Just Friends Read online

  "It's not like this job is even hard." He spits. "You stick your tits out for money. It's a strip club with better wings."

  Bryan grabs the guy's arm before Sealy and I can verbally jump this drunk dude. We know he won't actually do anything, though, none of them will. All the managers are heavily invested in anything Aggie-related and probably give fewer shits about their staff than the patrons.

  Graduation can't come soon enough.

  "One day, Leigh, we're going to burn this place to the fucking ground."

  "I'm so sorry." Natalie appears from behind us, looking every bit a hot mess. "I had to run to the restroom and they've been... getting rowdy."

  "Greg should have taken that table." I rub her arm gently. "Not you."

  "Normally it's not so bad. A little friendly smile here or there gets a lot of tips, and god knows I could use the money, right? But Henry broke up with me right before my shift started and I just can't handle it right now."

  "Oh, fuck that guy." Sealy folds her into a group hug. "He's a dick. You were the best thing to ever happen to him."

  "He graduated early and didn't want to wait. I can't blame him." She forces a smile and tightens her ponytail. "I'm sorry. I'll be okay. I'm so sorry they came over here to harass you, though. You didn't need that."

  "I'll take the table if you need." I offer. "You can keep all the tips, too. It's not a big deal."

  "No, I'll be fine. Thank you, though, Leigh. You're the best."

  "She really is." Sealy nods. "I would've taken all the tips."

  Natalie offers a lame smile and takes a deep breath before venturing back into the fray. The small seedling of desperation to get out of here sprouted some time ago, but I can feel it growing at a rapid pace.

  My phone vibrates, a text from my dad.

  "What does the old fart want now?" Sealy asks, looking over my shoulder.

  His message is loud and clear without having to look at it. The same thing every day, week after week. "Probably another job listing for back home."

  "He still doesn't get it, does he?"

  "Probably never will. It's not enough that my brothers work in the same town. He needs me under his roof, where he can watch me until he dies."

  "That's creepy."

  "That's my dad."

  "Just a few more months, girl. We'll be out of here." Sealy nudges my shoulder with hers. "Los Angeles, Chicago, New York City even. The world is our oyster and we'll rule it with our superior intellect. You know, the kind that allows you to master calculus and English. All at the same time."

  "Blasphemy."

  "Only if your name is Wayne Anderson."

  CHAPTER THREE

  HEATH

  "Saw varsity's horns off! Saw varsity's horns off! Saw varsity's horns off!"

  "Short! A!"

  "Woooooooo!"

  The bar erupts around us in a blur of screams and "Gig 'em!"s. Clark hoists Aidan up on his shoulders with Jack. That slick bastard scored the winning touchdown in OT and he's about to get laid eight times over before we even leave Northgate.

  "Varsity's horns are sawed off!" The Aggie War Hymn keeps spiraling onward and my chest could straight burst from pride. We don't play TU often anymore, but when we do, the spectacle is outrageous.

  For the last three hours, we've been hopping from bar to bar, accepting free shots and stirring up another eight rounds of the War Hymn to get everyone jazzed. When I glanced at myself in the pisser before we got to the Chicken, I had lipstick smeared all over my neck and cheek. Didn't even bother covering that shit up.

  It is a good goddamn night to be Heath Davis.

  We tackle the rest of the bars on Northgate before heading to Antonio’s for greasy pizza. Somewhere along the way we lose Jack, good riddance, and Wayne ducks out with his girlfriend before we hit the pizza parlor. The rest of the guys scatter to a frat house party but I don't feel like heading out just yet.

  "Lots of tail waiting for the quarterbackin' hot shot." Clark teases, flipping through his texts. I catch a few pictures of tits and one of a bald dick.

  "That shit right there is what you get for giving out your number so freely." I tap his screen and magnify the cock. "Right there."

  "I hate you." Clark deletes the text and looks around. Antonio’s is packed and we're more than a little popular in the tiny restaurant. Which means a forever wait. "Party at Kappa Sigma's house tonight! Topless chicks get in free!"

  "You're an asshole!" Someone yells from the back of the restaurant. There's a mix of cheering and laughing, but Clark takes a bow either way.

