Right of First Refusal (Radleigh University #2)

by Dahlia Adler

  “I don’t even want to go to the wedding,” I tell him, twisting a strand of wet hair that’s fallen out of my post-shower bun. “Get this—they scheduled it for the day of the lacrosse championships. Like, as if that was the only day they could possibly get hitched.”

  He sucks in a breath. “Man, that blows. I’m sorry. You think you guys are gonna go all the way?”

  “We definitely have a shot,” I say with confidence it’s nice to actually feel. “I’m playing at my best, and so are a bunch of the other girls. We destroyed at our scrimmages the past two Saturdays.” Instinctively, I push up the sleeve of my hoodie so he can see the welt there from a particularly impressive interception—we always used to proudly show each other our battle scars—but when he presses a finger to it and watches me wince, he’s not grinning like he used to.

  And then I remember he’s got one very big, very final battle scar, invisible to the naked eye though it may be, and it’s the last one he’ll ever get on the court.

  An apology rises to my lips and I force myself to swallow it down. It sucks what happened to Mase, but I can’t say I’m sorry for the fact that I didn’t injure myself.

  I do, however, need to stop poking at the past. Unfortunately, as I search for a safer topic, I realize the past is all I know of the guy next to me. Well, other than the fact that he’s dating my roommate, but I’d rather run another set of suicides than talk about that. “How’s your mom?” I ask finally. It’s kind of a reach as far as natural questions go—she never cared for me—but it’s all I got.

  He shrugs. “Same old.” Silence settles between us until I start to feel silly for even trying, and then he coughs. “But, uh, Will’s coming up for the weekend.”

  The mere mention of Mase’s brother’s name brings a smile to my face. Will didn’t go to Stone Creek—sports aren’t really his thing—but he used to come up for a weekend here and there and when he did, I always loved hanging out with him. He and Mase were such natural goofballs together, and whenever Mase had a game and I didn’t, I’d sit in the sidelines with Will, checking out guys and rating their calves on a scale from one to ten. He was built like a beanpole—a few inches shorter than Mase and with half the muscle—but he could eat his own weight in burgers, and it was a sight to see every damn time.

  Will was definitely a part of the past I’d be perfectly happy to see again.

  “Sounds like fun! Does he, um…know I’m here?”

  I watch his Adam’s apple as he swallows, and even though he doesn’t voice an answer, he doesn’t have to. When will I learn to understand that I may or may not have meant something to Mase, but I definitely haven’t elevated above Dirty Little Secret status with Law? “Of course not,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral but hearing the bite in my words. And I don’t even know why it’s there—I don’t have anything to do with Law. Law is my roommate’s boyfriend. He’s a coach, not a player. This isn’t summer camp; in a few months, I won’t even be a teenager anymore. Whatever I’m clinging to, it isn’t real. And it needs to stop, now.

  “Well, have fun with him,” I say. “I’ll stay with friends on Friday night so you don’t risk bumping into me with him in my room.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “It’s fine.” I pull on my coat and hoist my gym bag onto my shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Law.”

  He doesn’t say anything to my back, and I don’t turn around.

  I kill it at practice the next morning. Just absolutely crush it. By the time I score my fourth goal off Nora, I’m pretty sure she wants to kick me in the ovaries. I channel all my frustration and all my aggression into the game, and afterward, rather than joining everyone else in the locker room, I keep it up and run a mile around campus before returning to my room to shower.

  When I come out of the bathroom, Samara’s stretched out on the couch, and I realize I don’t even know if she’s been there the whole time; I pretty much walked into the suite with blinders on, hoping to evade Andi completely. Whoops. She looks up from her book when she sees me. “Hey, Cait.”

  “Hey. Reading anything good?”

  She holds it up—a dark hardcover with a blurry picture of a girl hugging her knees on the cover. “Yeah, it’s great. Enraging and powerful in the best way. You ever read any YA novels?”

  “It’s been forever since I read a book that wasn’t for class,” I admit. “It’s hard to find the time between homework reading and practice. I actually have to read one of Sophocles’ plays at some point before my class in the next three hours.”

