Hitting to Win (Over the Fence #2) (2 page)

C
ollege is
everything I thought it would be. And more.

The elite dance program Grover University boasted was teaching me more than I could have ever thought possible. In the last week, I'd executed ten grand jetés in my ballet techniques course, and landed them flawlessly. Previously, I could get the extension, but I'd come down sounding like an elephant was stomping on the studio floor, crooked and haggard in my positioning.

Minka and I got to eat lunch together almost three times a week after our class Sociology of Sexuality. I personally enjoyed watching her ears turn pink with embarrassment for an hour every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. That girl was having more sex than me and she was still so introverted.

I'd pledged Zeta Phi Zeta during the last week of August, otherwise known as Rush Week, and gotten in. Besides the silly, and sometimes annoying tasks during Hell Week, it had gone great so far. I'd moved into the house, where 40 others girl lived, and it filled the gap in my heart that had since been empty with homesickness.

It was the one thing I'd been having a hard time with. Missing home. And especially my family. My big, loud, obnoxious Italian family. I loved living in the Zeta house mainly because it reminded me of our restaurant in Mitchum— people always running around, wielding utensils or notebooks, yapping about this or that. It restored a certain order to my life that I'd become accustomed to.

Well, I guess technically that wasn't the only hard thing about coming to Grover. Yes, I'd always dreamed of coming here, and had nearly shattered my mother's extremely expensive Italian wine glasses with the shriek I let out when the acceptance letter came in the mail.

But in all of my dreams as a little girl, none of them included having to avoid a very angry Miles Farriston on campus.

Sure, I knew in the back of my mind when I applied here that this was his school. I'd even highlighted that fact as a positive before he reamed me out in August.

But now, jeez. I was like a ninja spy, trying to avoid all the places I thought he would be. I didn't need his tongue lashing again.

But it was pretty hard to dodge the best friend of the boy your best friend was hopelessly in love with.

So far, I'd done an exceptionally good job. I didn't make trips with Minka to the boys' house, I stayed in my social scene with the sorority sisters on weekends. And the number one no-go zone? The athletic fields. I stayed far away from those.

It was just my luck that the one place I bumped into Miles was the one place that was basically my sanctuary on campus. And to think I'd been so excited to be chosen as this year's Zeta contestant for Dancing with the Greeks. Now I was going to have to drop out, beg someone in the house to trade places with me. Because no way was I putting myself in the path of Hurricane Miles.

That's what Minka and Owen had taken to calling him lately. I had to agree, it was fitting.

And speak of the lovebirds. Minka and Owen make their way across Grover Grub, the café-like eatery on campus where I eat almost every meal. When your father is a world-class chef, campus slop isn't going to cut it.

The two are lost in their bubble of romance, and people around the café are turning to stare. Not that Minka and Owen notice this. When they're together, it’s as if the world around them disappeared.

Not that I wasn't extremely happy for my best friend, especially after all the stuff she'd had to put up with in high school, but I could feel the twinge of jealously niggles in my chest. I wanted what they had, and badly. Sure, I'd had boyfriends, but I'd never found that all-consuming, can't-eat, can't-sleep kind of love.

Minka plops down in the other chair seated at my table, and Owen bends down to envelop her lips in a steamy kiss. I feel like a voyeur, and after a few seconds cough uncomfortably to get them to stop.

"Later Bucs," Owen addresses me by the nickname he'd given me, breaks off the kiss and heads out of the Grub. Minka gazes after him.

"You two are perfect." I sigh into my Waldorf salad. Yes, its true, we ballerina's eat like mice. I have a dream and I'm achieving it, even if it means sparing myself of mama's gnocchi in vodka sauce. Okay, maybe I eat two or three bites when she makes it.

"No, we aren't," she rolls her eyes. "Half the time I'm scolding him for some arrogant, but charming, comment he makes. The other half, he's trying to talk me out of my clothes."

"But you love each other."

"Yes, Chlo, but I've told you many, many times. Your idea of love is not a reality. Life isn't a romance novel." Minka says this in a gentle voice I know is meant not to sound as harsh, but it still stings a bit.

"Yes, Mrs. Love Expert. Anyway, I have some interesting news for you." I push the salad around my plate, not making eye contact with her. She's not going to like this.

"And what's that?" Minka tries to stick her face under mine, but her mass of curls gets caught on my lip gloss, causing me to laugh. I didn't know what I'd do if she wasn't here with me. We'd been inseparable since the first grade.

"Guess who my partner for Dancing with the Greeks is? You'll seriously never guess."

Minka's eyes daze out and she pulls at her fingers. This is her thinking face, one I've seen countless times. "I don't know...just tell me."

"Miles Farriston."

"NO! Oh Chloe, you're kidding!" Her voice is a mixture of confusion, laughter and sympathy.

