Page 44 of End Game
“That was stealthy.” He moves closer. “What’s your name?”
My eyes flick over him again. He’s thin and wiry, with dark hair that falls nearly to his shoulders and thick eyebrows. His cheeks are covered in a healthy dose of scruff, hiding his features. My stomach churns.
“I’m Diana.”
“Trey,” he says, holding out his hand. I glance down at it. After a moment, I take it for a shake. His grip is limp and too tight at the same time.
“Nice to meet you.”
He clears his throat. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Oh, I’m with some friends.” Looking over my shoulder, I confirm my suspicions: the entire table is watching me. I waggle my fingers at them in a sarcastic wave, and Louisa bursts out laughing.
“It’s not forever,” Trey tells me. “It’s a drink.”
Why not? It’s not like I have anyone else interested in pursuing me.
“Sure.”
“What are you drinking? Margarita? Blended or on the rocks?”
“Vodka soda.”
He frowns. “You don’t want, like, a daiquiri or a piña colada or something?”
“Nope. I’m drinking vodka sodas tonight.”
Tequila is not my friend, and those fruity drinks only serve as a surefire indicator I’ll wake up the next morning with a hangover. I’ve got class tomorrow: I can’t afford to miss a single session.
Trey waves at the bartender. “A vodka soda and a Miller Lite,” he orders before the bartender can say anything.
She glances at me, maybe to check if I’m okay. I nod, and she relaxes.
“Coming right up,” the bartender says with a clearly fake smile.
I like her. I want to be her friend, too.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I know without checking that it’s probably Barrett. Despite my text that I would see him tomorrow, he’s probably wanting to know why I skipped out on having dinner with him. It’s for the best possible reason: I’m making friends!
I know he’ll be happy for me. He can’t enjoy being my only friend on campus. He’s probably as desperate for me to expand my social network as I am.
“So, Diedre, what’s your major?”
I don’t correct him on the error of my name. It’s loud in here; I probably just heard him wrong, or he didn’t hear me.
“I’m doing a double major, dietetics and psychology.”
At USC, the dietetics major required enough courses that amounted to a minor in psychology here, so it made sense to do the full double major when I transferred over. I want to be a registered dietician and that involves a fair amount of counseling people on nutrition. Besides, psychology is interesting. The human mind is insane.
Trey grins. “I’m a psych major, too.”
My stomach swoops, like I missed a step coming down the stairs. “Really?”
He nods. “I’m a senior.”
“Me, too.”
There’s no career in professional soccer for me. Maybe one day I can work with the national team in a nutrition counseling position, but that’s a long time down the road. Right now I have to focus on putting one foot in front of the other: graduating, then finding a job, maybe grad school.
