My level of annoyance was reaching an all-time high. This guy was six feet and three inches—so the sports news community reported—of solid muscle, but the biggest one was his ego.

He was such a shit-stirrer.

Zara, now recovered, watched us but didn’t intervene. Noelle’s eyes bounced back and forth like she was witnessing a heated tennis match. Neither of them knew who Chase was and, lacking the proper context, had probably fallen under the spell of his good looks.

Rumor had it most women did.

Actually, the word on the street was that women fell under the spell of more than just his looks. Namely, his mythical, magical penis. According to legend, he seduced a beautiful adjunct professor in his freshman year, and she was so distraught when he ended things that she transferred to a college on the West Coast. Then he slept his way through the BU spirit squad and half of the women’s hockey team before working his way over to the rest of the campus co-eds and a handful from my school as well.

Because while I may have hated him, not everyone at Callingwood was as loyal to our sports teams.

And despite Chase’s personality, which evidently left much to be desired, I’d been told they all came back wanting a repeat performance because—allegedly—he was that good.

Not to mention nice to look at.

The bartender appeared, and Chase rested his forearms on the bar and ordered another drink. I shifted back to face Zara and Noelle, eager to escape. “Why don’t we go dance?”

“Sure.” Zara bopped along to the music. “I love this song.”

Thank god. I grabbed her by the hand, intent on dragging her away, Noelle trailing behind.

“Hold on.” Zara came to a sudden halt and set her drink on the bar. She fumbled in her purse, emerging with her phone. Her face scrunched as she studied the lit-up screen. “My mom is FaceTiming me. I’ve gotta take this. Watch my drink for me, will you? I’ll be right back.” She gave my arm a squeeze and darted off to the bathroom.

Noelle tilted her head, a scheming look on her face. “You know what? I’m going to check on her.” She followed Zara, leaving me standing at the bar with Chase, Mr. Wannabe Air Traffic Controller.

Traitors.

Then again, I could have left. It wasn’t like he had a gun to my head. So I guess that made me a traitor too.

Chase turned to me, midnight eyes tracing my face. “You really do look familiar. You go to Callingwood? What’s your name again?”

“I give out that information on a need-to-know basis, and you definitely don’t need to know.”