Foreplay: The Ivy Chronicles by Sophie Jordan Read Free Book Online

bent over, thrusting her bottom up in
the air to the appreciative gazes of nearby guys, specifically the two that had
invited us to play pool with them.
    The ball plunged into the pocket with a whoosh.
    “Nice!” Ryan—or Bryan?—high-fived her, clinging to
her fingers longer than necessary.
    Emerson didn’t seem to mind. He was cute. I could
tell she thought so, too, by the way she arched her throat when she laughed.
    Unfortunately, his friend seemed into me, and I
didn’t think he was cute. Or maybe he was. I just wasn’t into him. There was
only one guy here that caught my interest and I’d just humiliated myself in
front of him. I had actually muttered “ whatever ”
when he asked me whether I wanted him to have my number. Not exactly the
self-assured femme fatale I aspired to be. Really, I should just call it a night
and go home now.
    “You sure you don’t want to play?” He offered me a
stick. I tried to view him with an open mind. After all, my phone number could
be wadded up in a trash can right now. Whether I liked it or not, I might have
to contemplate other alternatives in order to gain the experience I needed. A
foul taste coated my mouth. Easier said than done. For whatever reason, the
bartender was the only guy that I could consider kissing and touching without
feeling mildly revolted.
    The guy in front of me wasn’t bad -looking. A little pudgy-soft in the middle. Probably too many
beers and late-night burritos. But youth was still on his side. He had nice
symmetrical features. I predicted he’d be sixty pounds overweight in ten years,
but right now he was okay.
    “No, thanks. You guys already started anyway.”
    He smiled, but looked disappointed.
    For the next hour, I sat on a stool, watching as
Emerson and Ryan/Bryan grew friendlier, laughing, talking, touching at every
opportunity as they moved around the pool table. I made small talk with the
friend. He stayed close even as he played pool, chatting me up and drinking
steadily. Hopefully he wasn’t driving.
    The crowd started to thin out around eleven.
    “Bunch of big parties on frat row,” Scott—I had
since learned his name—explained when I wondered aloud where everyone had
disappeared to so early.
    I nodded, but couldn’t help sneaking a glance down
the length of the room toward the bar. I couldn’t resist. With the crowd
dissipating, there was little to obstruct my view.
    Only one bartender worked the counter, but it
wasn’t him. I didn’t see my bartender anywhere. Was he on a break? Or did he cut
out early? If he left early he could have talked to me. If he wanted to. Now I
was convinced the napkin with my number was balled up on the floor. Stupid tears
burned my eyes. I blinked them away furiously.
    Taking a breath, I commanded myself to stop
obsessing. He wasn’t the end goal, after all. Hunter was. I could find someone
else to help give me the experience I was looking for.
    “Can I get you another drink?” Scott asked,
following my gaze to the bar.
    I snapped my attention back to the pool table.
Ryan/Bryan had Emerson in an intimate body lock, teaching her some move. I
rolled my eyes.
    “No, I’m fine. Thanks.”
    “How about we get out of here?” Ryan/Bryan
suggested, stepping back from the table and looking first at Emerson, then at me
and Scott. Then again at Emerson.
    The four of us leaving together? I could already
see where this was headed. Emerson making out in some room with Ryan/Bryan and
me stuck alone with Scott. No thanks.
    Emerson and I stared at each other, silently
communicating. She gave me the barest nod, understanding. I was ready to leave
but not with these guys. That was the good thing about Emerson. She might be in
sexual overdrive most of the time, but she never put our friendship on the back
burner.
    I slid off my stool. “I gotta go to the
bathroom.”
    Hopefully that would give her time to wrap things
up with her guy and swap numbers. Or not. You could never really tell with
Emerson.