In Ruins Read Free

recognize the name, but can’t place it.
    I glare at him, unimpressed.
    “I’m the fucking number one lacrosse goalie in the goddamn state!” A few cheers erupt around him. “And you’re just some fucking slut who should’ve taken the drink I so generously offered. I—”
    “Ricky, shut the fuck up,” a deep male voice commands from behind me.
    Douchebag—or Ricky, whatever—refocuses his very dazed, inebriated gaze behind me. “Fuck this uptight bitch. She was disrespectful.” But the fight is draining out of him, replaced by uncertainty.
    I turn to see who seems to have called off the douchebag, and I’m a little taken aback. He’s stunning. At least six foot two with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. I noticed him in the bar earlier—a gaggle of girls gathered around him, desperate for his attention, and finally I recognize who he is. Ben Aronin, the captain of our very popular lacrosse team, and a nationally ranked attacker. And he’s offering me a conciliatory smile.
    “I’m sorry for my friend. As you can see, he’s had a little too much to drink.”
    “The fuck, man?” Douchebag sounds betrayed.
    “ The fuck is right. A girl doesn’t want a drink from you so you start cursing her out? You make us all look bad when you act like that. Go back to the house and sleep it the fuck off,” Ben orders, his eyes narrowed in censure.
    Douchebag starts to say something else, but suddenly there are two guys beside him guiding him toward the door, and I just stare after him, a little dumbfounded.
    “Sorry about that,” Ben says again. He nods to the bartender and holds up two fingers.
    “I was handling it,” I murmur. I am not the girl who needs saving. I can handle a drunk douchebag. And at least the douchebag asked to buy me a drink. Ben just hands me a beer, and I don’t know why I take it.
    He’s handsome, sure, but all I can see when I look at him is how much more vibrant Tucker’s eyes are, how much more thrilling his smile.
    “I don’t doubt that. But I’m not about to stand by and let my teammate behave like that. Sorry,” he says matter-of-factly, as if he wasn’t doing it for me at all—like it was simply his responsibility—and strangely, that makes me feel a little better about it.
    “Thanks for the beer.” I hold it up and turn to go find Devin, but he stops me with a hand on my shoulder.
    “Hey, you don’t have to run off. Not all of us are assholes,” he says sheepishly.
    But I already know not all lacrosse players are assholes. I know one in particular who is absolutely wonderful. But he hates me. And he lives in the same house as Ben and the rest of the lacrosse team, and the last thing I need is to get to know anyone who has anything to do with Tucker.
    “Hi,” Devin says, suddenly beside me as she flashes her winning smile.
    Ben grins and tips his beer. “Ben,” he introduces himself.
    Devin’s smile widens even more and she bats her eyelashes flirtatiously. “I’m Devin. This is my roommate, Carl.”
    Ben signals for the bartender to get him another beer, which Devin accepts graciously. I wonder if he’s running a tab, since he doesn’t seem to be paying for any of these drinks.
    Devin asks Ben about his major—finance—and talks excitedly about classes I happen to know she’s not actually excited about. The girl has flirting down to a science.
    But Ben hasn’t taken any of Devin’s classes. “What about you?” he asks me. “Taking anything good?”
    I shrug. “Just freshman requirements, and creative digital marketing with Professor Stevens.”
    Ben’s subsequent stare is unsettling, but then he breaks out into unrestrained laughter.
    “What?” I ask, but he just continues to laugh so hard he’s practically choking. I glare at him, and Devin just blinks at him, puzzled. Irritation crawls up my skin—how did I suddenly become the butt of some secret joke?
    “I’m sorry,” Ben cries, wiping his eyes as he tries to get ahold of himself.
    “Funny