"I would not kid about that, you know me better. It was awful Mink.." I bury head in my hands, trying to wash the memory of Miles and I in the studio out of my brain.

"What happened?" She's suddenly sitting on the edge of her seat, her hands clasped under her chin waiting for the story. Glad I can provide her with her daily dose of gossip.

"So I was in the studio early Saturday morning to get some solo practice in. I was rehearsing a new piece I put together, oh my god Minks I could practically feel the next move adding itself to the choreography..." I stop myself when she waves her hands in a wrap-it-up motion. Okay, I got a little caught up when talking about dancing. "Yes, yes. So. I wasn't really watching the clock, because I knew my partner would get there at some point. So when I heard the door open, I looked up and saw it was almost half an hour after our scheduled time!"

Lateness was my number one pet-peeve. If you were five minutes early, to me you were just on time.

Minka rolls her eyes at my outrage about the lateness, and then narrows them, pointing a long, mint green-polished fingernail at me. "Wait, so this happened four days ago, and you're just telling me this now? What the hell, Chloe! This is need-to-now intel."

"I know, I know, but I didn't see you yesterday after skipping class. So anyway, when I turn around, there he is. Miles Freaking Farriston. Miles 'Bad Enough I Have To Sit With You' Farriston. In my studio. Then he goes all, 'Are you even allowed to be in this competition?' on me. Doing his usual sourpuss and pissed off routine. I told him not to worry about it, that I'd drop out. And then I left." I shrug, trying not to look as effected as I felt. Miles could make me feel like the gum under his shoe like no one else could.

"Are you serious? Wow. His dickness has risen to an all time high. I'm sorry, Chlo." She places her hand on top of mine from across the table, giving me our classic finger-squeeze-for-support move. "But you shouldn't have to drop out! You have so been looking forward to it. Can't you get him to switch with someone?"

Like she hadn't thought of that. "I don't even want to get into it. Not if it means the wrath of Hurricane Miles. No, I'd rather just quietly go away, not incite his violence any further."

"You make him sound like a mobster, Chlo. I know he's a little rough around the edges right now, but he's an okay guy."

"You weren't up on that Ferris Wheel with him." I didn't think I'd ever get over that, no matter how much coaxing Minka and Owen did.

Minka picks a piece of chicken out of my salad. I push it across the table to her, all but done with it. God, her and Kels could eat anything they wanted. Someday, I always told myself.

"So what're you going to tell the sisters?" She spears an apple, chewing it as her brown eyes stare right into me. She's freakishly good at using those big eyes to decipher me.

"I don't know...maybe I don't need to tell them just yet." I hadn't even thought about that. They were not going to be happy. The only reason I'd been voted in was because they thought I had a legitimate shot at bringing home the Mount Olympus trophy.

"They're going to be pissed at you..." Minka sings this in a nanny-nanny-poo-poo kind of way. I told you about those big eyes, heat-seeking missiles right to my feelings.

"I know. But there really isn't anything I can do."

"
T
here really isn't anything
I can do, Mr. Farriston."

I sit there, dumbfounded, as Oliver McKinney, Director of Fraternity and Sorority Life at Grover, doesn't help me whatsoever. He's always helped me! Last year, when Kappa Sig had gotten into some hot water with a fellow fraternity after essentially filling their sprinklers with red hair dye, Olly had come to our rescue after I'd begged. Mostly, I think he’s threatened by the fact that my father was one of the biggest donors to Grover, in the Greek Life department and in general.

But now? He wasn't helping me for shit. "Come on Olly, just give me a new partner! It'll take two minutes for you to do, and believe me, all parties will be satisfied." I pictured Princess Chloe's face as she'd run from the studio room.

"No can do, Mr. Farriston, I am deeply sorry. You'll just have to work it out with Miss Trabucco."

Fuck. I'd come to his office, explained the situation, that Chloe and I would not work out as dance partners. I'd spared him the gory details.

I thought he'd be able to fix it, switch us, and all would be forgotten. But apparently, that wasn't happening.

Olly said the other five teams had already done their first week of practice with each other, and were comfortable and moving along in their preparation for night one of dancing, which happened one week from now. Plus, they'd already photoshopped the posters featuring each couple, and the university wouldn't spend extra money to re-do it.

I couldn't drop out, I'd get kicked out of the frat, and my life would subsequently unravel from there. There was only one thing left to do.

I had to persuade the princess to dance with me.

Walking out of Olly's office, I dodge a bunch of giggling sorority sister's beelining it straight for me in the hallway. I swoop around a corner, narrowly avoiding whatever they'd wanted to talk about. What the hell was with everyone? So cheery. I couldn't crack a smile these days without being four or five beers deep.

