact that I should have expected it. Devon stood in the half-open door in nothing more than his pajama pants; the ridges of his hip bones told me he wasn’t even wearing boxers underneath, and for a moment I wished that I had more than about an hour to spend with him before I had to leave for class. “Right on time, babe,” he said with a grin.

  “I told you,” I countered, stepping through the door he held open for me. Walking into the house, I could smell something absolutely delicious; the scent of vanilla, of something fried, filled the air, giving me a hint as to what Devon had put together for us.

  Devon led me into the kitchen, where a couple of the frat brothers were awake, gulping down coffee and eating cereal. When Devon and I walked in, they looked up and seemed to all decide at the same time that they’d much rather watch the news in the living room. “Have a seat,” Devon told me with a grin, gesturing to the newly empty table. I laughed, rolling my eyes.

  “Are they being polite because I’m a girl, or because you’re the boss around here?” I asked him, raising an eyebrow and smiling.

  “A little bit of both,” Devon said. “Sit down, you don’t have that much time to enjoy the feast I’ve prepared for you.”

  “Oh? A feast, no less,” I said, picking one of the chairs and sitting down quickly. Devon went to the stove and opened the oven underneath, revealing a cookie sheet stacked with a huge pile of French toast. He reached up into the cupboard and took out plates, and divided up the French toast between the two; I grinned to myself as he lifted a napkin off of a plate that I’d seen off to the side on the counter, revealing freshly cooked bacon. “You weren’t kidding about a feast!” I said, my eyes widening as Devon piled both plates.

  “How do you take your coffee?” he asked me, setting the plate down in front of me and putting his own directly across from where I sat.

  “Milk and sugar.” Devon nodded and extracted a pair of mugs out of the cupboard, pouring and doctoring the coffee quickly. I noticed that he took sugar but no milk in his, and smiled to myself. As he put the milk back into the fridge, he took out a bottle of maple syrup, along with a container of orange juice. “Wow,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “This is as good as I could get at a restaurant.” Devon laughed, pouring glasses of juice and setting them on the table before he sat down.

  “I like cooking,” he said, shrugging off my praise. “Ever since I started really being serious about basketball, I knew I needed to cook for myself. I figured if I was going to be eating it, it might as well taste good.” I nodded, smiling, and bit into a piece of bacon; it was just the way I liked it: crispy but not burned, with just a little bit of chewiness to it.

  “How did you go about learning?” I asked. I knew how to cook somewhat—but of course, I lived in the dorms, where there was no real way to cook anything that couldn’t go in a microwave or a toaster oven.

  “I asked my mom!” Devon said, chuckling as he dug into his French toast. “I also watched a bunch of cooking shows. There’s one I still really like, with this guy Alton Brown. Good Eats. He goes and explains why you do things a certain way, with chemical reactions and shit, it’s great.”

  “I think I caught an episode of that once,” I said. “Doesn’t he use weird stuff like power tools and things?” Devon nodded.

  “He has this episode where he cooks in one of those clay plant pots. It’s insane—and it totally works.” I took a bite of my French toast; buttery syrup, vanilla, and cinnamon filled my mouth, and I nearly moaned at how good it tasted.

  “Oh my god, Dev,” I said as soon as I swallowed. “This is better than my mom’s French toast, and she’s the queen of breakfast food.” Devon smiled, his dark eyes lighting up.

  “I’m glad you like it, Jenny,” he said, giving me a playful grin for the use of the nickname I hated. “Eat up—you’ve got class.” As we both devoured our breakfasts, we chatted, comparing our class schedules, talking about events around campus. Devon asked me if I was planning on joining any clubs, if I wanted to join any of the sororities. It felt so comfortable, just sitting in the kitchen, eating and talking; it was so real, so basic—something I had never known I’d missed until I had it.

  “Usually I just grab something from the dining hall, a sandwich or some fruit and coffee,” I said, cleaning up the last of the syrup on my plate with a piece of already soggy French toast. “I’m going to be in a food coma all through class now.”

  “You can afford it,” Devon said, rolling his eyes and grinning. “I think you’re probably the smartest person I know.”

  “I am not,” I protested. “Besides, you barely know me. I’m a good student, but I’m not brilliant. Now my friend Ashley—she’s genius-level. Doesn’t even have to study anything.” Devon asked about my friends, and I told him about everyone in the group, except for Kelly. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him about the fact that the girl who had claimed to be my best friend had been his ex, and the girl who had grabbed him after the game days before. I put Kelly out of my mind as completely as possible, focusing on my other friends, telling him about the time we all lost each other in Wal-Mart and played Marco Polo to locate each other in the aisles, about the minor pranks we had pulled before our class loads got heavy enough to convince us to buckle down and study.

  I didn’t want to leave; I wished that I could stay, but my alarm on my phone went off even while I was still nursing my coffee, sipping at my orange juice, trying to prolong the time I had with Devon. “I could email the professor and tell him I’m sick,” I grumbled, looking at my phone with dismay. Devon laughed.