  "Guess you assholes better haul it over there before the Heath man hits the keg!"

  Within minutes, a few tables open. Clark grabs us a few slices while I secure a table next to two girls with two bottles of wine and an extra large to share between the two of them. One looks vaguely familiar, but every blonde on campus starts to blur after a while.

  They all look the same. They really do. Makes one night stands a hell of a lot easier, though.

  "I know you!" Clark drops the pizza and turns to the table who, I noticed, was actively trying to ignore me. "You work at Wings ‘N Brew!"

  "We do. And now we're leaving." The blonde snarls our way and gathers her purse.

  "Everyone at Wings ‘N Brew should love us. We tip like mother fuckers." I turn to study them. The blonde looks murderous and her friend, a brunette, doesn't look much friendlier. She's got a great mouth, though, that lets the mind wander a bit. "Why the sour faces, ladies?"

  "Sorry, we aren't topless so I don't think we'd strike your fancy."

  "Oh, that?" Clark puts on his best look of innocence. "That was just to clear the place out so we could get a table. We don't do frat parties."

  "Frat boys are asswipes." I nod after Clark kicks me under the table. For reasons I will never fucking understand, he always goes for the psychos. This leaves me chatting up the brunette with the big lips, though, which isn't anything terrible.

  "There, we agree." Brunette raises her wine bottle in a toast and takes a swig.

  Well hello, opening. "I'm—"

  "I know who you are." Blondie rolls her eyes at Clark. "You guys sat on our shift two nights ago."

  "I had the worst fucking hangover after that night." I wince at the memory. "Had to wear sunglasses for like three hours. I don't know what the fuck I had—"

  "Eight shots of fireball, to start." Brunette eyes me. "And then you tried to start shit."

  I don't remember much from that night after Clark brought up my ex, but I wouldn't put any of that past me. Drunk Heath is a sour mother fucker and I love to bring him out anytime I can. He handles all the shit I'd rather avoid.”

  "That guy sounds like an asshole." I notice Blondie sat back down and is chatting up my boy awfully close despite her offense at being topless only a handful of minutes ago. Not surprising, really. "I apologize on his behalf."

  "He made a waitress cry." She studies me over her bottle as she takes another swig. "And called them all bitches."

  "It was probably in the nice way. You know, the same way guys are dicks and girls are bitches. It's a term of endearment."

  "Sure didn't sound that way." She nudges Blondie. "I think we should go."

  "You can't go!" Clark grabs Blondie's hand. "I just got here and I've got so much more about you to learn."

  "Oh for fucks sake." Brunette and I say in unison.

  I flash a grin at her but she doesn't return it.

  "Okay, so I got drunk and was a dick at the restaurant. I'm sorry." I change angles as easily as I throw footballs. "It was a shitty thing to do."

  "It was. And you aren't sorry."

  "I'm not? Well that's news to me."

  Brunette rolls her eyes. "People don't change when they are drunk, not really. They say and do the things common decency otherwise prevents them from saying and doing. You'd already had those thoughts in your head, called us those names, and Pitbull helped pull them out of you when you felt the tiniest bit inconvenienced."

  "I'm not really a Pitbull guy." I flash a grin. "More of a Labrador fan."

  "Y'all are all the same." Brunette drains her bottle and sets it down. "Think you own the fucking place because you know how to throw a ball."

  "Football is a lot more intensive than just arbitrarily throwing a ball."

  "That's an awfully big word for a meathead."

  "Meathead?" I stare at this chick, who clearly hates every fiber of my being. Whatever I said two nights ago must have seriously pissed her off. "Oh, like waiting tables is rocket science?"

  "No, waiting tables involves pretending to flirt with a bunch of dumbasses to pay for my very expensive education." She flashes a smile, but it's fully pointed and thoroughly unfriendly.

  "So your job doesn't define you? But mine defines me? Interesting."

  "Serving wings for six hours is a lot different than playing football. But I wouldn't expect you to know the difference."

