"Diana!"
Not a moment's peace.
Diana sighed heavily as her notes for Hippotherapy slipped from her hands. "Yes, Hannah?"
Even with her door shut, privacy was a distant dream. Hannah burst in, flashing a bright grin. She wore her usual attention-grabbing outfit: tight jeans, heels that made her tower over Diana, a white crop top revealing her need for a proper meal, and a beige blazer.
"Get in, bitches! We're going shopping!"
Barbara skidded in behind Hannah, wearing an equally mischievous grin and a light green floral dress that was far too light for the chilly evening. She laughed as she collided with the door frame, gently shoving Hannah away.
Diana pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. "Absolutely not. I have a lot of studying to do."
"It's Saturday night!" Barbara moaned, throwing herself onto Diana's bed, wrinkling the comforter. "Everyone's going to Red Stallion! Frank invited us."
"Define everyone," Diana deadpanned, tilting her head back to stare at the overhead lamp. She knew the answer but wanted Barbara to say it so she could argue her point.
Barbara's grin was audible. "You know. Frank, Andrewww-"
And there it was.
"I have zero interest in mingling with that knob," Diana muttered, waving her hand dismissively as she turned back to her notes and books. "I'll sit this one out."
"Oh, come on, Diana. Please?" Hannah begged from the door. "The stupid Games Team will be there, and I want you to see how they treat us. Better yet, maybe if they see you, they won't bother talking to us!"
Diana's jaw clenched as she stared hard at her notes. She needed to study—staying ahead in her courses was crucial—but if the Games Team was going...
"Fine," she mumbled, standing up and ignoring her roommates' squeals of excitement. "But keep Andrew out of my sight."
"Oh, look who it is!"
The first person Diana saw upon entering the pub was the one she had explicitly told Hannah and Barbara to keep away from her.
"If it isn't Miss Diana Hitchens herself," Andrew mused, pushing himself away from the bar and sauntering over like a dysfunctional lion that had been kicked in the head by a wildebeest. And that was being generous. "I can't believe you're gracing us with your presence. How's Stargate Equestrian's star rider doing these days? Long time, no see."
"Yes. And it can continue to be a long time. Excuse me," Diana grumbled, ignoring Andrew's retort as she grabbed the sleeve of Hannah's jacket and pulled her to the opposite side of the bar where Amanda stood. Diana didn't particularly like Amanda, but she'd take the foul-mouthed American over Andrew any day.
"Damn, Hitchens, how'd they manage to get you out?" Amanda sneered.
Diana hadn't exactly dressed up for the occasion. She wore light jeans that happened to be clean and fit her well, her favorite navy flats, and a low-cut navy V-neck jumper. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail because she couldn't get it to look right down. She didn't want to appear like she was trying too hard, but she also didn't want to look like a slob.
"Gordon's and tonic," Diana ordered from the bartender with a wave of her hand. Hannah, visibly uncomfortable around Amanda, quickly grabbed whatever fruity drink was her current favorite and disappeared to mingle with Barbara and the Appleton boys. Once Diana had her drink and Andrew was well out of the vicinity (he knew better than to try again), she leaned against the old wooden bar to take in her surroundings.
The Red Stallion was one of the oldest pubs downtown, attracting tourists with its age, history, and alleged haunting covered by an American ghost-hunting team. The walls were adorned with hand-painted portraits of famous racehorses and shoes they'd worn in races. Eclipse, Sceptre, Nashwan, Shergar, and others were featured. Since her last visit, a detailed painting of Frankel had been added, along with a bib signed by his trainer and jockey. Diana admired it briefly before turning her attention back to the crowd.
Amanda faced away, chatting with her roommates. Barbara was fawning over Andrew, who feigned disinterest while soaking up the attention. Hannah was chatting with Frank and Charlotte, who looked very much a couple, his arm around her as she gazed at him like he hung the moon. The other Appleton guys were engrossed in a serious game of pool.
At the far end of the bar, clutching a bottle of Harp and animatedly telling a story, was Cellie. Her long, straight hair fell over her shoulders and the back of the same jacket she wore the night Diana had walked her to her dorm. Half-hanging off the barstool, she gestured wildly, trying to engage a disinterested Susie.
Cellie caught Diana's eye, their gazes lingering for a moment before Cellie's expression shifted to distaste. She turned away, continuing her conversation.
Diana frowned. She had considered walking over, maybe saying hi, but Cellie's look was anything but friendly. Sighing, she took another sip of her drink and turned to Amanda, who was trying to catch the bartender's attention.
"The Games looked interesting," Diana said.
Amanda swiveled, her emerald gaze piercing as she ran a hand through her wild red hair. "Is that sarcasm, Hitchens?"
"No, I—"
"Three shots of Jimmy," Amanda called out when the bartender finally looked her way. She turned back to Diana. "Want one?"
"Absolutely not," Diana huffed, tilting her glass back and rolling her eyes.
"Thought not."
Why had she let Hannah and Barbara drag her out? For the slim chance to talk to a girl who wouldn't even acknowledge her existence? She pulled out her phone, scrolling through the new articles of Horse & Hound she'd already read. As much as she tried to look absorbed, her eyes kept drifting back to Cellie.
Cellie was now talking to the much taller Jasmine and Amanda. From her vantage point, Diana could see Cellie's red shorts, the bruises speckling her thighs, likely from her daily acrobatics. With Cellie not looking, Diana let her eyes wander—
Her phone vibrated.
Amanda 20:32
Whatcha lookin' at, Lesbo?
Diana's eyes shot up from the screen to find Amanda grinning at her, phone in hand. A flush worked its way into her cheeks, and she desperately hoped the dim lighting hid it. She refused to give Amanda the satisfaction of a response.
Another vibration.
Amanda 20:34
Like something you see?
Diana let her forehead sink into her palm, squeezing her eyes shut. Amanda was insufferable. She finished her drink and ordered another—she'd need it—then went back to reading about horse health.
She had just picked up her new drink when another buzz filled her hand.
Amanda 20:38
Waited too long.
Diana turned off the screen and glanced up. Cellie was back on her barstool, but now Andrew was next to her, clutching a whiskey and chatting as if they'd been lifelong friends. That was his strategy: working his slimy charisma picked up from his politician father.
Just like Chloe, she thought.
With a heavy roll of her eyes, she puffed out a long breath and looked away, down into her glass and the submerged lime beneath the ice. If Andrew was Cellie's type, that was fine. Better, actually—it would quickly end her attraction to someone so out of her league. But when she finally looked up again, both Cellie and Andrew were gone.
A voice behind her made her jerk her hand, sloshing her drink.
"Quick question, what's your deal?"