  “Oh well. There’s a contemporary romance series I think you’d love—they’re almost all sports romances, but one of them’s about a couple that reunites as camp counselors.”

  I don’t miss the smile that plays on her lips before she glances back down into her book.

  “Frankie told you.”

  “What else did you think we were gonna talk about at dinner without you?” She closes the book, leaving her finger between the pages to hold her place. “I haven’t said a word to Andi, if that’s what you’re worried about, and no, she’s not here. But are you ever planning on telling her the truth?”

  “Pretty sure we missed the boat on that,” I mutter, my stomach churning with guilt. “So, have you been secretly judging me this entire time?”

  “Of course not. I understand that sometimes keeping a secret feels like the right thing.” She looks like she wants to say more, but she chews on her lip instead. “Anyway, I’m sorry it kinda sucks.”

  “Thanks.” I wrinkle my nose. “I still wanna kill Frankie for telling you. That girl does not make good decisions when she eyes prey.”

  Samara arches a perfect dark-golden eyebrow. “Prey?”

  Oh, yeah, that was probably not the wisest word choice. “I just mean when she thinks a girl is cute.”

  The book slips in Samara’s grip and nearly falls, but she catches it and badly plays like nothing happened. “Frankie…what?”

  Uhhhh…shit. Was I wrong that she’d been flirting back with Frankie at the game? Had Frank not mentioned her sexuality at all the entire night? That definitely doesn't sound like her. But I can’t tell what part of what I just said is throwing Samara, either. “She, um, thinks you’re cute. You know, like…people think are people are cute.”

  “Oh. Uh, okay.”

  Wow, do I suck at this.

  “Well then! I’m gonna go into my room and get started on Sophocles. I’ll catch you later.” I practically race into my room and close the door behind me, stopping just short of banging my head against the wall.

  So much for taking charge of this day.

  I sigh and settle back in my bed with the book, and only once I’m lying down do my aches from working extra hard that morning seem to settle consciously into my muscles and bones. My pillow and mattress feel like actual heaven, and it takes every effort to keep my eyes open and on my reading.

  After a few pages, though, I’m definitely drifting, until the ping of an incoming text jolts me up. I grab my phone and am surprised and wary when I see Andi’s name light up the screen. Can I ask your help with something?

  This is a first, and even as I write back, Sure, I feel pretty certain I’m going to regret it.

  K, lemme just get somewhere quieter so I can call. A minute later, my phone rings.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Hey! I’m with Law, and he was just talking to his brother, who’s coming up for the weekend. Will’s all excited about going out on Friday night, but I don’t really party, and Law doesn’t know the area yet… Help us out with a good spot?”

  I cannot believe I’m somebody’s party girl consultant. Given who my best friends are, both on lax and off, the idea that I’m the most connected person someone knows cracks me up. The truth is, most often when I go out, I’m just tagging along with my teammates or Lizzie and Frank to a frat party, but it doesn’t exactly surprise me that Will doesn’t want to hang out with a bunch of aggressively heterosexu
al jocks.

  Suddenly, I remember that there’s a gay bar not too far from here, one Frankie loves to go to with her friends from Rainbow House, the LGBTQ group on campus. Lizzie and I went with her once, and it was fun and campy and a total trip—I know without a doubt Will would love it. But how exactly can I recommend it without revealing that I know Will?

  How did complicated secrets involving gay men end up becoming my life?

  And just like that, inspiration hits for how I can accomplish everything at once.

  “Well, you guys are welcome to join me and Jake and a couple of friends of ours at XO on Friday night, if you like. It should be fun.”

  “XO? I’ve never heard of that. Is it a bar?”

  “It’s a gay club, but it’s really the only club around here with good music, if you guys are looking to dance. My friend Frankie loves it, and she’s brought me a couple of times.”

  “Huh, that’s so funny. Will’s actually gay, so he might like that. But isn’t it a little weird for the rest of us to go?”

