Page 43 of End Game

I know I could be the bigger person and initiate. I could invite them to go for a run or grab coffee or whatever. But I’m new: I don’t know the social hierarchy yet, except that Johanna is clearly the Queen Bee, and anyone who defies her is scum on the bottom of her shoe.

“So this is just for defense? None of the forwards?”

Kristin rolls her eyes. “Johanna is such a bitch.”

This makes me raise my eyebrows.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You’ve been here three weeks and you hadn’t noticed?”

I bite my lip. “Well…”

Jackie and Louisa laugh.

“Yeah, you’ll fit in just fine,” Zoe says.

“Oh, look, my glass is empty,” Emma says.

Kristin laughs. “You just want to talk to that cute guy at the bar. I saw you checking him out.”

Emma shrugs, ambivalent. “So kill me. He’s hot and I haven’t gotten laid in, like, forever.”

Scoping out the bar situation, I look for the guy they’re talking about. There’s a collection of football players Barrett introduced me to at the frat party. He doesn’t usually hang around with the offensive guys. I recognize Sullivan holding court in the center of the group.

“You don’t mean Sullivan, right? The guy in the middle?”

Emma’s eyes go wide. “You know him?”

“He’s a safety,” I tell her. And not a very good one. Barrett doesn’t think too highly of him. “I can introduce you two.”

“You are, like, my new best friend,” Emma declares. She takes down her ponytail and reties it again. “Okay, I’m ready.”

I knock back the rest of my drink. It’s mostly ice at this point.

“Let’s do this.”

There’s no point in being subtle. These guys probably wouldn’t recognize subtlety unless it hit them over the head.

Sullivan goes quiet as we approach. His eyes go wide.

“Diana! You’re Barrett’s girl.”

“Friend,” I correct. “We’re friends.”

Some of the football players laugh. Sully turns to them with a glare and they go silent.

“Who’s your friend?” He isn’t subtle about checking her out.

“This is Emma. She’s on the soccer team with me.” I look him up and down. “She could probably teach you a thing or two about defense.”

One of the guys snickers.

If Sullivan is anything like Barrett, he can’t resist a challenge. This will egg him on. I’m not trying to neg him or insult him: I’m trying to instigate a little healthy competition.

I drift down the bar, keeping a subtle eye on Emma and Sully. There’s a cluster of hipsters in flannel shirts drinking cheap beer. I can’t decide if they’re trying to be on the periphery of the football guys or if they hate sharing the bar with them.

The guy on the end gives me a nod. “Hey.”

“Hi?”