  “I could keep you in bed all day, but you know you’d probably just feel bad that you’re missing everything.” I smiled in spite of myself.

  “You’re probably right. Damn it.” I shook my head, sighing, and knocked back the last of my juice. “This is the best breakfast I’ve had in a long time. Really.” Devon shrugged, but I could see the pride in his eyes, the satisfaction in his smile.

  “Hey—I almost forgot to ask. Are you going to the game tonight? I won’t be able to get the great shots without my coach there in the bleachers.” I rolled my eyes, grinning.

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I said. “Even if I wasn’t dating the star player.” I finished off my coffee and put my dishes in the sink. Devon grabbed me around the waist from behind, turned me around, and kissed me lightly on the lips before giving me a little playful shove.

  “Go to class before you get in trouble,” he said, giving me one last, quick kiss on the forehead. I grabbed my book bag and hurried out past the other frat brothers, beaming like a 100-watt bulb.

  Chapter Seven

  As I was going from my morning class to lunch, hoping for a call or text from Devon, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I nearly dropped it in my hurry to see if it was him—only to feel a rush of disappointment when I saw instead that it was the pizza place I worked at. “What’s up?” I asked, continuing to walk towards the dining hall.

  “Can you come in this afternoon? C
heryl called out sick, and we need someone to cover.” I thought about it; I was only scheduled usually for fifteen hours a week—enough to have extra money to spend on what I wanted to do, but not so much that I ever had to worry about schedule conflicts. I knew that I was near the bottom of the call-in list. Cheryl almost never called in sick—like me, she genuinely liked working, and she helped support her family with the job. If she had called out, she was probably barely able to get out of bed.

  “What’s the shift time?” I asked, remembering the game that night; it was supposed to start at eight.

  “Four till seven-thirty,” Bob, the manager said. I frowned; I would barely have time to get back to campus, get changed out of my pizza-scented clothes, and get across campus to the arena—if whoever was supposed to take over the dinner shift came in a few minutes early, it would help.

  “Who’s due in at seven-thirty?” I heard the sound of rustling papers as Bob consulted the schedule.

  “Lisa. If you can swing it, Jenn, it would take a load off of my mind.” I worried at my bottom lip.

  “If Lisa can come in even five minutes early, I can definitely do it. If she can’t, I’ll do my part.”

  “I’ll call Lisa for you,” Bob said. I could hear the relief in his voice. “I take it you have plans tonight then?” I grinned.

  “Going to go to the game tonight.”

  “Oh-ho! That’s more than just casual fandom in your voice.”

  “Maybe. Just do what you can to get me out of there a few minutes early so I don’t miss tip-off, okay?” Bob agreed and finished the call to get in touch with Lisa. Devon texted to ask if I wanted to hang out before the game; I had to tell him that I had work, but that I would still be there to watch him play.

  I ran into some of my friends in the dining hall and as soon as I knew that Kelly wasn’t with them, I agreed to hang out for a bit before I went to my dorm to get my things for my afternoon class. In spite of the fact that Devon had introduced me to his friends and frat brothers already, I didn’t quite feel comfortable with the idea of telling the girls about the fact that I was seeing him; I thought that if Kelly had said anything about it, one of them would have brought it up—and no one did. I didn’t want to tell anyone about the situation until I absolutely had to.

  Instead, we took turns complaining about classes, talking about what we had going on that afternoon. “I already know where we’ll find Jenn tonight,” Giselle said with a grin.

  “Ogling the basketball players at the game?” Rebecca suggested.

  “You should join the cheer team, get into the games for free,” Giselle joked. “As it is the only reason you work is to pay for game tickets, I swear.” I rolled my eyes. Devon had told me he had the box office put a ticket aside for me at the counter—I wouldn’t have to pay anything to get in.

  “For your information, I am working this evening,” I said, putting on a self-righteous pose. “Cheryl called in, which means she probably has the plague, complete with body parts falling off.”

  “You can’t be working all night,” Ashley pointed out. “What are you going to do when you get off?” I shrugged.

  “Depends on when I get off.” I didn’t know if Devon had any plans to spend the night with me—but I certainly hoped he did. “Probably study and get a good night’s sleep.”

  “Like every other night. You’re not fooling me, Jenn—if there’s even a quarter of the game left, you’ll rush over to watch it.”

  “Whatever,” I rolled my eyes again. “At least I have a hobby.” Giselle pretend-scowled at me, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting.

  “I have a hobby, thank you very much; my hobby is partying. Like any sensible college student.” We all laughed.

  “I need to get going,” I said, glancing at the clock in the dining area. “If I don’t get back to the dorms, I won’t have time to print out my paper before class starts.” I took my tray to the line and said goodbye to my friends, hoping against hope that Kelly was either in the Library or in class so that I wouldn’t run into her.

