“So what are y’all up to?” Dale asked.

Oakley opened his mouth to answer, but he looked far too mischievous for my liking.

“We’re going over his schedule and press for the game this weekend,” I said confidently, making Oakley frown.

“I hope you penciled in the kegger we’re throwing after the game. You can’t bail on us again!” Dale said, slapping Oakley on the back.

“A keg party?” a soft voice said. I tilted my eyes up to see a brunette with long wavy hair and impossibly long eyelashes. She looked like a Kardashian. While I was busy wondering how anybody could have such perfect brows, Oakley was appreciating her other assets.

“Hey, Kels,” Oakley said with familiarity. “What do you think? Should we go to Dale’s party?” Two more blondes had joined us at the table before Oakley had even finished asking Kels out. They were both gorgeous and looked like they belonged on the cover of magazines, half-naked and selling perfume. They were also both standing on either side of Oakley. Blonde Number One had her hand casually resting on his shoulder. What. Was. Happening?!

Kelseigh—I was just assuming that’s what Kels was short for, while I was also being slightly petty and jealous—looked at Oakley through those damn beautiful lashes and purred, “Yes! I think we should go!”

In unison, the blondes pretended to pout. Knowing full well that they were invited, Blonde Number Two teased, “What about us? You know you would miss us.”

“Ladies, ladies, ladies,” Dale said Matthew McConaughey style. “There’s plenty of Oakley, and me, to go around! You and all of your hot friends are invited. Spread the word! It’ll be at my house.”

I felt the jealousy raging through my veins and making my face hot. For someone who was adamantly declaring that she was not on a date less than five minutes ago, I was so uncomfortable I wanted to crawl out of my own skin.

I should have expected this. Oakley was a player. Just because he wanted in my pants didn’t mean the rest of the world just magically stopped lusting after him. Not to mention, I had made it clear that we couldn’t be much of anything. Someone like Oakley didn’t play the long game, he was—as he so eloquently put it last night—always looking to score.

Oakley politely shrugged off one of the girls and scooted his seat over to me. “And what about you, Solver?” he purred in a low voice. The girls were leaning in close, trying to listen in to what he was saying. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Dale smirking. Smirk all you want, bro. I’m a stone cold fox.