Pulling out my phone, I type out a text to the one person who'll be able to tell me where Chloe is.

Miles: Where is your best friend right now?

It takes a few minutes, but she finally answers.

Minka: And why would I tell you that?

Always the sass with this one. I don't know how Owen puts up with it. He seems to get off on it. I don't need to go back and forth in text, so I just call her.

"I need to know. Can you just tell me?" I don't even say hello.

"Well, hello to you too, Miles. I know what you did, why do you think I'd ever help you?" Minka's referring to probably everything I've done to Chloe, but figures that princess would blab about what I said to her in the studio.

"Because you want to see your friend dance. And because neither of us has a choice, we have to partner for this stupid competition. So I need to persuade her to stay in it before we both suffer."

This quiets her feistiness. "Fine. But I'm warning you Farris, you yell at her again and I'll wax your eyebrows off in your sleep. I know where you live."

"Yeah, yeah, fine, whatever. Now tell me where she is."

"Well, it's Tuesday night. She's where she is every Tuesday night. In the studio."

I
finally locate
the classroom Minka has checked out for studio time tonight after asking a trio of girls dressed like meerkats. This building is so fucking whacked.

I push open the door, not even checking to see if she’s in the middle of something. An orchestra symphony blasts out of the speakers, and she’s in the middle of some complicated looking jump thing, her legs split over her head.

Damn, that position in bed would be hot. Not that princess here would ever let any unworthy suitor try that with her.

She comes down from where she seems suspended in air, spots me in the mirror, and let’s out the girliest yelp I’ve ever heard.

“Oh my god!” Her hand flies to her chest, the almond skin of her cheeks flushed with color. I’m not sure what caused that, her dancing or my intrusion. Its kind of hot.

See, I could get down with Chloe if she wasn’t so high and mighty. She’s slim, but has a great rack, if a little on the small side. Her long, long legs and ass are toned from the years of dancing. She basically has the body of a Victoria’s Secret model, and that’s not lost on me.

Her face isn’t a problem either. Far from it. She has the thickest, fullest lips I’ve ever seen, with a button nose sitting between her lilac-colored eyes. I’d never known someone to have purple eyes before, but on Chloe it was most definitely a turn on. And that hair. Her shiny, straight black mane. I’d love to twist that around my arm as I buried my dick into her from behind.

Too bad I had no intentions to mess around with her, though.

“Do you ever stop dancing?” So I told Minka I wouldn’t yell at her. Didn’t mean I had to be nice.

She gives me a small smile, clearly not thrown off by my tactic to ruffle her feathers. “If you love something, you never want to stop doing it. I think you’d have first-hand knowledge of that.”

I did, but I’m not about to tell Little Miss Sunshine that. Especially since her family probably supports her dream one hundred percent. She’s probably had more support from her family in one day than I’d had my whole life.

Ignoring her comment, I push forward. “We have to dance together for Dancing with the Greeks.”

Her eyebrows shoot up, an unreadable emotion flashing through her violet eyes. “No, we don’t. You clearly don’t want me as a partner. You’ve made your feelings clear. Crystal, actually. I’ll keep my distance.”

Chloe’s unwinding the silky pink ribbons that strap her pointe shoes to her feet, trying her damn fastest to sneak by me out of the room. “Nope, not this time, princess. You’re not sneaking out on me again.”

“Princess? That’s a new one.” Chloe chuckles as she pulls on leather flip-flops, throwing the light pink dance shoes in the bag now slung over her shoulder.

I’m taken aback. Nothing about my sour demeanor makes this girl feisty. She’s nothing like Minka. She absorbs every insult I throw at her and merely smiles. “We have to dance together. There is no other way around it, I’ve already talked to Olly McKinney.”

She looks thoughtful for a few seconds. “Well, I mean we could just drop out. There is nothing holding us here. If it’s that big of a deal to you, I told you I’d walk away.” She shrugs, but I can tell she really wants to do this.

A twinge of guilt hits me for being so nasty to her. She was probably that really excited freshman pledge who wanted to dance in this competition.

“No, I…we have to do this. I just, it’s not something I can drop. So we have to stay partners.”

Chloe fiddles with the black strap of her gym bag, which is, you guessed it, designer. “Okay. I’ll be cordial if you can.”

“Great. Awesome. And let’s try to win this thing, please? Its bad enough we have to be partners, at least we could—“

Chloe cuts me off, her voice going very quiet. “None of that. I mean it. I can’t work with you if you’re going to bully and beat me down every other sentence.”

And that’s the first time I feel like absolute shit for being a dick to Chloe. It's surprising, the feeling, because for the last year and a half, I haven’t given two fucks about being responsible or apologizing to anyone. Its even more surprising that her highness is the one that evokes the new emotion.

I nod. “Deal.”