The Beautiful Truth

// 36

"Oh God," I groaned, taking another sip off my beer while Micki and I sat at the bar on Claremont, waiting for Barton and Alex to join us. We'd become such regulars that they eventually stopped asking us for any kind of identification—state-issued or rockstar-verified—and just let us in. "Is that Chase Fallen?"

Chase Fallen was the idiot Cal quarterback. For whatever reason, I had decided I hated him after he threw that interception against Arizona State. It also hadn't helped that he'd tried his hardest to lose the last game before the season finally ended. He, or his identical twin, was leaned against the bar, shouting something at Charlie, my favorite bartender.

Micki followed my gaze next to me. "Oh. Yep. He's a real class act, that guy."

I scoffed. "Sounds like it."

Chase was yelling something about his vodka not being Ketel One. Whatever. I hoped Charlie spit in his drink. Maybe Charlie was coming down with a cold, too, in this fantasy.

"Uh, yeah, so speaking of football players..." Micki began awkwardly, then hesitated.

I spun my bar seat around to look at her with cautious eyes. "That was the worst transition ever. What gives? You tired of messin' with Alex and you want to give Talyn a shot now?"

As soon as I'd let those words slip out, I was overcome with regret. I had only had one beer before this. I couldn't blame my heinous response on being drunk. There was no reason to be so cutting, especially not to her. And especially when I didn't even mean that. I cringed. Micki's eyes broke.

"Micki..." I began, reaching out for her, then dropping my hand, not knowing what to do with it. "I didn't mean that. Not one word of it. I'm...Jesus Christ, I'm sorry. What is wrong with me?"

She sighed, and frowned. "I think I need to talk to that English professor of yours...You've been in a bad mood ever since that last class."

Embarrassed at myself, I pressed my lips together. I'd told her what he said. Still, that was no excuse. "I'm so sorry Micki."

"I know," she said quietly. "You're stressed out. It's OK."

"That doesn't mean I should have snapped at you like that."

She shrugged, seeming willing to move past it. "What I was going to say was...the athletic office asked us...the cheerleaders, I mean...if we knew anyone who would be a good ambassador for the athletic program. Um, specifically for football recruitment—"

I stared at her blankly.

"—um, pretty much they just asked for pretty girls...cheerleaders can't do it, but I guess they think we know all the hot chicks, so..."

"Oh Jesus," I muttered. "What did you get me into?"

"You?" Micki asked, frowning as if she were confused. "I told them about Jenny and Scarlett, I hope that's OK."

I wrinkled my nose and gave her a hard look.

"You assumed just because I said they asked for pretty girls that I was talking about you?" she asked, finally letting one corner of her mouth twitch upwards.

I bit my lip and stared at her, then took another drink.

Micki laughed. "Gotcha."

I nodded and admitted defeat.

Micki reached out and shoved my arm playfully. "I'm kidding, pretty girl. I talked to the athletic director about you...I told him you're a football genius. He seemed pretty stoked about you."