Crushed (Rushed #2) (16 page)

At the frat, I felt suddenly shy when Dak asked if he could take my coat. I was more than a good-time party girl. I wanted him to see that. As irrational as it was, I wanted to make a good impression on his dad, too. But there was nothing I could do now but roll with my role.

I knew most of the guys in his house. As we walked to the game room, we were stopped and introduced to too many dads to keep track of. I got the up-and-downs and the leers from way too many fathers, the sweet old lechers. Like I said, they were young studs again. In their own minds.

Dak led us to the game room and blew his whistle to quiet the competitors who had gathered and already tapped a keg. "The refs have arrived! I'm Dakota and this is Morgan."

Whistles. Catcalls. Hoots. Typical frat boy behavior. I winked at one of the dads. Hey, I knew the role I was supposed to play.

Dakota blew his whistle again. "Settle down. The official rules have been laminated and are posted around the room. Before we begin, I'll hit the highlights of the house rules.

"It should go without saying—all elbows and wrists must be kept behind the table at all times or the shot doesn't count. Every team can ask for the cups to be re-racked twice per game at the start of their turn.

"Finally, you've all heard the saying,
Guys finger, bitches blow
. Neither fingering nor blowing count, gentlemen." He glanced pointedly around the room. "I don't see any ladies to warn."

I elbowed him. "Hey!"

"What?" He grinned. "You're not playing. One last rule. No flirting with the refs and trying to get favors."
 

"Who the hell would want to flirt with you?" Dakota's big yelled out to him.

The crowd laughed.

"Shut up, Brady." Dakota glanced at me. "I have my admirers." He took a deep breath. "We've randomly assigned the schedule." He called two teams to the table. "Let the drinking—I mean, the tournament—begin."

Dakota had paired his dad with the best beer pong player in the frat. It had been fortunate the beer pong champ's dad hadn't been able to make it.

I did my job, flirting, enforcing the rules. Blowing my whistle and smiling coyly while reprimanding. "Elbows over the table. Shot doesn't count!" Laughing while the offenders pleaded for a review.

Dak stepped in. "The ref's decision is final. Keep protesting and I'll have to eject you from the tournament. And the house."

"You can't do that!"

"I'm house pres." Dak slapped the guy on the back. "I can do anything."

I suffered endless innuendos. A few butt pinches. And more than a few lewd stares. Dakota kept popping up, joking, relieving the pressure. Watching out for me. Flirting. I caught him staring at me.

"I want a re-rack" was a frequent request.
 

I would lean over the table so my cleavage was in full view, and re-rack while they stared at mine. Again and again throughout the night.

The guys and dads got drunker and drunker. Louder. Ruder. Dakota's dad and his partner Brett lost the tournament championship in overtime around midnight.

The winning dad grabbed me. "Time to thank the refs." Instead of shaking my hand, he planted one on me. A big, sloppy, wet one.

Dakota intervened, pulling him off me. "That's enough thanks for one night."

"Killjoy," the dad said as Dakota hovered over me like my big, bad protector.

It was kind of sweet of Dakota, actually.

"I'll drive you home," Al said to me after he was presented with his second-place prize—an oversized Tau Psi beer mug. "Or are you spending the night?" He shot Dakota a meaningful look.

"I'll walk her home, Dad." Dakota took my arm and got my coat.

He took my hand as he opened the door for me. His dad was watching. I caught him smile. It was almost as if Dakota was making some kind of statement. The thought made me way too happy.

Outside, the air was crisp and brisk.

"Don't ever ask my to do something like that again," I said to Dak.

"Why? You were good at it. The guys loved you."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm going to have to brush my teeth half a dozen times to get the taste of that dad out of my mouth."

He stopped and stared at me, his eyes hard. "He used tongue?" Then his face lit up. He looked like he was about to laugh.

I gave him a playful shove. "Yeah, white knight. I nearly gagged. You could have intervened earlier and it wouldn't have hurt my feelings." I took a deep breath. "Do boys ever grow up?"

"Never," he said.

"I can just see you at forty-five sticking your tongue down some young coed's throat. Thinking you're still a stud." I shivered. "Remember teasing me about looking for a father figure?" I shook my head. "Total turnoff."

He squeezed my hand. "When I'm forty-five, your words will haunt me. I'll keep my tongue to myself."

There was something simple and wonderful about holding hands in the dark, starry night. I was afraid to hope it meant something more than kindred spirit between referees. I mean, a guy and girl holding hands, that was a proclamation of togetherness, if only for the night. We laughed about the tournament as we walked to Delta Delta Psi.

He paused at the front door while I fumbled for my key. I had this crazy first-date feeling. Fumbling for a key was a way to give a guy time to work up to a goodnight kiss. An age-old feminine trick.

Dak had let go of my hand and stuffed his in his pockets. If I was throwing hints, he was letting them pass.

Finally, I laughed at myself. "For some reason, it feels like this is the time I'm supposed to tell you what a great time I had tonight."

"Did you?"
 

Did he sound hopeful? He still wasn't angling for a kiss. He was taking this no-hookup thing way too seriously. Maybe there was hope for him. But I was beginning to think he'd turned into a eunuch. He'd been flirting with me all night. And playing protector of my virtue. And now nothing. Yep, eunuch behavior.

I arched an eyebrow. "Being pawed by middle-age men? What do you think? I think you owe me one." I jabbed my key in the lock.
 