  Devon and I texted back and forth while we were both in class for the afternoon, flirting and joking around. I couldn’t believe how happy I was, how different everything was in my life in just a matter of days. I might not be ready to tell everyone that I was dating Devon Sealy, but I was definitely glad that he had sat down next to me at the party, that he had started talking to me.

  I hurried to my dorm and changed into my work uniform; Pizza Pronti, where I worked, had a relaxed uniform policy, so all I did was change into a black tee shirt and a pair of sneakers that I only ever wore to work, and I was out. I walked as quickly as I could off campus and across the street to the restaurant, smiling in spite of the fact that I was more than a little anxious about getting there on time. Even if I wasn’t scheduled, I didn’t want to put Bob under stress that I would be late.

  I jumped into work right away, walking to the back of the house and pulling my hair into a neat bun while I clocked in and grabbed an order pad. “Thank god you’re here,” Bob said. “You’re section three tonight. Lisa said that she’d come in a few minutes early so you could take off.”

  “Remind me to get her some flowers,” I told him, grinning. I scampered out into the dining room and found my section, taking a deep breath. There was always a pretty steady “early bird” business, with retirees and teenagers from the local high school alike coming in. My first table was a group of middle-aged women, all of them wearing purple dresses. “Good evening, ladies! My name is Jenn, and I’ll be taking your orders.” I rattled off the specials for the night—they were always the same ones, based on the day of the week, and easy to remember.

  “I think we’ll have two pies,” one of the women said after they had briefly consulted each other. “Both large, one with the four cheese and the other with mushrooms and spinach.”

  “And what would you like to drink? We have Coke products, beer, some really good wines…” One of the women gave me a little grin.

  “You don’t look old enough to know whether the wine is good or not,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Shh,” I said, bringing my finger up to my lips. “As far as anyone knows, I only ever tasted them—I’ve certainly never had a full glass.” The women at the table laughed and ordered two carafes of the house white, and I trotted off to put in their order.

  I went from table to table, taking orders from high school kids, parents with their elementary-aged children, and groups of middle-aged and elderly people. It was so easy to smile at everyone, to keep the playful banter going; I couldn’t help myself, even when one of the tables of teenagers started making a mess with the cheese and pepper flakes. Instead of getting angry, I snapped a quick picture of their “artwork” with my phone and sent it to Devon.

  The shift seemed to fly by, in spite of the fact that I wanted more than anything to be spending the time with Devon; I was sure that I was glowing like a lightning bug, hurrying from one table to another to refresh drinks, to take orders, to bring food. My regulars asked if I was planning on going to the game that night, or how I liked a particular team’s chances, and I found myself thinking about Devon over and over again, blushing when someone asked about the school’s team, unable to stop myself from smiling.

  In the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but think about Kelly, at least a little bit. I was still shocked that she had lied to me, but then, why should I be? I knew that I was more than a little naïve, in spite of the fact that I had told Kelly off for accusing me of it. It was so strange to me that she wouldn’t just be honest with me about her feelings towards Devon; but I told myself that one way or another, the situation would have to work itself out. I didn’t exactly cherish the idea of having to change dorm rooms over winter break, but if I had to—if she wasn’t going to be reasonable about my relationship—then I would do it to have peace of mind.

  We had been friends for years; she had been a big part of the reason that I had decided to go to the colleg
e I’d chosen, and I’d loved living with her. I had always thought that she felt the same way towards me, and if anyone had asked me a month before if anything could come between us and drive us apart, I would have laughed in their face and told them they were crazy. But it was becoming clear to me that she was not at all the same person that I had known in high school; she wasn’t even the person I had thought she was when she came home for break and hung out with me before I started college.

  I remembered—as I was cashing out someone’s check—that she had said something to me about Devon, and I getting what we deserved. It was such a strange thing to say that I had brushed it off; what could she even mean by that? But something about the memory of it, the sound of her voice, stuck in my head. I shook it off; it wasn’t important. I was just going to move forward with my life, and enjoy what I had with Devon for however long it lasted. If Kelly came around, that would be great—and I’d be happy to continue to be her friend. But if she just couldn’t live with the idea of me dating Devon, I would have to break off any ties with her; anyone who would ask me to choose between them and someone I was ready to fall in love with wasn’t someone I wanted to be around. I could only take my chances with Devon and hope that he was being real with me when he said he wanted to be serious. I could only hope that Kelly would come around and once more be the friend that I’d always known. But if she couldn’t be my friend anymore, I would at least have the guy I liked in my life.

  Chapter Eight

  True to her word, Lisa came in a few minutes early and took over the few tables I still had in my section, clocking in and introducing herself to my customers, promising that she would share the tips with me and urging me to make tracks. I shot out of the restaurant like a shot, going through the back so that my tables wouldn’t think that I was in a hurry because of them. My cheerfulness had won me more tips than I knew what to do with, and I decided that I’d count them all out later—I needed to get back to my room, get out of my work clothes, and into something cute to wear to the game, all in a span of fewer than forty minutes.