  "Look, I don't what the fuck I said two nights ago, but I already said I was sorry, okay?" Agitation swells up in my chest. Who the fuck is this chick? Doesn't she understand we just played the game of our fucking lives out there? I should be heralded as a goddamn hero, not raked through the mud. "Sometimes, I'm an asshole when I drink. Alcohol does lots of stupid shit to lots of people. I don't need to be sacked over something I said when my mind clearly wasn't there."

  "You're all alike. Every last one of you. Think you own everything on campus because you have a jersey. Think everyone should bow down to you just because you win a game centered around running around in circles. You're an insult to the caliber of this institution and, frankly, no one actually likes you. You're just a good excuse to drink."

  She spits out this last bit like a viper and grabs her bag. Without saying anything to her friend, who is practically in Clark's lap, or having the decency to say goodbye, she storms off with her emptied bottle of white wine. Whatever, it's a great excuse to check out her ass while she storms off.

  "Where did Leigh go?" Blondie suddenly looks up. "Oh, shit."

  "Heath!" Clark smacks me on the shoulder. "The fuck did you say?"

  "Nothing!" I rub my arm. "She got all pissy and walked out. No big deal."

  "I gotta go find her." Blondie grabs her shit and Clark begs her to stay while shooting me daggers.

  "Jesus. Fine." I swallow down my pizza, going cold after the frosty reception from Brunette newly named Leigh. "I'll go bring her back. You two stay and keep eye-fucking."

  The shit I do for friends, man.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  LEIGH

  All I wanted to do was celebrate the end of studying for this terrible calculus exam. We knew we'd hit a few bumps after the football game, but never did I expect to run into the same jerk who made Natalie cry and who threatened Sealy. Every other week, I'm sure we walked past a half-dozen football players and never noticed, but this week had to be different. Of course it did.

  This is the week the universe decided to karmatically kick my ass. Messages from my dad, my brothers, my ex-boyfriends, and now this. There isn't enough cheap wine in all of College Station to get me through this.

  "Leigh, wait!"

  I almost turn at my name but immediately recognize the voice. Great, now he knows my name and will never leave me alone. It's like reverse Rumpelstiltskin disease—they never go away after they get my name. I veer down an alley just before passing a group of cheerleaders and hope he gets distracted.

  "Hey, come on. Don't leave your friend back there with some guy she's never met! What kind of friend does that make you?"

  I wheel around on the hulking football asshole behind me, mace extended. "What the fuck is your friend going to do to her?"

  "What? Nothing." He holds his hands up, sort of, but I don't think he looks terribly intimidated. I should mace him on principle. "I just wanted you to stop."

  "What do you want? No bullshit."

  "No bullshit? Fine." He has a weird look on his face and I don't particularly like it. "My boy Clark really wants to hook up with your blonde friend. It's my job to play wingman and keep you happy. She isn't fucking happy with you walking out of the place so I need you to come back to Antonio’s with me."

  "Not a chance." I pull my phone out of my pocket to text Sealy that I'm going home. "Now leave me alone before I have to use this."

  "I'm not trying to pull anything freaky, okay? All I want is for you to go back and eat some pizza." He takes a step towards me, unfazed as I level the mace at his eye level. He's so much taller than me it's ridiculous. "I won't even touch you. You can put that away."

  I eye him. He's an attractive guy... for a meathead. He doesn't look very threatening and mostly looks genuine. It doesn't add up, though, and I've seen the nasty side of him that can flare. I don't exactly want to see it again.

  "Please?"

  The politeness surprises me more than anything else. The mace stays in my hand, but is no longer aimed at his face. "Aren't there a bunch of frat parties you're supposed to crash?"

  "I don't care for that shit." He waves the notion off like it's a fly. "Bunch of dumbasses in frat houses and the cops get called too often. Kind of a buzz kill after kicking ass on the field."

  "Yet here you are, talking to me."

  "I wouldn't call you a buzzkill, exactly." He flashes a dimpled smile at me. "Come on, I'm really not an asshole. Let's go eat some pizza and pretend to like each other for an hour or two. Play wing woman. Be a good friend."

