Heart of Thorns (Shadow Valley U Book 2)
Heart of Thorns: Chapter 2

The girl across the table from me is probably forty percent plastic. If she’s ever had an original thought in her whole life, I’d be shocked. As it is, she keeps circling the same three topics: social media trends, what her future plans are, and football.

I kind of glazed over the social media aspect. Every girl recently seems to be doing the latest dance video or ask my boyfriend. But she describes them in detail, then pauses. As if I might volunteer to make a shitty video with her? No, thanks.

I’d rather be raked over hot coals.

Her future was fascinatingly dull. She wants kids—two or eight, I have no idea—but I’m pretty sure a girl with two brain cells to rub together shouldn’t be procreating. She isn’t the type to poke holes in the condom, but she probably doesn’t believe in birth control.

My attention keeps snagging on the blinged-out cross in the center of her chest. It’s so glittery, her cleavage can’t even compete.

Why is it always the religious ones?

But hey, she hasn’t mentioned God⁠—

She leans forward and touches my hand. “I just have to thank the Lord every day…”

And there it is.

I twist my wrist slightly, catching the time on my heavy watch. We’ve only been here twenty minutes, and I am ready to bolt. However, I plan on sticking to my obligatory hour and a half, if only to appease my parents.

Instead of shifting my weight, or otherwise conveying my boredom, I focus on her forehead. Her brows haven’t moved this whole time.

Where on earth did my parents find this chick?

I can guess the answer. They run in elitist, blue-blood circles. So she’s probably the daughter of one of Dad’s golf buddies. If I had to guess… a parent owns a Fortune 500 company, she’s got a trust fund to match mine, and she’s floating her way through school to emerge with a fancy, useless degree and a husband.

I can tell you one thing: it isn’t going to be me.

These dates mollify my parents. Their desperation is thinly veiled, and I wouldn’t dare accuse them with the word. But that’s what they are. Desperate. For me to find a wife to protect my image.

I wrinkle my nose.

“Oh, is everything okay?” The girl reaches for me.

I manage to dodge her fingers by wrapping mine around my glass, then I lie through my teeth. “Just thinking about the week ahead.”

She smiles. Her cheeks don’t even move. “I’m so excited for Friday! Daddy got me tickets to your game. You know, there’s just something magical about football.”

My eyes glaze over as she continues.

Don’t get me wrong—I fucking love football. But it’s physically painful listening to her go on and on about it. She probably went to all the games in high school. On the cheerleading squad, dating the star player. And for whatever reason, she dumped him and came to Shadow Valley.

Shoot.

I don’t actually know if she even attends this school.

She keeps prattling on about the SVU Knights, how this week is going to be terrific.

A faint throbbing starts up behind my left eye.

When I check my watch next, I’ve dutifully sat here for an hour. Our meals are mostly consumed. The waitress has kept both of our drinks replenished.

“Excuse me for a second.” I toss my napkin on the table next to my silverware and make a beeline to the bathroom. This place has single-user ones, which means when I lock the door behind me, I’m alone for the first time in…

Sixty-three minutes.

I take a breath and pull out my phone.

Leave it to my best friend and teammate, Rhys Anderson, to make me smile when I feel like screaming.

He doesn’t have to tell me twice.

I snort. A girlfriend on my terms… yeah, sure. I can barely spare the ninety minutes per week on these ridiculous dates. Outside of football, I focus on school. And outside of that, I sleep.

That’s it.

Okay, occasionally I blow off steam by doing fun or stupid shit, like get drunk at parties with my teammates, but those days seem few and far between.

If you asked me what I thought college would be like, it definitely wouldn’t be this.

Perception is everything. A quarterback who’s failing English Lit would be the laughingstock of the school. Or, at the very least, his team. I make it a point to have straight A’s.

I am an exceptional leader on the field and off.

And no fucking girlfriends.

Yet, when I run out of excuses to remain in the bathroom, I find myself seriously doubting my own philosophy. There’s got to be something better than this, right?

The girl perks up when I return. Her tan looks even more fake now that I’ve been gone for a few minutes. She sweeps her bleached hair behind an ear and tilts her head.

“I ordered us dessert,” she tells me. “They had a coconut key lime pie that sounded ah-mazing.”

I grimace.

“What?”

“Only heathens like coconut.” I ball my napkin in my fist. “Coconut? It’s such a divisive food. Why didn’t you pick something normal? Like…”

I snatch the dessert menu and scan the items.

“Flourless chocolate torte.” I scowl. “Even the ice cream would’ve been palatable.”

Her laugh grates on my last nerves. “Oh, Thorne. You’re so funny!”

I am not funny.

I do not want to be funny.

Unfortunately, the waitress returns with the pie. I lean back in my chair, trying to put distance between me and the table. And the godforsaken smell of coconut.

She eats two bites and then frowns, seeming to debate it further.

There’s a slight chance of me fucking her anyway, despite her coconut breath. The thought of kissing gives me hives, so that’s off the table. Years of watching my parents avoid physical affection will do that to you, I guess?

Kissing is for teenagers—which I am definitely not anymore.

You know what? Touch in general sucks. My teammates learned early on that if they want a happy captain, they need to throw themselves in the path of oncoming fan girls. The only touch I like is getting my cock wet. There’s some stuff that’s unavoidable if I want to get laid, but it’s kind of transactional.

Like, I pay for this meal, she doesn’t complain when I’m not all touchy-feely.

Literally the only plus side of this arrangement my parents have set up…

Although, I have a feeling her boobs would be rock-hard. They’re standing up straight, nipples pointed in my direction like a pair of headlights switched to high beam, and they contribute to at least twenty percent of her plastic look.

“Maybe we should head out.” She slides the plate into the center of the table. “We could go back to your place…?”

My place.

Right.

She puts her hand on my arm, and I freeze.

Earlier today, I crashed into someone. A girl. It wasn’t on purpose, but I reached to help her up, and she snarled at me. I willingly offered my hand out to her, only for that offer to be rejected.

And it was such a fucking relief, even if my stomach twisted with how slowly she climbed back to her feet. And the way her stuff went everywhere… there were pills. Serious painkillers that I’ve been on. I injured my knee a year and a half ago and did some intense physical therapy to get back on the field. We still wrap it for practice and games, and I regularly do ice baths, but it barely twinges anymore.

So what happened to her?

My date’s fingers dig into my forearm.

I shake off the memory, and the image of her slowly walking away from me, and focus on the plastic bitch. Any thought of fucking her goes out the window, and irritation takes its place.

I slowly extricate my arm from her grip. “I’ve got plans. Maybe next time.”

Her expression flickers through a few emotions—disappointment, shame, anger. Maybe she’s heard rumors about what an easy fucking lay I am, and she’s questioning herself.

She should. This was a painful dinner.

She dabs at the corner of her mouth with the napkin, then tosses it on the table. “If this isn’t going to continue, then I’ll just… I’ll see you around, Thorne. At the game. Perhaps you’ll be in a better mood.”

I watch her ass sway as she leaves, and my brows furrow.

Did I want that to happen?

I shake my head, then grab my phone.