I feel my forehead crease as shock and confusion wash over me. “You can’t still be this mad about the other night. Look,” I say, widening my stance into a looser, hopefully less defensive posture. “I’m sorry. Really. That was asinine of me. Can we move past it?”
“Sure, that works out great for you, considering you get to have the final blow. Right?” When I just stare, I’m sure my confusion registering on my face, she continues. “You like, egged my car. But with condoms.” She stresses the last word.
Behind me, Gavin, Jeremy, and Devon erupt into laughter. My eyes close and I release a heavy breath. Fucktards. When I open my eyes again to chance another look at her, she’s tapping her foot, amber eyes wide and expecting.
Looks like team morale was low enough after the loss to push the guys to release a little steam. And the fact that they didn’t clue me in beforehand means this was a gift. Something to cheer up their QB. I could try to explain that to her, but I doubt it would help the matter. I’ve seen her Jag, know the money somebody—either her parents or whoever—dished out for that car. I wonder how much shit she’s going to get into if there’s a repair bill. Shit, I hope not.
Also, I’m guilty by association. The guys probably thought I’d get a kick out of this, that it would help boost my spirit. Despite my game being on—for the whole season; we’re undefeated except against Engleton—we lost by a measly two points. That burns worse than if they’d slaughtered us. And all my guys know is that this girl got to me. Bad.
As I stand here, silent, contemplative, racking my brain for something that could defend the guys while also not making excuses for them, she loses her last bit of cool.
“Oh,” she says, shaking her head, dark curls bobbing along her shoulders. “It is so on. You think I’m some little—” her eyes squ
int as she tries to grasp the word she’s searching for “—prude. From some hot shot school. Some little rich girl who’s had everything handed to her so this shouldn’t be a big deal—but it is. I don’t take shit from anyone, Ryder. Especially privileged jocks that get free rides through college because they can toss a pigskin.”
Ouch.
But she’s not done. “I’m a Wyndemere. We don’t accept defeat. We stomp out the opposition.”
Well, at least I now know her last name. Apparently, an important one. And the fact that we have something in common—I don’t accept defeat, either. I almost smile. “So what…this means war?” I roll my shoulders and cock my head, just to aggravate her a little more. I really shouldn’t press her. But I can’t help it. She’s so feisty.
Her smile transforms her face. Open. Bright and gorgeous. Hell, it’s a shame she’s a snob. I could get lost in her for a long damn while.
“I wouldn’t dare utter such a cliché,” she says. “But, if I must, then revenge is a dish best served cold.” She glares at me. “Contemplate that one.”
She turns and storms off down the hall, not giving me the chance to respond. My gaze follows the side-to-side swish of her cute ass as she goes.
“Dude. I don’t know, man,” Gavin says. He anchors one meaty hand to my shoulder. “Some chicks are just too psycho to fuck with. She looks like one of them.”
I turn to face him. “Then why’d you guys fuck with her car?”
“We were just effing around.” This from Jeremy, who’s zipping up his backpack as if he’s already over it all. I actually agree, and reach for my bundle of books by my feet. “She’ll calm down. Just say the word, and it’s history, bro.”
I nod. “Okay, then. The word. No one messes with her from here on out.” I glare at each of them in turn.
Devon shrugs. “Psycho prude is all yours, dude.”
After I get a few more details about what they did, I set off toward the parking lot, dreading seeing her Jag. As I reach the first row where I’m parked, I keep my eyes purposely on my Jeep. I mean, she did dump a cup of beer on me—but the decimation of her car by prophylactics was a bit extreme by comparison. They said they used milk, so it’s not going to ruin the paint, at least. I’d have offered to pay, of course, if that was the case.
Or made the team chip in.
Maybe I should have them wash her car.
These thoughts continue to cloud my head, but they can’t overpower the main thought I’m trying to ignore. This chick might physically resemble Alyssa, but she doesn’t act like her. Arian reminds me of the snobs from my high school—the girls who wished they were Alyssa. And I really, really wish she didn’t. I wish—from that first moment I saw her, met her gorgeous eyes—I’d have said or done anything different. That I didn’t pull this side out of her.
My parents about killed themselves working two jobs each to afford the private school tuition, to give me a chance at a good education and scholarship opportunities, so I could follow in my brother’s footsteps. Then, the pride of our family.
And me, being the poor, skinny kid with a cheap haircut and my brother’s hand-me-downs, didn’t make the cut for any of the elite social groups. Instead, I spent those four long years stuck in thriller novels. Trying to ignore them, to avoid getting my ass kicked, and pretending that I didn’t want to be accepted.
I slam my Jeep door and crank the engine.
That’s the past. What suck fest my high school years were, I’ve more than made up for them in college. It’s like thinking about a distant, long forgotten friend. Someone who you can’t help but feel sorry for, but who you don’t care enough to reach out to.
Ryder the loser is no more.
The Ryde—quarterback legend—put him out of his misery.
So I won’t let this snooty girl with daddy issues make me feel—even for a second—like that pathetic guy again.