Page 61 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter
She nods.
“What are you working on?” I ask.
She sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose. “My parents thought it would be in my best interest to double major in political science and business. So I’m currently writing a mock policy proposal that I’ll have to present in front of the class, who will pretend to be the United Nations.”
“That sounds like the opposite of fun.”
“I like it in theory, but the idea of standing up and talking, and then answering questions… some of the guys take it super seriously, like this is going to propel them toward the actual UN. They ask insane questions, and if you show any weakness—they pounce.”
I can relate to waiting for the pounce moment.
“I’m sure you’re gonna crush it,” I offer.
She smiles. “Thank you.”
“Are you joining us for dinner?”
“Only if you don’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
“My two friends transferred out last year,” she admits. “It’s been kind of lonely, and I know my cousin is getting irritated with me. She’s a senior, I’m a sophomore.”
“You seem cool.” I narrow my eyes. “But if you’re just hanging out to talk shit…”
She raises her hands. “The mean-girl stuff is over, promise. I’ve learned my lesson about judging a book by its cover.”
I smile. “I’m going to head over there now. But I’ll see you for dinner.”
I gather my stuff up and finish the soda. Class is on the other side of campus, and I kind of want to catch Penn before it starts.
“See you later, then. Thanks for hanging out.” I go downstairs and across the quad. Most of these buildings are old, which means my mother probably walked this same route. It’s eerie.
What I need to do is ask Dad about her.
Someone falls into step with me. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the dark hair and olive skin. My shoulders inch up automatically, my guard slamming into place.
Oliver doesn’t say anything. In fact, he seems to be waiting for me to speak.
When I get to the Admin building, he beats me to the door. He doesn’t open it, though. Instead, he turns and leans against it.
“Seriously?”
He appraises me.
“I’m pretty sure you could be giving me the silent treatment from the other side of campus,” I huff. “You don’t have to do it in my face.”
“I’m not giving you the silent treatment,” he says. “I’m trying to figure out how you got Penn wrapped around your traitorous little finger.”
I shrug. If Penn didn’t tell him about the money, then I’m sure as fuck not going to spill the beans. No way in hell is that getting out.
“Ask him,” I manage.
His brows lower. “I did.”
“Great, then take whatever he says with a grain of salt and move on.”
I go for the door handle, but he slides over to block me again.