  Only if you think the rest of us are straight. “Nah, they’re totally welcoming of whoever, as long as you buy their booze.” I have no idea if this is true, but in addition to helping Andi out, it’s a great way to get Jake and Troy on a date somewhere they can be comfortable and not run into anyone from their teams or frat. And if Frankie and I pretend we’re going as their dates…

  “Okay, well…I don’t know. I guess we could do that.” She doesn’t sound terribly comfortable with the idea.

  “There’s also Delta,” I offer feebly, knowing Will would hate it, “but it’s a little…stiffer.” That’s what she said, Lizzie’s voice sounds in my head. “More grad students, less…fun.”

  “Oh. That’s probably not Will’s thing. Okay, well, I guess I’ll just offer both and see what they say. Thanks, Cait. I’ll let you know.”

  As we hang up, I’m feeling pretty proud of my brilliant plan. There’s only one flaw in it, besides the fact that no one’s agreed to it yet: Will, Mase, Andi, and I are all gonna be together.

  With a sigh, I put aside Sophocles and open up my text messages.

  I’ve got work to do.

  • • •

  It takes some major convincing over my study session with Jake that he can bring Troy to XO in front of his own coach, but by the time the library kicks us out at closing, we have both a plan and our first finished presentation. Frankie’s already on board, I’m sure Will was into it as soon as Andi suggested it, and Mase is happy whenever his brother is happy. Everybody wins.

  Except, I realize far too late as I step out of Troy’s car in front of the club, for me.

  “Wow, this place is super gay,” Will says with a grin as we walk inside—three gay guys, one pansexual girl, one hetero couple, and one straight ex who doesn’t have a clue what the fuck she’s doing here. At least I look good, in leather pants Frankie convinced me to buy last year and a sky-blue top cut so low I can only get away with it because I have no boobs to speak of. “Law, why didn’t you tell me there was such a perfect spot nearby? I would’ve visited sooner.”

  “Shockingly, I had no idea,” Mase deadpans, looking distinctly uncomfortable at all the neon lights flashing in his face. He shoves his hands into his pockets, like he’s trying not to shield his eyes, and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. If possible, Andi looks even more uncomfortable, her eyes darting around as she averts them from bare chests and kissing couples.

  Will winks at me, and I’m torn between laughing and punching him, and hating him because I can’t do either one. He’d emailed me the night before to tell me Mase had filled him in, and that while he’d keep our dirty little secret, he thought it was ridiculous. I couldn’t exactly argue with that, but he was getting entirely too much joy out of our predicament.

  “I think we could all use a drink to start off with,” Frankie suggests, looping one arm through Jake’s and the other through Troy’s, leading us in the direction of the glowing fountain overlooking the bar in the center of the room. “What are you guys having? Orgasm? Sex on the Beach?”

  “I’m sure they have more clever names here,” says Will. “I guarantee you there’s a drink called a Jack & Cock.”

  Frankie slams a hand on the bar. “Well then! I think that’s what we’ll all be drinking tonight. Bartender!” A tall white guy with a clean-shaven head and a scraggly beard that looks like it sheds sidles on over. He gives our group a once-over and seems to settle his affections on Will, who takes the lead.

  “A round of Jack & Cocks,” he says with a grin.

  The bartender nods his approval, and I wonder what the hell I’m about to put in my mouth, trying to ignore that I’m the only one in this group with no potential for action tonight. It turns out to be a mixture of Jack Daniels and Cream of Coconut, which is exactly as gross as it sounds in every way.

  Immediately after I down it, I order a lemon drop to clear out the taste, and Frankie does the same.

  “Do you want one too?” I ask Andi. She barely even sipped the last drink, for which I can’t really blame her. “I promise, they’re way better than that mess.”

  “I think I’m done for the night,” she says with a tight smile.

  I can’t tell if she means with drinking or the club, but she doesn’t offer any more than that, and Mase doesn’t ask. He gets himself a beer, which earns a snort from the bartender, and Frankie, Jake, and Troy get themselves Rainbow Shots, whatever those are.

  “So, you guys ready to dance?” I ask Jake and Troy as soon as they’ve downed their drinks.