  I scowl at him because that is precisely the thing I don't want to hear from him. Sealy doesn't need any help from me, but the thought of leaving her alone, like I was absolutely going to do, sours in my stomach. I can't leave her, which means I can't get away from him.

  "Who are you, anyway?"

  "Me?" He looks shocked and glances behind him. "Surely you aren't talking to me."

  I don't even humor him with a response to that.

  "Heath Davis. Quarterback for the Aggies. Nice to meet you." He winks and offers his hand and another dimpled smile. He nods slowly at me.

  Despite everything, I almost laugh. "Leigh." I don't shake his hand because I don't trust him. "Waitress at Wings ‘N Brew."

  "What's your major, Leigh of Wings ‘N Brew?"

  "Astronaut."

  He blinks at me and I think he thinks I'm serious. Who thinks who is the bigger dumbass, at this point, is impossible to say. Finally, he cracks a wide smile.

  "I think I'm going to like you."

  "You won't." I brush past him and head into a more brightly lit area of the street. "What's your major, Quarterback?"

  "Accounting or something. I just sort of picked at random." I stop and stare, but Heath only shrugs. "Going pro is all I've ever cared about. The degree doesn't matter. I'm just here to play."

  I mutter every curse I know under my breath. He's the biggest cliché I've ever met. He’s every part the big dumb farm boy the Aggies seem to pull in in droves.

  "What are you studying? For real?"

  "Aerospace engineering." I immediately hate myself for answering. "That's the only reason why I'm in this one-horse town."

  "Have you seen the Ag department here? There's at least two hundred horses in this town."

  I have to swallow a smile because I really don't want to like him. "Funny."

  "I have a lot of excellent attributes and a robust vocabulary."

  The tables are turning and I don't like it one bit. I walk a little faster to put some space between us and my heel catches a hole in the concrete.

  "Oh shit!" The world turns sideways and I brace for impact, but it never comes. Instead, I'm moving higher.

  Heath freaking Davis caught me. There is no god. This confirms it. This beast of a boy cradles me in his arms and is entirely too close for comfort. He even smells good, instead of sweaty gym socks, and it really pisses me off.

  "Gotta be careful." He sets me down gently. "So many horses in this town, they've torn up the streets."

  My heel is blessedly intact, though I can't say the same for my pride. Now he's going to think he saved me and really won't leave me alone. This is worse than the Rumpelstiltskin disease. This is hell.

  "You okay?" Heath is only a breath away and backs me into the brick wall. "Didn't break anything?"

  "No." The air is full of him. The heat of his gaze ignites something deep in my veins that I haven't felt in a long time. It's both intoxicating and infuriating. Those fuzzy little bubbles, that instant wallop of sensuality—it catches me off guard. "I'm fine."

  "You strike me as the kind of girl who forgot how to have a good time." His voice lowers just enough to rumble in my ear. "All those books and studying makes Leigh a sad girl."

  "I'm not boring." That comes out with half the ferocity I want.

  "I never said boring. You said that." His dimples bathe in the light of streetlamps. I forgot how much I love dimples. "I just said you needed to have a little more fun."

  Despite my brain screaming at me, I manage to say, "Define fun."

  He's eclipsed my senses and bit by bit, parts of my mind and my body are marching into his lane, eager to hear what he has to say. The dissenters are alarmingly quiet. When I look up, he's closer than before, no more than a sigh, no less than a breath.

  Heath's nose brushes against mine and he whispers against my lips, "A little fun starts like this."

  In that exact instant, someone nearby violently throws up, shattering the tiny world we'd created underneath the streetlights. We both jump back and everyone on the street gathers around the guy hurling in the trash can.

  My body unchains my brain and common sense floods me once again. The hell was I doing? Heath is scum and I have standards. Impossibly high ones.

  "Go fuck yourself." I spit out and storm back into Antonio’s. Just before the door closes, I can hear him laughing behind me.

  I don't know that I've ever hated anyone more in my entire life. Sealy owes me so much I may as well become the real Rumpelstiltskin and take her first born, and every baby thereafter, except babies are terrifying. Heath Davis isn’t worth that. Not now, not ever.