I snort. "Guys who are probably a little old for us."
"That's beside the point." She waves me off dismissively. "Think about it. We would have so much fun!"
"And juggle work with school and cheerleading? I’m not so sure about that."
Groaning, she takes the flyer from my hands. "Fine, you can be a party pooper if you want, but have fun living on ramen and macaroni."
That makes me stop and think. She's got a point. My bank account has been looking a little low, and while I think it's going to be harder than Kennedy is assuming, maybe having a job as a bartender wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.
"Okay, okay," I cave. "You win. Where do I apply?"
The corners of her mouth raise. "I kind of, sort of, maybe already handed in both our applications."
My jaw drops as I look at my roommate. "Kennedy!"
She raises her hands defensively and steps back. "Remember, I'm awesome, and you love me."
As she runs from the room, all I can do is laugh. I can't even be mad because it’s a total Kennedy thing to do, and if I didn't want the job, I could have just turned it down when they called. Still, she's a terror.
THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT COLLEGE classes that make you feel more like a grown up. Everything is so laid back, and while we’re still expected to do our work, no one is here to babysit us. If you feel like walking right out of class, you can. If you feel like not showing up, there's no one there to yell at you for it. The freedom is my favorite thing about this place.
It's times like these, though, that I wish I was more outgoing. Maybe then I would make more friends. Sure, I have Kennedy, and she's great, but we were forced together by sharing a dorm. Thank God I didn't request a single. I'd be the most awkward little recluse.
You would think being a cheerleader would make me this bubbly girl who gets along with everyone, but it doesn't. I've simply always had a love for tumbling and cheer stunts. And there's a part of me that hopes all the girls on the team will rub some of their wit off on me and make it so I don't choke on words every time I'm supposed to talk to someone new.
"Your assignment is to study International Shoe Co. v. Washington and write a four-page opinion piece on it," the professor announces. "I want them in my email by six p.m. on Monday."
Most of the class groans as we pack up our things, but what did they really expect? If they think this is difficult, they're going to have a really hard time when they get to law school. The workload only gets more intense.
I follow everyone out of the classroom and bank a right to head toward my dorm. As soon as I get out of the underpass, however, my stomach churns. Zayn is leaning against the wall across from me, with his black leather jacket and a pair of sunglasses on that make him look like a hotter version of Danny Zuko. My whole body responds to it, even though I beg it not to. As if it couldn't get any worse, he pushes off the wall and starts coming my way.
"Are you stalking me?" I ask as soon as he's close enough. This is twice now that he's hunted me down.
He smirks, completely unaffected by my attitude. "Would it be so bad if I was?"
For a second, I think he's actually flirting, but then he clears his throat and looks away. When he brings his attention back to me, there's no question about it. Whatever he was thinking, it's gone now.
"Can we talk?"
His words catch me off guard, but I have a feeling that's what he was going for. "So that you can tell me again how you regret the other night? I'll pass, thanks."
I go to walk by him, but he grabs my wrist and spins me around, the same way he did before he kissed me. Only this time, there's distance between us.
Good.
"Come on," he pleads. "Don't be like that."
My eyes roll, and I cross my arms over my chest. "Why do you even care?"
His mouth opens and closes for a minute. "I just do."
"Not good enough." I shake my head.
He looks up at the sky for a minute and exhales. "Because, you're my best friend's little sister, and that makes you important to me."
There it is. The big difference between what I mean to him, and what he means to me. Not only are we on different pages, we're not even in the same damn library. And I don't think I can be around him like this and not feel that ache in my chest every time I think about how it'll never happen. To do that would be the most brutal form of self-torture.
"Can't we just go back to being friends?" The sincerity in his voice and on his face are overwhelming, but I need to protect myself.
My shoulders sag, and my arms drop dejectedly. "That's the thing, Zayn. You and I were never friends."
His face looks like I just punched him in the gut as Kennedy comes out of nowhere and throws her arms around me. I stumble just slightly, but I'm not sure if it's because of the random onslaught, or the way I didn't expect that reaction from him. Still, Kennedy doesn't even seem to notice he's standing there.
"We both got the job!" she squeals.
Zayn raises a single brow. "Job?"
I shake my head, but Kennedy doesn't seem to know that my elbow in her side is code for shut-the-fuck-up.
"Yep!" she answers. "You're looking at Hypnotic's two hottest new bartenders."
Okay, someone needs to teach this chick girl-code, because my God. It's not like she doesn't know that Zayn lives with my brother, or that said brother has the tendency to be overprotective. If he finds out I'm working at a bar, he'll lose his damn mind. I wouldn't even put it past him to hog-tie me in his closet until I promise to quit.
Zayn rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Do you really think that's the best idea?"
"Maybe not." I look him up and down. "But I've made worse choices."
My roommate snorts beside me, but my words lack the venom I had hoped for. Even Zayn shows a hint of a smile. However, I'm not sure where this newfound attitude is coming from. It's like someone injected me with a dose of confidence, at least where he's concerned, and that's good because I'm no one's doormat.
"Come on," Kennedy loops her arm with mine. "We have shopping to do."
"I thought the point of this was to make money, not spend it on clothes."
She chuckles and shakes her head. "Better clothes, better tips." As she pulls me away, she waves at Zayn without looking back. "Bye, Zaynie!"
Laughter bubbles out of me as I imagine how that nickname struck a nerve. Zayn is everything manly, and being called something like Zaynie is the opposite of that.
"You do realize he's going to tell Easton, and neither of us will make any tips with my brother warding off any and all men, right?" I ask her.
She waves off the whole concept. "One, I love protective Easton. It's sexy." I gag, and she snickers. "And two, Zayn needed to know. The best way to find out if he's interested is to make him jealous."
"That sounds dangerous," I say hesitantly.
"It is," she answers. "You're going to love it."
The stadium is filled with students, but none of them are the reason I'm here. I spent an entire year at this place without going to a single game. As much as I loved playing football in high school, watching the games here just isn’t the same. It's more for show and less about playing.