Coach was huffing next to me by now, overhearing our interaction. “Get the hell out of the cab, Peters.”

When the cab zipped down that gravel driveway, so did a piece of my dignity. Before I could run—and I had no idea where I was—Coach grabbed me by my apparently massive ear and twisted, pulling me up his driveway.

I spent the next twenty-five minutes lectured by Coach, but really, only bits and pieces made it into my head as I answered question after question. Dammit, Peters, we leave for an away game in one hour and you’re out at a club all night? Do you want to lose your scholarship and chances for the NFL? Who the hell is this girl? Porter’s sister? I don’t care if she has a nice ass, you idiot… The rest of my brain was trying to piece the night back together, figuring out where it all went south.

“Your phone,” Chance yelled, smacking me in the arm. “Your phone’s buzzing across the bus floorboards, space case.”

It was bouncing around and slid under Fernando’s seat. He stopped it from moving farther with one of his stinky-socked feet.

Bitch: Just wanted to be sure you arrived at Coach Samuels’s house in one piece. And FYI, my wrists would never be within ten centimeters of a Justin Bieber CD. XOXO… Bitch.

Chapter Twenty-One

Not one minute after I sent that text did that arrogant prick write back.

Peters: I’M TAKING REALLY DEEP BREATHS RIGHT NOW, SYDNEY, TRYING TO KEEP MYSELF FROM RUSHING UP THE BUS AISLE AND POUNDING JACK.

Syd: Leave my brother alone. This is on you, Peters.

I’m sure you’ve heard Peters’s side of the story by now. Well, here’s the real one.

We were having fun. Like pretty damn close to the best night of my life kind of fun. Peters was letting loose (FYI: he’s a terrible dancer). He would just sort of shuffle around and stomp on my feet.

We had three more drinks after the close encounter in the DJ booth: two test tubes and a shot of Fireball. Within an hour, I’d managed to collect a dozen glow necklaces and catch a red thong midair that some hairy guy with a huge package ripped off his body. Don’t fret—hands were washed in boiling water.

After an hour, Peters was getting all sensitive and awkward. Every time I bumped into him, he’d jump away, dart his eyes around like a nervous rat, and straighten his shirt over his pants.

“You look like you have to pee, Peters,” I screamed up in his face, continuing to dance around him. I pointed to a Men’s Restroom sign hung above a door in the corner. “Over there. It’s over there.”

He nodded. “Be back in five. Do not move.” He started to run through the crowd, covering his crotch.

While he was in there probably having sword fights with other guys, I ran over to the coat check. I’d left my bag up there and wanted to grab some more cash from my wallet.

“Got your number?” the zombie behind the desk croaked out.

She wasn’t an actual zombie, just looked like she was about to pass out on the pile of fake fur coats lying behind her. After all, it was past two in the morning now. I handed her the slip marked “23” and glanced back toward the bathroom doors, wondering what was taking Peters so long.

“Here,” she grunted, slamming my bag down on the chipped wooden counter. Then she walked away, grabbed a self-help book, and sat in the corner.

I checked the contents of my bag. Everything was present and accounted for, but when I grabbed another twenty from my wallet, my phone lit up, blinding my eyes.

Allison: Oh my God, Syd. Had so much fun tonight. I’ve never felt more alive. My body’s on fire still and it’s almost 2:30.

I was about to scratch my eyeballs out of my skull. Why was she telling me this?

Syd: Gross.

Allison: What? Your music was awesome. That club is fun.

Syd: Oh, okay. Sorry. Is Jack there?

Allison: No, why? Peters told him to drop Katharine and me off at Kappa Delta.

Syd: What do you mean?

I glanced over to the bathroom. No sign of Peters.

Allison: They have an away game tomorrow. Don’t you keep track of these things?

No, I couldn’t give a crap about football. I just wanted Jack’s millions.

Allison: Katharine was pissssseeddd!

Syd: Why?

Allison: She wanted Peters to take her home, but he told her he had to go get some pound cake? I didn’t even know bakeries were open at midnight. Yummm, that sounds good though. Hope you’re having fun with Nick. I’ll be home in the morning to dish about your date. Katharine’s got me sleeping on the floor of the kitchen… I think she’s warming up to me.

Then she sent a string of heart and smiley face emojis along with a selfie of her head lying on a piece of cardboard next to a gas range oven. Her blond hair spread out along the dingy tile floor, and she had a huge grin on her face.

I would have laughed if my throat hadn’t closed up and my body hadn’t tried to swallow itself whole.

“Hey!” Peters’s voice took me by surprise, and I dropped my phone. It hit the floor with a thud, and the battery ejected from the back, clattering into a dingy corner.

“Crap, sorry.” He bent down to gather it, and a vision of me snapping his neck with the ease of a professional hit man crossed my mind.

“Here you go.” Peters grinned and looked over at my bag. “Do you want to go? We can go. Let me call a cab.” He pulled out his phone.

“No. Jack and Allison are probably doing the deed still. I really want to give him his space.”

He’d looked up at me with a cracked smile, which I now recognized as Gray Peters’s liar face.

“I’m good here. Let’s dance some more.” I grabbed his phone from his sweating hands. “Here, let me keep your phone in my bag. Lots of kleptomaniacs roaming around here. A girl just ran out of here crying about her diamond earring being ripped off her ear while she was dancing. That’s a gusty thief. Don’t want to take any chances.”

He hopped around looking back in the dancing mob and then glanced back at me. “Are you sure you want to stay? It’s really getting late.”

“You have something to do tomorrow?” I ran my hand down his chest, and he trembled under my touch. “‘Cause you can leave if you want, but I want to stay.”

I couldn’t have timed this better, but a creepy man walked by and mumbled, “Hey, sugar,” sending me a wink through his Mexican wrestler mask.

Peters paused, watching the man walk by. “Ummm… nothing. I have nothing tomorrow, or I guess this morning now.” He pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “Here put this in there too.”

I handed him my twenty. “Here. Go get us another drink.”

I pointed to the zombie in the corner, nodding off into her book. “I have to get her attention so she can put away my bag. I’ll meet you right here in five.”

“Promise?” He pushed his chest into my hand. “You’re not going to cut and run on me, are you?”

I shook my head. “I would have been long gone by now, Peters. You know that.”

He laughed and headed back to the bar.

 

Peters: You owe me $276, you talentless pickpocket.

Ouch. Ha-ha. Little did Peters know I didn’t swipe his credit card in the cab. I did it right there when he turned his back to get us drinks. And I managed to scroll through his phone, and something caught my eye. My phone number was in his contact list under “Bitch.”