“So, I won’t see you out at parties,” she begins, “but I hope I still see you at lunch a few days a week.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I tell her. “And if you change your mind about those parties, or if you need a hand with that vibrator,” I say, letting my words hang in the air, “you know where to find me.”
It’s tempting as fuck to look back over my shoulder as I walk away, but I don’t. Play has shifted to Maggie’s side of the ice. All I can do is wait and watch. If she really just wants some company at lunch, fine. But if what she told Viv is true and there’s no substitute for me or what I bring to the, uh, party…then I don’t think Maggie’s done with me just yet.
CHAPTER 17
MAGGIE
“All I’m saying isthat you totally missed out. And you’ll probably regret it for the rest of your life,” Viv says, pausing only to take a sip of her oatmilk latte. “And you’ll never forgive me for not dragging you out of the library by the hair so that you could come with me to the Bachelor Auction. But I tried, Maggie. I tried.” She shakes her head like I’m some wayward tween and she’s my harried mother.
“I know you did, Viv,” I admit, holding in my laughter because my bestie is one-hundred-percent serious right now. “And I hereby absolve you of any guilt I may someday try to impose upon you.”
Somewhat mollified, she nods. “Oh and let the record show that since you refused the ticket I got you, you can never sue me for damages or blackmail me into paying for all the therapy you’ll need as a result of missing out the greatest event this campus has ever hosted. You could have met your future husband there.”
This time, I can’t conceal my laughter. “Not likely. I don’t do relationships, remember? So don’t go picking out bridesmaid dresses, okay?”
Viv just rolls her eyes. “It’s so cute how you think I’ll listen to you.”
“I should know better,” I agree. “But I guess I never learn. Like that time that I expressly told younotto get me a ticket to the bachelor auction because I had a study session and because I’m not into jocks or dating, and I am definitely not into dating jocks. But then, and this is wild, so stay with me, you bought me a ticket anyway.”
Does my best friend show even a modicum of attrition? Nope. She just laughs and takes another sip of her latte, so I follow suit and try to swallow a mouthful of my high-octane dark roast. I asked Theo for as many extra pumps of sugar as he could legally give me, but it’s still awful.
“Whoa, what’s that face for? Are you finally realizing that I’m right about everything and you’re trying to figure out how to ask me to be your Life Coach? Oh, god…you’re not going to puke, are you?”
“Of course not,” I say, waving her off though it suddenly occurs to me that my stomach is feeling sloshy. “My coffee just tastes weird.”
Without any hesitation, she reaches for my cup and takes a sip. Viv and I do not share the stance on germs. “It tastes okay to me, but that is one strong cup of coffee. Hang on,” she says, leaving the table and taking my cup with her. A few seconds later, she slides the mostly full mug across the counter to Theo. She’s back in no time with a fresh mug, complete with a towering swirl of whipped cream dotted with chocolate shavings. Yeah, I can totally see why Theo is Viv’s favorite barista.
Before I can taste the chocolatey goodness that awaits, I unzip my bag to fish out my wallet, but Viv dismisses me. “It’s on the house. I told Theo he must’ve made a bad batch.”
My jaw drops. “Tell me you did not! The coffee’s probably fine. It’s just too strong for my taste and I’ve been up all hours studying so I figured I needed a little jolt of caffeine, you know?”
“I do know. But you’re just not cut out for the strong stuff, so you’ll have to get your caffeine from that hot cocoa.”
I nod and vow to thank Theo later as I take a sip of my new drink. Yum. Hot chocolate has always been superior to coffee, but that cup really tasted funny. It was kind of metallic, but maybe that’s just the way they store it and I’ve got super sensitive taste buds or something.
All I know right now is that my taste buds are loving this hot chocolate. I take another sip as Viv spills the details of her night at the bachelor auction.
“You should have seen it, Maggie. I felt so bad for the guy, but it really was hilarious. There he was, letting the music move him and when he got down low, his trunks split right in half. And let me tell you, those were some tasty cakes. I don’t know what kind of nutrition regimen your uncle has for his players, but whatever it is, it’s working.”
“The impromptu striptease came from one of Uncle Hudson’s guys?” Yikes. I can’t imagine that went over well. If the rules my uncle has laid out for his team are anything like the ones he has in place for me, that poor kid will be skating his ass off when he’s not warming the bench.
“Yeah, one of the freshmen. He’s huge, though. Maybe they just grow them big in Ohio?” she muses, shrugging. “Anyway, after he was sold to the highest bidder, the rest of the hockey team strutted their stuff. I know you don’t want to hear this,” she says, holding her hands up, “but those guys are hot. And I know hot. I train with athletes daily. Washboard abs don’t faze me. But the hockey team? They should do a calendar for charity or something. Because they’d sell out in an hour.”
I shake my head. She’s right: I don’t want to hear about how hot my uncle’s players are. Hot guys don’t do it for me.
Okay. That’s a straight up lie. JT is the hottest guy on this campus, and he definitely does it for me. But we’re not talking about my one-night-stand-turned-lunch-buddy. We’retalking about the hockey team. At least Viv is. She’s going on and on about their little routines and even littler swim trunks and I don’t think she’s come up for air yet.
“It was like a scene from a movie. These old ladies just charged to the front of the crowd, dollar bills in their fists. They got Ollie and Van for a steal. I really think Whit would have kept the bidding going, but then I saw the nasty looks penetrating from their octogenarian eyes. Thelma and Shirley, or Gladys and Jean? Whoever they are, they meant business.”
It takes me a second to catch up to what she’s telling me. But before I can ask how in the heck a couple of eighty-year-olds got into the bachelor auction, Viv’s telling yet another story.
“The goalie was up next, not the backup guy—his girlfriend has him on lockdown, basically. No way would Soph let Kaden strut his stuff on stage. Let me tell you, Norris is not my type, butdamn. The guy is ripped. The crowd went wild. For a second there, I thought those old ladies were going to come back in and start throwing hands.”
Viv’s gesturing animatedly and even though I don’t know the people she’s talking about, I’m intrigued.
“You’d have freaking loved this guy, Maggie. But you missed out, and instead of going out with you, poor Norris has to entertain some Sig Delt sister.”
