Now, I’m not going to lie and pretend I had the time of my life in that gym, but saying I didn’t enjoy sweaty, muscled Xavier, Finn, and Theo running around in black and white jerseys would be a travesty.
I’d never gone to a game or seen Xavier in action before. I knew he was good. He didn’t land team captain of the Stallions for nothing, but I didn’t know he was this good.
No, I didn’t know he was the best.
The real kicker? He doesn’t even seem like he tries that hard. The boy plays as though it’s in his blood. He nailed what Dia called a “slam dunk” without batting an eye. You’d think he was already playing back in the womb or something.
Finn is a close second. Not far behind is Theo, although it’s plain as day that he doesn’t take basketball as seriously as his friends do.
I’m not sure what it is about Xavier that makes him a hair faster and more agile than his teammates. Maybe it’s the fact that he has a good inch on Finn, making him a whopping six foot three, but then again, Theo is the exact same height as Xavier and he didn’t take the winning shot like Xav did tonight.
The clock on my dashboard shows 11:18 by the time Dia and I pull into Finn’s endless driveway. I’m not exaggerating, the path to his house is longer than a freaking airport runway.
We’re late. The party started at ten, but Dia and I went back to her house to hang out after the Stallions defeated their opponents with flying colors. I had to ask my mom if I could sleep over at Dia’s place, and she reluctantly agreed to give her errand girl the night off.
But not before calling Dia’s dads to authenticate my story first. Gaten and Dave covered for
me because technically, it wasn’t a lie—I am sleeping at the Mitchells’ house tonight. I just didn’t tell my mom what I’d be doing before the actual sleeping part.
“Seriously?” Dia sighs at something on her phone.
“What?” I glance at her in my passenger seat.
“Well, that didn’t take long,” Dia grumbles, shoving a hand into her handbag and pulling out a hairbrush to…
Wait, what?
Why the fuck is she drinking from her hairbrush?
I do a double take, pumping the brakes to make sure I’m not hallucinating. I thought I’d imagined it, but no. Homegirl really uncapped the bottom and started drinking straight from her hairbrush like it was normal.
Noticing the question marks in my eyes, Dia laughs. “Just found out we’re going to be spending all night with Brie. Excuse me for needing a fucking drink.”
I blink at her, my brain short-circuiting.
“Did you just… drink from your hairbrush?”
She laughs. “It’s a secret flask, Vee. Could hardly see myself driving around with a bottle of tequila in my purse. Want some?” She guides the “hairbrush” closer to my face, and I decline, victim to the nostalgia creeping into my chest.
Just last year, Dia and I had never had beer, let alone strong liquor, and now? She’s chugging tequila like it’s water. I guess I’d never truly stopped to think about how much she’s changed since last summer.
Since Finn.
I’m not shaming her. She has every right to want to live her life and experience new things, but we used to be twins, soul sisters. Dia was always the first to praise my decision to keep away from alcohol. I could never stomach the smell after I found my dad that night.
Bourbon.
It was all I could smell while I cried on his lap. Could that have something to do with my vow of sobriety? My therapist certainly thought so. Blamed it on my brain having associated the smell of booze with the worst night of my life.
“Wait. We’re going to be spending the night with Brie?” I ask.
Dia nods. “I saw her and Xav sucking face in the hot tub on Lacey’s Instagram story. Looks like they’re back together.”
I cringe and park my car by the water fountain.
Finn’s square shaped mansion sits on top of the hill, flaunting ginormous windows that overlook the first and second floor, three garages, and one of those ridiculous circular driveways you don’t need to back out of. Because everybody knows the rich never go backward. Only forward.
To think this is where it all started for Finn and Dia. I can’t help wondering if my best friend would still be the shy, anti-alcohol virgin I used to know if she hadn’t stepped through that door last summer.