"And you seem happier tonight than I’ve seen you in days." Her eyes turned soft, concerned, and she reached across the bar to gently squeeze my elbow, a silent show of support. She'd known what happened. What Trevor had done.
The bartender slid my vodka soda toward me, and I happily took a few long sips. The icy cool drink with just a hint of lime slid down my throat but did nothing to bury the fire burning within me. Not just the fire from the dance with Hendrix, who had no idea who he was dancing with, but the fire of that hurt I couldn’t seem to shake no matter how hard I tried. And believe me, I had tried. I’d tried to drink Trevor away, Krav Maga him away, and hell, I'd even tried to eat Trevor away.
Not so much the memory of Trevor himself, because he certainly wasn't that memorable, but of what he'd done. Of what he'd had the audacity to do, to participate in.
The adrenaline surged in my blood, and a new idea took shape in the forefront of my mind. Crazy, sure. But if it went according to plan, I’d be the one in full control.
"Oh no," London said, delicately setting her drink on the bar. The music filtered behind us, as did the chatter of every celebrity and athlete in the room. But London made sure she drew my attention, her fingers on my chin forcing my gaze down to hers. "I’ve seen that look before," she said. "And it usually comes with consequences.”
"Since when have I ever steered you wrong?" I asked, tilting my head at her as she released my chin.
She popped that hand on her hip, staring up at me incredulously. From the look of us, we couldn’t be more different. I was tall and long where she was short and petite. I was fire-red hair and dark eyes, and she was dark hair and bright eyes. I was reckless, and she was cautious, but we never let those differences come between our friendship. In fact, she was as much of an influence on me as I was on her. She helped subdue my wild side when most needed—like right before finals, and I helped bring her out of her shell when she seemed content to stay in there forever.
"Oh I don't know," she said with an air of attitude. "How about that time you decided it would be a brilliant idea to break into the campus swimming pool and go skinny-dipping in the middle of the night."
I resisted the urge to snort-laugh. "That was a great night," I argued.
London gaped up at me, shaking her head, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. "We were halfway through a bottle of vodka, and the entire collegiate swim team ended up catching us there completely nude."
"Oh, please," I said, waving her off. "None of them got a good look at you. Or me for that matter."
"Yeah because one look at your red hair, and they knew who you were. None of them were brave enough to jump in the water or even turn his head."
None of the men had the balls, is what she meant. Not many did. Not many men would take their chance with Savannah Goodman. Not when the entire lineup of the Raleigh Raptors would see to their untimely demise if they stepped a toe out a lie.
I blew out a breath, the idea taking shape in my mind only solidifying with her recount of the tale. "Still was a good night," I said, shrugging. We’d had a blast up until that point, laughing and talking, half-drunk on the drinks we’d had after completing our finals.
"We could’ve been expelled," London said. "If any of them had decided to turn us in—"
"None of them would have," I interrupted her. "And besides, I highly doubt the dean of the school would expel us so close to graduation. Plus, it wasn't that big of an infraction. Not like cheating on a test or stealing another student's property.”
"Oh no," London mocked me. "Public nudity and breaking and entering are so blasé."
I laughed at that, shaking my head as my eyes scanned the dance floor. As if Hendrix would still be out there, a new woman on his arm. Not an unlikely prediction, not with Hendrix Malone. The best wide receiver the NFL had ever seen. Not with his Hollywood good looks, his bedroom smile, and his reputation for being a tomcat in the sack.
A blush crept along my skin, heating up every inch of my body as if I could feel his hand on my hip. A hand that would never have found my hip in the first place, if he’d had an inkling of who I was moments ago.
But he hadn't recognized me, and I made sure to say as little as possible so he wouldn't recognize my voice. The sensation was thrilling—having someone who I’d spent so much time with in the past not have a clue who I was. Especially someone as cocky and impossible as Hendrix fucking Malone.
"Are you going to tell me what's going on in that epic, beautiful brain of yours?" London asked. She tapped her polished nails on the marble, impatiently waiting. She knew I would tell her. I told her everything. As I had since the day we shared a dorm room freshman year. Thank God we’d upgraded to our own apartment since then. A shiver raced down my spine just remembering the dorm rooms.
A few months and that would all change. Both of our aspirations of going into sports management would be solidified with our degrees. And I’d made double sure of that. I’d wanted to get out of college so quickly—because of my celebrity dad status and the fact that I didn't care for school much—I'd taken the accelerated track. That meant summer school, extra classes, and a grueling schedule that made my mind numb on some nights, but I was right on track for graduating early. And after that?
I didn't want to think about that right now. Not when this idea was drumming through me like it had its own heartbeat.
"Is this about what Trevor did?" London asked when I didn't answer. "Are we plotting against him again? Because I already told you I'm more than happy to throat-punch the shit out of him."
I smiled down at my best friend, my heart swelling at her fierce protectiveness over me. She may be small, but she packed an endless well of passion. She was as sweet as a fluffy white kitten, until she wasn't. The girl had claws, but not many people ever got to see them.
"Come on," London urged. "Spill it. Now."
"All right," I said, shrugging and scanning the dance floor one more time. I easily spotted Hendrix talking to Roman across the room. "I'm going to use this anonymity to my advantage," I said.
"Meaning?" London asked warily.
"Meaning," I said, a smirk shaking my lips as the idea fully took shape in my mind. "If my virginity is that sought after…” I swallowed hard, the sting from what Trevor had done sizzling in my chest. “Then,” I continued. “I’m going to stop playing the game and decide who it goes to. And who better than Hendrix Malone?"
London gasped, her blue gaze following mine across the room before snapping back to my face. She stepped into my line of sight, or as much as she could being a head shorter than me. "You've got to be kidding me," she said. "I get what Trevor did was bullshit. What that whole frat house did was complete and utter bullshit. But you can't—"
"I can," I interrupted her, allowing her to see the seriousness in my contact-covered gaze. My features softened as I looked at her and tried to will her to understand. "I'm so tired, London. I'm so fucking tired of having people either be too scared to get to know me, or only interested in getting to know me because what my status can do for them." I swallowed down a mouthful of acid, my thoughts raging at my ex.