Page 4 of Tight Ends & Tiaras
And then I snort because Ben’s one of the biggest players on campus. I don’t need to listen to the gossip to know this. I’ve seen him in action at the Stallion Station, which is the lovely nickname everyone calls the football pad across the street from my house. He’s just doing me a favor because Gabby would have his balls if he didn’t help me.
As I wait in an obnoxiously long line for the terminal, that gloominess descends again, which means I’m due for some serious self-care therapy. But since I’m stuck in Austin for the moment, I call my BFF Destiny. She and I have been close since we survived a brutal economics class together sophomore year. The only other girl I’ve gotten close to is my old roommate, but Gabby and her boyfriend Rider recently relocated to Dallas after he was drafted.
Destiny moved into Gabby’s old room earlier this summer, but she’s on the volleyball team and had to work out six days a week and juggle classes, so I’ve barely seen her.
She picks up with a giggle.
I wait for her to say something. “Destiny?”
Her laughter stops abruptly. “Oh. Hey! Sienna!” The phone briefly muffles where it sounds like she talks to someone. “I thought you left already.”
The background noise is so loud, I can barely hear her. “Are you at a party?” I mean, it is Friday and the last day of summer school, but I thought she told me she was driving out to see her parents.
“What? No! Just... it’s crazy here. Let me call you back!”
“Wait—”
She hangs up before I can say anything else. I frown at my phone, a tingle at the back of my neck making me wonder if I’m missing something.
It’s even weirder when she doesn’t return my call or text or freaking pick up her phone a few hours later when I try her again because my stupid flight gets cancelled.
That’s what you get for flying commercial.When I’m stressed out, that voice in my head belongs to my father, and he’s judgy and pretentious AF. My dad doesn’t get why I want a normal life, far, far away from his tech kingdom.
Outside, the rain comes down in sheets so thick, I can barely see any cars in the pickup line a few feet away. That’s when my phone dies. Because, dunderhead that I am, I forgot to charge it last night. I can’t even call anyone for help because I don’t have those numbers without my phone.
Ugh, I should’ve driven myself. I know this now, but I lost my car once in the LA long-term parking garage, and it took me seven hours to find it. Seven. Hours. Ever since then, I try to snag a ride.
I break out my peppermint essential oil and take three big whiffs to calm down before I hyperventilate.
Somehow I talk a nice man into ordering me an Uber, and I pay him in cash.
“Thank you so much. I swear I won’t drive to Oklahoma or anything.”
He chuckles. “Pretty girl like you could almost talk me into that.”
I give him an awkward wave and brave the rain as I dive into the Uber.
The weather is obnoxious. Several roads are closed due to flooding, and the traffic is intense, but the light at the end of the tunnel is that I’ll get another night with Cal. He’s probably sitting around playing Call of Duty in his underwear instead of packing.
The last few months with him have been crazy but fun. He’s more free-spirited than I am, and that’s saying something. But I like that he doesn’t criticize me. I’m so fucking tired of everyone judging me—for coming to Texas when the rest of my family is in Cali, for being unable to nail down a major, for not wanting to spend my summers in LA.
Plus, I like that he’s kind of a sensitive guy when it’s just the two of us. Sure, he puts on a tough-guy act around other people, but he can be really sweet when we’re alone.
When I reach Cal’s house, which is a few miles from my place, my mouth drops open at the number of cars along the drive.
Okay, it’s weird he didn’t mention he was partying tonight, but perhaps I should’ve assumed it was a given considering it’s a Friday night.
Maybe I should go home.I’m really freaking tired, and I’m not dressed for this. Nothing says ‘party’ like a coffee-stained t-shirt, faded yoga pants, and old Ugg boots.
But the Uber driver won’t change his destination unless I switch it on the phone, which I can’t do because the account belongs to that dude at the airport.
Grateful the rain has died down to a drizzle, I haul my crap out of the car and drag it to the back of the house. I’ll sneak up to Cal’s room, take a shower, and try to feel human again before I brave the crowd downstairs.
That’s the biggest rub of dating a guy like Cal Winston. Beautiful girls everywhere throw themselves at him, so I feel pressured to always look nice. Which I totally get is bullshit. But I guess it doesn’t hurt to put my best foot forward, as my dad always says.
The music is so loud, I can hear it clear on the third floor.
When I pass Derek Fowler, one of his roommates, he does a double-take. “Sienna. Whoa. Thought you were in LA.”
