Page 7 of Cross-Check

The first genuine smile on my face since I lost Grace.

two

Isway to the music as I wait for Chad to toss his ball toward my end of the beer pong table. His ball spins at the top of the cup, and my partner quickly reaches forward, slapping it out with his fingers before it could hit the liquid.

“Good job, buddy.”

My partner smirks. “What can I say, I’m good with my hands.”

I roll my eyes. “Sure you are, big guy.”

He laughs under his breath as he hands me the ball. “Thank you.”

I wait for him to make his shot and study him out of the corner of my eye.

For the life of me, I can’t remember his name, but I know he plays hockey with my brother. I want to ask his name, but at the same time, I don’t want him to get the wrong idea that I’m interested. I mean, I am, but I don’t want a relationship. Not yet. Hell, I’m not even sure I want to be here at school. The last thing I need is to toss a boyfriend or a fuck buddy into the mix. Even if he has sandy blond hair, a sharp jawline, hazel eyes, and makes me feel small standing next to him because of his height.

God, could you imagine the way Clay would lose his mind if he found out I had a fuck buddy? I smile at the thought. Especially if it was someone on his team. He would lose his mind.

“It’s your turn,” he says after he sinks the ball.

“Nice.”

Taking a deep breath, I raise my arm and flick my wrist. The ball goes sailing through the air and lands perfectly in a cup in the back row.

“So you’ve played a time or two,” he muses.

“You could say that.”

“You look familiar. Are you sure we’ve never met?” he asks.

I smile into my cup. I should probably just tell him I’m Clay’s sister, but I don’t. I kind of like that he doesn’t know who I am. It was my main worry about coming here. Living in Clay’s shadow all over again.

“I don’t think so. Maybe you’ve seen me around campus?” The lie flows smoothly off my lips.

He hums. “Maybe. What’s your name?”

“Tell you what, if we run this table for the rest of the night, at the end we can exchange names.”

He raises a brow. “So what am I supposed to call you in the meantime?”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something,” I tease.

His lips twitch. “How about I call you…beautiful?”

I roll my eyes and smile. “Does that line actually work for you?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” He smirks.

The team we are playing against sinks both balls because we are too busy paying attention to each other. “Okay, hotshot, let’s kick some ass, yeah?”

“You got it, beautiful.”

For hours we stand side by side, running the table. People around us offer us fist bumps and high fives after every match while our opponents walk away pissed off they aren’t the ones to beat us. A couple of times guys call him by a number, and when they do, he quickly glances at me. I keep my head down, pretending that I don’t hear it, because honestly the numbers mean nothing to me.

I really do need to study the roster, so I know who the guys are talking about.

“Are you still playing?” Brit asks as she approaches.

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