  “Yes!” says Frankie, tossing back the rest of her drink and gesturing for me to do the same to mine before she grabs my hand and yanks me onto the dance floor. I let her, pulling Jake and Troy along with us, and watching Mase and Andi follow while Will hangs back to flirt with the bartender. I’m not a huge fan of dancing, or the attention that usually comes with Frankie making me get down and dirty with her at a club, but here, no one’s even looking at me; we’re just another pair of girls in a club full of them, dancing with a couple of guys no one realizes are actually here as a couple.

  Of course, it takes all of two seconds before Frankie pulls in another girl—gorgeous, with medium-brown skin, springy curls, and moves that make me look like a robot. With her attention totally gone, I allow myself to glance over at Mase, who’s such an annoyingly good dancer that I realize I’m not the only one looking. They may be the only genuinely hetero couple dancing on the floor—and she’s every bit as talented as he is, I note with not a little bit of envy—but it’s not stopping people from staring with approval as they shimmy, dip, and curl their bodies in ways that should be scientifically impossible.

  I liked it better when they hated this place.

  Frankie and the other girl are about four centimeters from making out right now, and Mase and Andi are too preoccupied to notice Jake and Troy, so I imagine no one will mind when I excuse myself from the dance floor and reclaim a seat at the bar. The original bartender’s gone, replaced by a girl with purple hair and a lip ring that glints under the neon, and Will seems to have disappeared, too.

  At least I know how to pick a good spot.

  You might’ve been right about this being a bad idea, I text to Lizzie after ordering a beer.

  By the time Lizzie responds, my bottle is half empty. Told you so. Why would you ever go somewhere with no promise of sex at the end of the night? Especially when you so desperately need to get laid?

  “Bitch,” I mutter at the screen, even though she’s right. I hate Mase for making me this person. I was fine with occasional flirting and the even more occasional makeout at a party (and, okay, once getting a little handsy in celebration of a particularly good win) that’d marked my romantic life the past couple of years. Then he comes in, and memories of how much I used to enjoy getting way more than handsy come flooding back, and now I’m as horny as…as…well, as Lizzie or Frankie on your average weekday, probably.

  The th
ing about guys with me is they always assume I like to take charge because I’m aggressive in the gym, or on the field. They think I’m aggressive everywhere, and they love that. But when you have to be that fierce all the time—during practice, during games—sometimes it’s nice to let your muscles relax, to stop being so conditioned and composed and just…react.

  It’s amazing how difficult it is to find a guy who gets that I love being a beast ninety-seven percent of the time, but every now and again, I just wanna feel small. Delicate. Feminine. It sounds stupid, I know, which is why it’s impossible to say out loud, and yet also apparently impossible to ask anyone of the male gender to intuit.

  Except Mase.

  Mase, who’d seemingly internalized all of this after a week of screwing around in tents or shacks or in double sleeping bags under the stars. Mase, who totally dwarfs me. Mase, who knows how to use his teeth as well as any other body part. Mase, who—

  “Hey.”

  Mase, who is right behind me.

  I quickly shove my phone in the back pocket of my pants and look up to see him taking a seat on the next stool over. “Hey,” I greet him back as he raises a hand to flag down the bartender. “Worked up a thirst dancing, huh?”

  He gives me a funny look, then orders himself a Yuengling. He scowls when they don’t have it—boy takes Philly pride seriously—and gets a Sam Adams instead.

  “One Sam Adams,” says the bartender, “unless the lady wants another one?”

  “I’m good with this one, thanks.”

  She shrugs and goes to get Mase’s. For some reason, it suddenly feels like a Thing that we got the same beer. It isn’t a Thing, of course—it wasn’t even his first choice—and yet, this is how my brain works now, all the time, every time.

  “No dancing for you?” he asks.

  “No one to dance with.” I take a long drink from my glass.

  “You can always ask someone.”

  I don’t dignify that with a response, wishing instead that I’d gotten a second beer after all.

  “But then, I guess you’ve always preferred to be asked.”