26. THE ONE WITH THE IVY LEAGUE #2
“What else was I supposed to say?” she asks, pulling a pair of large black sweat pants from her bag.
“No, we’re not together for real, but we have had sex before, and now we’re just letting everyone think we’re dating online so we can make a bunch of money off the clout?
” Joey steps one leg in at a time and ties the drawstring snug.
Her baggy outfit swallows her, bringing back the memory of her standing in my T-shirt in the middle of her living room after what was, no doubt, the best sex I’ve ever had.
Which is exactly why I hadn’t paid Megan any attention.
How can I when Joey has held every single bit of it since the moment I met her?
“I was going to let her down gently, but you insisted on accepting the invite.” Grabbing my sweatshirt and hat off the weight rack, I slip into the hoodie first, smoothing my hair back before putting on an old University of Michigan Hockey hat I’ve had since before my college years.
I leave it facing forward, hoping it’ll keep attention away from my face.
The college demographic has a higher use of social media. It’s going to be a long weekend of frat bros and sorority sisters hoping to become friends or fuck buddies with West Parker and HexedHeroine.
“If I weren’t here, would you have accepted the invite?” She targets me with her stare while tying her shoes.
I grab my wallet and water bottle off the floor. “If you happened to not be in the gym during her invite, no. If I’d never met you, yes.” There’s no use in hiding what everyone knows to be true.
I have a playboy reputation… and motherfucker, I think it’s finally biting me in the ass. It’s my own fault, but I hadn’t expected a witch to swoop down on her broomstick and upend my life the way Joey has.
She’s doing that thing where she masks her emotions, making me want to shake her and tell her it’s okay to show me what she’s feeling.
Her yoga mat folds into a square, replacing the space in her bag where the sweats had once been. “Exactly. Don’t let me get in the way of your fun.”
The fucked-up thing, is that she is the one getting in the way of my fun! She’s not letting me have the one person I actually want. I want to tell her that, but what’s the point? She’s obviously made up her mind, and she’s sticking with her guns on this friends only thing.
I follow her out of the gym, sticking by her side as she heads for the elevator. “Where are you going?” Joey asks, drawing her brows together.
My shoulders rise and fall in a lazy shrug. “Wherever you’re going.”
We step into the elevator, joining a group of guys chatting about a professor they hate. Their eyes land on Joey’s sweatshirt, and they groan in unison.
“No way, fuck Harvard,” the tallest of the three says. His tone’s playful, eyes examining Joey before flicking to mine.
I raise my brow at him, because watch how you talk to my Joey, buddy.
“Fuck Yale,” she shoots back with a relaxed smile and a middle finger.
At least a dozen more people scream “fuck Harvard!” on our way to grab a pre-sound check snack and coffee.
I know all about chirping at rivals, hailing from the land of the number one rivalry in college sports: Michigan vs.
Ohio State, but I’ll admit I never expected reactions like these from the snooty Ivy Leagues.
I was born a Michigan fan, and I’ll die one too.
That spans all sports, not just hockey, but I do have a connection to Boston’s professional league.
My college teammate, Konrad, whose apartment we stayed in this past week, is also the goalie for the Boston Blazers.
I suppose that makes me want to see them win—unless it’s against Michigan.
“Are most people from Boston Harvard fans?” I ask, knowing next to nothing about Ivy Leagues, obviously…
Joey scrunches her nose, shaking her head lightly. “Not really.”
I squint, waiting for her to elaborate. When she doesn’t, I make what I know is a silly joke. “Wait, are you really the emo Elle Woods? Don’t tell me my nerdy astronaut fantasy is about to include the bend and snap?”
After my first Elle Woods joke and being scolded by Frankie for not having seen Legally Blonde, I made Enzo and Kell watch it with me this week while trying not to think about Joey.
She pops me on the arm with the back of her hand, giving me a sweet little laugh.
God, that fucking sound! It’s going to fuel me on my darkest days.
“I was never interested in the law program, though the dean did hound me for about a year. I stuck with math through undergrad, then stayed for my MBA.” Her answer is full of such nonchalance I almost miss what she admitted to.
My feet stop working, and I jolt to a stop.
Joey takes a few more steps before realizing she’s walking alone. She turns around and catches my mouth hanging open, in a semi-state of shock. “Joey, did you go to Harvard?” I ask, finally gaining control of the muscles in my face.
She glances down at the sweater she’s wearing and nods. “What? Like it’s hard?” Her lips twitch, fighting a smile.
The Legally Blonde joke is appreciated and even gets me to puff a laugh through my lips, but I’m too distracted by this lore to give the applause she deserves.
The vintage look to her sweater isn’t because she’d found it at a thrift store. It’s because she’s probably had it since her freshman year at Harvard.