Page 17 of Catching Feels

“As in, the Ivy League college?” She shakes her head. “No way. My grades tanked last semester.”

“Extenuating circumstances.” CeCe shakes her head. “You’ll get there again.”

“Get those grades up next semester and apply. You never know,” Alex says, sitting back down at the table.

“I’m retaking the classes, but I’m not Cornell material.” Cora shrugs.

“Alex and Liam both graduated from Cornell.” Phoebe winks at Cora. “And Alex starts teaching there in the fall.”

While everyone is talking, I excuse myself and head down to use the bathroom—a.k.a. check my phone to see if SMS has messaged me again—when one of the servers drops a whole tray of drinks at my feet.

“Oh shit, I am so sorry.” She bends down and starts picking up cups, shockingly, none of them broke. “Oh my God, look at your shoes.”

I bend down and help her. “No big deal.”

“You better fire that one,” someone yells over the crowd.

“Can’t fire free help!” she calls back then looks at me. “Totally why I shouldn’t be allowed behind the bar. I’m?—”

“London Links.” I laugh.

“Guilty.” She smiles and looks up at me. “Fuck, leave it to me to trash Hudson Hart’s sister …”

“Jillian.” I shake my head. “Put me behind the bar or counter any day. Out here, I’d have dumped them, too.”

“Better not say that too loud. Riley will snatch you up.” We both stand; her with the tray, me with hands full of cups.

I look at the tray. “Yeah, these won’t fit. I’ll follow you.”

And that’s just what I do.

Behind the bar, London announces, “Hart’s not for hire, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Not even for events during the off season?” Riley jokes.

“Off season? Which one—baseball or football?” I laugh.

Riley cocks her head to the side. “We’re fully staffed during football season, but the holiday parties, we can always use a hand.”

“Told you.” London shakes her head as Riley follows us back to the massive kitchen area.

“I might be available?”

“Is that a question or?—”

“No, seriously, maybe, but I’m no good on the floor.”

“I’ll take a maybe.” Riley starts emptying my hands. “Good money in events, and it’s only like five or six hours. I’ll take you any Friday, Saturday, or Sunday from December first to New Year’s Day. You’ll make an easy five hundred a shift. Obviously, you’re busy when the Knights play, so that’s a non-issue.”

“You’re being serious?”

London sighs. “She is.”

“Cool.”

Upstairs, I decide to make an announcement. “I got accepted to Montanan and waitlisted at Rutgers and Binghamton.”

My whole family and the Rosses look at me.

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