Check, Please (Book #2)

Twenty-Two.

Sweat pooled on the nape of my neck as I wiped my brow and then carefully lifted the lid of the grill. Heat from the flames inside came billowing out, and I scowled up at the sky. It was both too hot and too early in the morning to be stuffing my face with meat and beer, and yet, here I was.

When it came to L.A.U.'s football team, the rumor was that it had been good at some point in the school's history. Some said the Vikings had been a powerhouse in the Eighties, while others swore that our last major success had been much more recent. Members of the latter group always pointed out that our team had managed to win the National Championship a few years back, though they rarely mentioned that the opposing team's quarterback had left the game with a broken collarbone halfway through the first quarter.

Sure, we may have had the occasional W show up on the scoreboard each season, but for the most part, our team kind of sucked. That was why it made little sense to me that, every Saturday during the fall semester, thirty-thousand students and alumni packed the campus to tailgate and celebrate our football team's mediocrity.

Frankly, I would've preferred to stay in bed most days, but, unfortunately for me, serving as the V.P. of Campus Outreach for the fraternity meant that I had to make an appearance from time to time, too. Parker had been nice enough to let me skip the first month and a half of home games while I worked on getting my grades up--or nursed hangovers, depending on the morning--but the other guys on the house's executive board had been quick to let me know how they felt about me always skipping out. Although Parker had told me to ignore them, being guilt-tripped by eight of my other friends was a very effective way to get me to do just about anything short of murder. Plus, I felt bad about never showing up to cheer on Lucas, especially because he was always the first person to support the rest of us.

I checked the black bean burger that Sophie had asked me to cook for her, unsure of how to test whether or not it was done. Prodding it with a pair of tongs, a trickle of what I guessed was tofu juice leaked out and sizzled against the burning coals below. I made a face and closed the grill's lid again as Parker walked up with three beers balanced in his hands. He wordlessly nodded for me to take one, slipped another into his hoodie's pocket, and opened the only one remaining with a swift tug on the pull tab.

"What's the status on the food?" he asked, tapping his beer can against mine before lifting it to his mouth. "I'm starving."

"I thought you and Sophie went for breakfast this morning," I said, glancing towards where the actress sat patiently signing autographs and taking pictures with drunk students.

Although she typically roamed around campus with only one member of her security team, today she was flanked by three bodyguards, each one wearing dark sunglasses and an extra-large school spirit shirt from the campus bookstore. They didn't seem to be doing anything, but they'd been quick to grab a guy who crash landed in Sophie's lap while running to catch a frisbee. I hadn't been able to tell what embarrassed the kid more: realizing who he'd run into or being hauled off by the Hulk and Superman before he could apologize.

"If by 'went to breakfast' you mean she dragged me to a juice bar and then said she was full, then, yes, we went to breakfast." He scowled. "Did you know there are over twenty different ways to ruin a smoothie with wheatgrass extract?"

"I don't know what that means," I said, sipping at my drink.

"Yeah, well, you're lucky," Parker replied darkly. He cleared his throat and then added, "Apparently the director for the next film she's shooting told her to lose ten pounds for the role."

"How's that going to work?" I asked, still staring at the actress. As if sensing that we were talking about her, she looked up and held my gaze for a moment before returning her attention to the crowd around her. "I mean, I guess she could cut off an arm or something."