Page 64 of The Cheerleader

“That’s easy. There’s nothing between us.”

I raise a skeptical brow.

“Besides friendship,” he adds.

“If you say so.”

He firms his jaw like he’s getting ready to bite my head off and returns his attention to the essay.

When we finish and walk out the library doors, he turns in the opposite direction from me without a word.

Whatever normal parting comment I might have—like see you in class or have a nice night—dies on my lips. Liz has her work cut out for her if she wants to get past whatever fortress he has built around him. Even if they do have some kind of bond.

I shudder involuntarily. What if she doesn’t win him back—as a boyfriend? I can’t tell myself I’m not attracted to him. In fact, I should be telling him to stop flirting, but ever since that kiss, I can’t stop thinking about him that way, no matter how wrong or inconvenient my attraction might be.

No matter how dangerous he is because I know he’s a player, a heartbreaker. Any guy who would kiss a girl like he kissed me at Husky’s, someone he hardly knows, is a player.

But I let him, and I liked it way too much, and that scares me.

Almost as much as Liz finding out about my flirtation with Bryan.

The next night after cheering practice, Thursday, Liz insists we all go out. She marches everyone across the street from the field house to the student union building.

“Susie’s never been to the Rathskeller, ladies and gents. Let’s show her what she’s been missing.”

Everyone’s on board and showing more enthusiasm than I am, but Liz doesn’t let that deter her.

“You know I’m not a beer drinker?” I remind her.

“That’s okay. I’ll drink enough for both of us.” She laughs and adds, “I’m kidding. You don’t have to stay long, but I wanted to show you all the hot spots on campus. Maybe you’ll meet someone one of these nights.” She wiggles her brows as we climb the stairs to the second floor of the Student Union and then walk down a hallway.

“Where is this place? It looks like offices or something on this floor.”

When we round the corner, we come to a line of students along the wall of another hallway leading to an open door. Liz leads us past the line to the door where an older guy who looks like he’s in charge stands with his arms folded.

As soon as he sees Liz, he opens his arms, and she goes in for the hug.

“I was wondering when you would show up. Come in. You and all your friends.” He motions for us to go inside the dimly lit room with a juke box blaring Elton John’s “Saturday Night.” The pungent smell of beer hits me, and I crinkle my nose. The place is crowded.

Liz is way ahead of us, and I whisper to Carol, “Why is he letting us cut the line?”

She shrugs, “He says having the cheerleaders as regulars is good for business.”

We follow Liz to a table with a few guys from the football team. To my surprise, I see Bryan. A skitter of nerves tightens my chest. It’s not that I care about seeing him, but he still makes me… uncomfortable. No. I don’t know.

Liz walks past Bryan with nothing but a nod and a smile. Maybe her crush on him is cooling after the incident Saturday night. She hasn’t talked about it, and I haven’t brought it up, especially not after she came to the library with us and pretended nothing ever happened. She treated him more like a friend after his rejection. Hesitating, slowing my steps, I give him my best smile, maybe to make up for Liz’s snub.

His return nod is like a whisper while his expression doesn’t change from the same don’t bother me or I’ll eat you for dinner look, exactly like I imagine the wolf in Red Riding Hood. Why that should make me shiver, I don’t know. Maybe I should be, but I’m not afraid of him. He’s that boy. The one I’ve wondered about for so long.

The rest of the girls and two of the guys, Keith and Josh, join the group of football players and assorted others, some sitting at the table, some standing around, all drinking beer.

“Aren’t you in training?” I ask Bryan, deciding to throw caution to the wind, with my bright cheerleader smile in place like it's glued on after hours of practice.

He’s standing at the edge of the group, nearest the door, as if he might want to escape, holding an almost full glass of beer. I bet it’s warm.

“Aren’t you?” he says, not returning my smile.

“Touché.”