Page 6 of A Quarterback for Christmas

Not again. I’m going to kill Dave the minute he drops me off at my dorm. Why’s he being so unnecessarily difficult? He has a car and wants money. I have money and want a ride. Simple.

I re-order.

We do this dance another three times before I decide to call him.

“Stop booking me, Bella.” His loud, angry voice shouts down the phone.

“Aw, Dave. Not even a hello?”

“Stop booking me,” he repeats, completely ignoring any pleasantries.

“I’ve got an idea. If you pick me up, I can stop rebooking.”

“Have you looked outside recently? I’m not driving all the way to the airport for you just so I can get stuck in the storm on the way home.”

“It’s notthatbad,” I say, adjusting my blonde braid. Although I’m not outside, the strands are a little crispy from the frigid air blowing through the door. Just because my knees are knocking and my teeth are chattering doesn’t mean it’s bad enough to miss out on a cab fare.

“I’m not coming, and I’m turning my rides off for the holidays. Good luck finding someone else to help you out.”

I snort because there’s no way he’s being serious…Is he?

Grunting down the phone, it starts to hit me that maybe he is. “Wait!” I shriek. “Please don’t do that. You’re the only one…”

Click.

“Dave?” I pull my phone away from my ear, looking at the blank screen before putting it back up against my cheek. “Dave?” It’s a weak whine now because I know it’s pointless. He’s gone, and I’m on my own in an airport that’s shutting down in less than two hours.

Pushing myself to walk outside, I slump against the brick wall.

Now what?

Not only have I missed the last flight to Florida, but I have no way of getting to my dorm without potentially prostituting myself for a ride, since the taxicab stand is empty.

It can’t get any worse, can it? The thirty-minute walk back to campus isn’t exactly an option in these heels, and I’d probably freeze to death before I found a way back.

But I have no other choice.

Raising my shoulders, I take a deep, cold breath and begin to walk, no matter how shaky I may seem on the cold ground.

The icy road crackles as a black G Wagon slows in front of me. Apparently, it can get worse. I’ve manifested the attention I was trying to avoid. The black-tinted window rolls down, and I curse when I see a familiar St. Michael’s Baseball hat.

“Need a ride?” Smooth velvet again. Of course Drew drives a G Wagon. Boxy and Flashy, just like him. What else would he spend all that sponsorship money on?

Drew’s lips curve into a smile, emphasizing his popping dimples, and I hate that it makes him look so damn cute.

Waving my hand flippantly, I pull my suitcase in the thickening snow and chatter out, “I’m good.” There’s no way in hell that I’m going to accept help from Drew McCallister. Never. He’ll use it against me for the rest of my life, so I go on my merry way without giving him a second thought.

My feet are becoming unsteady now; the small point of my heel can barely make a dent on the hardened ice.

“Are you sure?” With his arm draped out the window, he slowly drives at my walking speed, watching me with his sunglasses on.

I tip my chin and scowl. “Drew, just go ho-” I fumble before I can finish. All I get out are guttural noises and incoherent ramblings because my heel breaks, and I feel myself falling in the cold, icy air.

My whole life flashes in front of me.

Bets I didn’t take, friends I didn’t make, and a very concerned pair of brown eyes run through my mind.

Thwack.

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