Score (Skin in the Game Book 1) by Christine Bell Read Free Book Online Page A

little as possible—no easy feat considering the foot of snow on the ground—and trying to land themselves a boyfriend. The big difference from my freshman year was that now they gave me more looks.
    Usually, I didn’t complain about that.
    But now, it seemed so fucking pointless, like a goddamn carousel for everyone involved. We all rode it around and then wound up right back in the same place we were when we started.
    Johnson elbowed me. “Your turn, asshole.”
    I didn’t even think of a good answer. This game had lost its charm few years ago. “I’ve never been to the Super Bowl.”
    And I might never be, now . Not that I was going to spend the night feeling sorry for myself. Fuck that. This was Operation Drink Myself Into Oblivion.
    No one else drank, either, which should have made me feel better. Solidarity. But it didn’t. I downed my beer and reached for another one.
    Next was the quarterback, Andrews, the only guy who got more attention from the ladies than I did, despite being a major douchebag in every sense of the word. He glanced at the two unsuspecting blonde freshmen next to him and grinned, both dimples on display.
    “I’ve never had a threesome.”
    I snorted, barely managing to hold back a muttered “bullshit”. A couple of the guys drank, but the girls giggled and stared into their beers.
    Next, nameless freshman blonde #1, who was already slurring her words despite the fact that the party wasn’t even an hour old, said, “I’ve nebber stayed up ta watcha sunise.”
    A bunch of us drank there, after mentally translating Drunk Girl to English.
    And so it went. The guys always tried to make it sexual, the girls always tried to show us some part of their soul, like anyone was paying attention to that. Eventually, we’d all partner off, Andrews would likely score his threesome, and a Sunday morning hangover would be had by all.
    Lather, rinse, repeat.
    “Can we do something more fun?” I asked, shifting on an old flowered couch that was likely covered in every disgusting combination of bodily fluid and alcohol imaginable.
    The freshman girl next to me, who I think would’ve agreed with me if I told her the sky was green, nodded.
    “Yeah, I Never is sooo boring,” she said, taking a drag from her cigarette. She was hot, yes, but a serial frat-bunny. I’d seen her at every party since September and I’d yet to hear anything but complaints come out of her mouth. Tonight, I was with her, though.
    Cal Samskevitch, major downer.
    “Beer Pong?” Andrews suggested.
    Some in the group nodded, others pumped their fists, but my heart wasn’t in it, and I just shrugged.
    Johnson nudged me again.
    “Yo, check it out. Your two o’clock.” He said it in the reverent tone he usually reserved for a stellar catch on the football field that made me wonder if a unicorn had just graced us with its presence.
    I looked up in time to see a girl descending the staircase. She was the definition of the word stunning, with dark skin and black, silky hair piled on top of her head. Her tight dress barely covered her ass, and she had crazy long legs capped off with knee-high boots.
    She sauntered in as if she owned the place, and hell, every member of D-Phi would’ve probably gladly given her the keys and the deed, right there.
    Pathetic that all I could think was, Same shit, different day .
    Another set of legs came into view, encased in a pair of sturdy snow boots, and a pair of thick jeans. It wasn’t until the figure continued down the stairs that I perked up.
    Bee.
    Likely, no one noticed her, not after Miss Thang’s big entrance. She had her head down and kept gnawing on her lip like she’d rather be anywhere else. She was wearing a big, loose sweater, and her hair was covered in snow crystals. But I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
    Without even thinking about it, I sprang up from the couch as fast as my bum knee would let me and wove my way through the crowds, to where they were standing by the