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I flop back on my bed, holding my clover, closing my eyes as I think about Co
I hear a beep and a click and, a second later, Reagan walking in, out of breath from her jog. “I just passed Co
“He’s really sweet, Reagan.” I roll onto my stomach, resting my chin on my arms. “Did you know how sweet he is?”
“I did. I’ve heard he treats his girlfriends really well.”
Huh . . . I don’t know why but, for some stupid reason, I haven’t even pictured Co
“Two or three since being here.” Reagan kicks off her shoes. “He was single all of first year. God, did I ever have a massive crush on him back then!” She makes a face. “I also had braces and a fat ass. That’s what you get for being short and curvy. If I don’t keep jogging . . . look out!” She pulls her T-shirt over her head and throws it onto the heap on the floor with her other clothes. Reagan isn’t the neatest person in the world. I don’t mind, though. It suits her wild demeanor. “You know, you should start jogging with me!”
“I’m not the most coordinated person,” I warn with a grimace. “I’m liable to take you out.”
She shrugs. “That’s okay, I know how to tuck and roll.”
“Maybe. One day.” Maybe I’ll like jogging. I won’t know unless I try.
Until then, I can work on calming the butterflies that are swarming inside my stomach, now that I know I’m seeing Ashton tomorrow night.
No, Co
CHAPTER TEN
Jealousy
Everyone knows Co
The attractive fortyish server shows us to a table for six and takes a handmade Reserved sign off it. “Thanks, Cheryl,” Co
She pats him on the shoulder. “What can I get you two?”
“A Corona for me and a Jack and Coke for Livie. Right, Livie?”
I just bob my head, clenching my teeth and fighting the urge to a
Cheryl doesn’t card me, though. She simply nods and walks away, her eyes dropping to get a good look at Co
“Tonight should be a good night. We’ve got front-row seats for the band,” Co
“I thought you said they didn’t reserve tables here.”
Co
Unzipping my jacket and hanging it over my chair, my eyes drift over Shawshanks. It’s a large, open space, full of dark wood and stained glass. One wall—entirely brick—displays an eclectic assortment of artwork hung haphazardly. Near the back is a wall-to-wall bar with at least twenty brass beer taps on display. A four-tiered shelf behind the bartender gives patrons countless liquor options to choose from. On the other end—the end we’re seated at—is a stage and dance floor.
“They bring great bands in,” Co
“Is that why it’s packed here?” Every table is taken, most of them by college-aged people.
Co
“—Tavish gets here!” Ty’s boisterous voice booms in my ear as two stalky arms wrap around my waist. He lifts me off the ground and swings me in a circle—past an approaching Grant and Reagan—to settle me back down facing the stage. Before I can regain my footing, Ty slithers into the chair I was about to fill. “And takes the best seat in the house!” he finishes.
“Hey!” Co
“It’s okay. Seriously.” I give Co
“Hey, Livie!” Reagan calls out, unzipping her own jacket.
“Hi, Reagan. Missed you at the dorm,” I say, swallowing nervously as my eyes do a furtive glance around the room, looking for Ashton. I’m not sure how to act around him now. I can’t even guess how he’s going to act around me.
“I couldn’t make it back in time, so I met up with Grant and we took a cab here together.” Reagan shoots a secretive look to Grant as she takes a seat next to him.
“Oh yeah?” Biting the inside of my mouth to keep my grin in check, I ask, “How was your politics class?” Reagan is embracing an assortment of classes: in three different conversations, she’s told me she’s thinking of majoring in Politics, Architecture, and two days ago, History of Music. I don’t think Reagan has a clue what she wants to do after Princeton. I don’t know how she sleeps at night with that level of ambiguity.
“Very political,” she answers dryly.
“Hmm. Interesting.” Interesting, because one of her classmates, Barb, swung by our dorm room to drop off photocopies of notes for Reagan, who couldn’t make it to class. Reagan is obviously lying but I don’t know why. I suspect it has something to do with the lanky guy next to her. If I wanted to get back at her for . . . oh, everything . . . I’d call her on it in front of everyone. But I don’t.
“Who’s playing tonight?” Ty asks, banging the drink menu noisily against the table.
“Dude, that doesn’t make the waitress come any faster and it makes you look like a complete dick,” Grant mutters, snatching the thing out of his hand.
Apparently it does work, though, because Cheryl appears within seconds to place our order on the table. “What can I get the rest of you?”
Ty’s face looks ready to split, he’s gri
“I said ‘nice gut.’ Eat another bag of chips.”
Ty’s grin doesn’t falter as he slaps his stomach in response. There’s nothing resembling a gut there. I take a sip of my drink as I survey each of them with curiosity. None of the guys have an ounce of flab on them, anywhere. Their bodies are all very different—Ty being on the shorter side and thick, Grant tall and lanky, Co