Still nothing. Okay, I got the message. It was depressing, but I got it. I turned the key. "Goodnight."

He caught my elbow as the door swung open. "See you tomorrow at the tailgate?"

"Partying in the field house isn't really tailgating, is it?" Two could play the disinterested game. I slid into the house and closed the door before he could see how disappointed I was. That blog had it all wrong. Former hookups gone friends were absolutely the pits.
 

I was doing it again—falling for a guy who was unobtainable. Alexis' warning rang in my ears: "Dakota isn't who he seems to be."

Maybe he wasn't.

Chapter Eleven

Morgan

Dad and Grandma arrived on Saturday just in time for coffee and cookies at the house before heading out to pre-game at the VIP university tailgating party. I was surprised by how tired and frail Grandma looked. She walked so slowly, it was like she wasn't even moving. But her mind was sharp again. She'd been out of it the last time I'd seen her, too tired to lift her head and talk. Seeing her doing any kind of walking, no matter how slowly, was encouraging. And made me crazy happy. I was suddenly Little Miss Optimist. Grandma was one of my favorite people. I couldn't bear the thought of losing her.

Making small talk at the house kept the focus off me and the queasy way I felt. Part of it was nerves. I hoped all of it was nerves, but I feared worse.
 

"We have dinner reservations right after the game with a friend and his dad," I told Dad and Grandma between sips of coffee, not making a big deal of it.

To my pleasant surprise, he didn't question me further. Grandma was in her element. She winked at me. I couldn't stop smiling at her. I was thrilled she'd come.

"I'm sorry there aren't more girlie things to do." I handed her another cookie. "You'll have to come back on Mom's Weekend. It's much more fun. We could get matching pedis. I know the best place in town. The girls there paint the best flowers on your toes for no extra charge." I grinned at her.

"Have you seen my old toes! No amount of flowers will save them." She laughed. "I couldn't wait for Mom's Weekend, Morgan. I wanted to see my favorite granddaughter at school now. At my age, the future is almost a foreign concept. Live for the moment." She squeezed my hand.

We both knew what she was saying. I pushed the thought to the back of my mind.

"You're all better now." I gave her a shaky smile, unable to imagine my world without her.
 

"Yes, all better." She smiled, but it looked tired.

Dad looked at his watch. "Time to be going. Sure you're up to this, Mom?"

"You'd have me in my grave." She took the arm he offered her. "My heart may only be working at half capacity. But I've always had enough verve to live on less."
 

Dad drove us as close to the field house as he could, and parked in the lot at the top of the hill. He'd arranged for a motorized cart to pick Grandma up and drive her to the pre-game function. It was waiting for us. He helped her in. He and I walked down together as the cart pulled away from us.

"Tell me about dinner. Why are we dining with an unnamed boy and his dad?" He paused, like the silence would pull the truth from me.

I wasn't playing. "I called around and all the good places were booked solid." I shrugged. "I wanted us to have a nice dinner. This guy had reservations he said he could add us to."

Dad frowned. "I see, a mysterious friend with connections. Why haven't I heard you mention him before?"

I glanced away. "Maybe you weren't listening." That was an intentional dig at Dad. To let him know he hadn't been paying attention to me lately. I'd noticed the distance between us.

"This friend has a name, I assume?" Dad was always straight to the point. And scary when he used his firm voice.

I lifted my chin and faced him. "Dakota Bradley."

Dad stopped short and stared at me, his face a mask. You'd think a mask would be good. In this case, he was hiding his fury. "Dakota." He stared at me like I was crazy, and in deep trouble. "The boy who almost ran over you? And got you in all the trouble?"
 

He didn't know the half of the trouble Dakota might have gotten me in. I bit my lip and looked at the ground like a chastened child.

"Morgan? Answer me."

I forced myself to meet his eye. "Yes, Dad.
That
Dakota Bradley." Like there was more than one on campus. "To be fair, he didn't get me in trouble. He didn't ply me with alcohol and force me to lie down behind his car where he couldn't see me. We became friends at Alcohol and Drug Information School."
 

I explained to him about Dakota and me meeting in ADIS and becoming buddies to keep each other from drinking and getting in trouble. I thought Dad would appreciate that.

Instead, he looked blatantly unhappy and worried. "Whatever you do, don't let your grandma know who he is or what he did." Dad took my arm.

"So when I introduce them, I just call him 'hey you' or 'boy'?"

"Don't be a smartass." He frowned at me. "You know we've kept the details of your MIC from your grandma. There's a reason I insisted you not mention almost being run over and ending up in the hospital."
 

He took my arm. "I'm serious, Morgan. Her heart is weak. Seriously weak. She can't even watch her favorite Masterpiece Mystery shows anymore without her heart going into arrhythmia. If she finds out about him, she'll literally make herself sick with worry."

I nodded. Seeing the concern in his eyes, I understood about him and Grandma. About his comment about needing a drink to make it through the weekend with her. He was worried, too. He didn't want to face her death any more than I did. I held my pinkie out to him and smiled. "All right. I swear it. I will keep the details from Grandma. I promise."

He linked his pinkie finger with mine and shook like he had when I was little and we were keeping secrets from Mom. Then he gave me a one-armed hug. I loved my dad. I linked arms with him as we walked to the field house and made our way through the carnival atmosphere of the open party, to the back and the special invitation-only VIP pre-gaming party.