On the Sideline (BSU Football #3) - J.B. Salsbury Page 0,10

gaze snaps to mine. “It’s called delegating. You’re a sister therefore you have to contribute.” Her phone pings and her spine shoots straight up, her face alight with excitement as she opens the text. “Oh my God, he’s so funny,” she says loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Loren?” Monica says as she rushes to Riley’s side.

“Yes,” Riley answers with a squeak.

“I thought he lost his phone,” Desi says while taking Riley’s other side to look at the text.

I hold my breath as I await Riley’s hate-filled stare. I’m sure he told her I lied about not having his phone.

“He found it. Dum-dum lost it in his couch cushions.” She hits a button on her phone and holds up the screen to the sisters at her sides. “Look how he responded to my selfie.”

He didn’t tell her. Why wouldn’t he tell her? That makes no sense.

“He called me Heartbreaker!” She swoons dramatically making all the sisters giggle with envy.

I roll my eyes and take my bowl to the sink.

“He is totally in love with you.”

“When are you going to see him next?”

“You have to bring him to the formal.”

I try not to eavesdrop as Riley and the girls talk about Loren, but I can’t seem to tune them out. I slam my bowl into the dishwasher, drop my spoon noisily into the silverware basket, and nothing drowns out their voices.

“You know my rule,” Riley says.

I cringe because I know what’s coming.

“Pre-law or pre-med are the prerequisites to get in my bed.” She sounds so proud of her stupidity.

I’d love to open my mouth and expose her for plagiarism because that rule is not uniquely hers. It’s the Thunderbird women’s motto and has been for generations. Although, the original phrasing is “prerequisites for the marriage bed”, but women’s liberation and all that. My great-grandfather was a lawyer in Virginia, my grandfather a doctor in New York, my own father a lawyer in Los Angeles, and Riley’s dad is a doctor in Bel Air. Her oldest sister is living with her boyfriend while he gets his law degree from Princeton and my older sister graduated last year and is engaged to Dennis, who is, surprise, a medical student.

“I suppose I could make this one, little exception for a football player. His body!” She bites her lip while, I assume, texting him back. “Momma’s got needs too.”

They erupt in giggles and I can’t get out of the kitchen fast enough.

“Don’t forget the surfboards, Bex!”

“I won’t!” I yell back to her with all the fury of a woman who has no idea what she’s so mad about.

After class I do a quick Google search for surf shops in the area. I figure I’ll start at the closest one and move my way out until I find one that will rent us ten cute surfboards for the weekend of the Eta Pi formal.

The closest shop that rents equipment is halfway between campus and Venice Beach, Carvers Surf Shop. The small beach community has a natural, LA-hippie feel, and I’m not surprised how crowded the area is on a sunny day like today. The boutiques and cafes are milling with people as they walk the sidewalks and enjoy the early February sun.

I have to walk a block to get to the surf shop so by the time I get there I’m pulling off my sweatshirt to tie it around my waist. Punk rock music comes from the open door and the smell of surf wax tells me I’m in the right place. The walls are lined with casual beach attire, men’s on the left, women’s on the right, but I don’t waste my time shopping, these places only cater to the size fours of the world. I search for someone in charge, an employee, but they’re all dressed in the same casual clothes as the customers and I can’t tell them apart.

I spot a petite girl behind the glass counter, her long sun-bleached hair in two braids, and her tan skin on full display with only the teeny tiniest sundress to cover enough to make her not naked. She smiles at me and I feel a little less uncomfortable as I approach, however still over-dressed. “Is there something I can help you find, honey?”

All my warm feelings deflate. Honey? She’s my age!

“Yes, uh, I’m actually looking to rent some surf boards.” I try hard to ignore the flash of surprise in her green eyes—damn, she’s pretty. I clear my throat and trudge on. “You do that here,