College Ruled

twenty-six

| 26 |
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I GO to the goddamn game.

Grayson practically gives me no choice. I'm stuffed back into his jersey, dragged to the stadium by him, and deposited in the middle of a tailgate party—passed off to a group of his trusted friends under the agreement that they won't let me run away.

The problem? His "friends" (I'm pretty sure everyone on this goddamn campus is his friend) just so happen to be Greek gods.

Otherwise known as: the hockey team.

       As if meeting new people isn't intimidating enough, they have to be obscenely beautiful people. And tall. Towering, really.

      And sure, I like to feel small—in certain situations. Hidden. Safe. But sitting on the back of a random dude's truck, squished between Giant 1 and Giant 2 is a different kind of feeling. It's less like feeling tiny and more like feeling misplaced. Like stepping into the wrong room and waiting for the inevitable moment when someone points out that you don't belong.

     The silver lining, however, in this lovely birthday nightmare that I'm fully planning on killing Grayson for later, is that I have met the two giants I'm sandwiched between.

       Reece Moretti and Cameron Bennett are polar opposites. And I can say that with the utmost confidence from only knowing them for about thirty minutes.

To my left, Reece cannot sit still. He's on his fifth beer. His leg bounces. His mouth moves with a million different predictions for the game we're waiting to watch—comments that pass right over my head. Every two minutes he shifts from leaning into his palms on the truck bed to sitting forward with his elbows on his knees and then back again. His entire presence is loud. Heavy. It's impossible not to feel him sitting next to me.

On the other hand, I would wager a stupid amount of money that Cameron Bennett does not want to be here. In fact, I would guess he'd rather be anywhere else. He's quiet. Silent, really. The kind of quiet that says exactly what he's thinking. He's staring at the group huddled around the grill, jaw hard, barely touching the now-warm beer bottle dangling between his fingers.

I have no idea who makes me feel more uneasy.

Except that I do.

        Because then there's... Bailey. She lingers near a bronze-skinned (say it with me) giant as he mans the grill. She hangs onto his every word. Laughs. Throws well-received one-liners around to the rest of the team lounging between the smoking burgers and lined up coolers.

The longer I watch her the harder I try not to analyze the sour weight that pools in my stomach each time she smiles. God—it lights up her whole goddamn face. I'd give anything to be able to smile like that and make it look natural. To have the kind of face that radiates positive energy and all things bubbly.

Of course her and Grayson have history. She's exactly the kind of person I'd imagine him being with.

It just... makes sense.

What doesn't make sense is how fucking bothered I feel about it.

        As if sensing attention, Bailey's chin turns toward the truck and her smile stretches wider. Which I didn't think was possible. She trails a dismissive hand over Giant #3's forearm and makes her way over, waves of orange hair swaying with each step.