I wait until he’s out of the room and stomping down the stairs before I scream every curse word I know into my pillow, for the second time today.
* * *
A few hoursafter my best attempt at being a responsible captain, the house is overflowing with people, empty bottles, and red cups. Part of me is expecting David Skinner to walk through the door, or worse, Faulkner.
I doubt Coach would be too thrilled we decided to end the worst day ever with a party we were told not to have. Normally Friday parties are full of tired athletes, aching from Friday games or practice, looking to unwind and watch other people make some questionable choices. But tonight, there’s something different in the air. It’s almost like being reminded we shouldn’t be misbehaving is making everyone want to go wild.
I spot Briar, Summer’s roommate, pouring herself a drink at the kitchen counter, which immediately makes me feel better. Those girls are inseparable, so if B is here, Summer will be here somewhere. She can’t reject me twice in one week, right?
Summer jokes the only reason I want her is because she’s not interested, and she’s the only woman who’s ever rejected me. Hearing her say she’s not interested makes me want her more, so thinking about it logically, she’s probably right. As much as I want a chance with her, we are good friends, which makes her rejection sting a bit less.
I push past the masses of people and put on my friendliestI wanna marry your best friendface. She’s so engrossed in the random liquor she’s mixing, she doesn’t even notice me as I lean against the counter beside her. “That looks like you’re gonna be throwing up on my lawn later, Beckett.”
Her head snaps up, long blond hair swishing as she finds me next to her. “It’s a good job I’m not drinking alone then, isn’t it,” she slurs, her accent an unusual mix of English and American.
Her green eyes are glassy, and her smile is more of a lazy, drunken smirk as she winks at me and pushes the cup in my direction, immediately reaching for a new one. “I heard you had a shitty day. I did, too, we can be sick together.”
I wait until she’s mixed another disgusting concoction before tipping my cup to hers. “To dipshit sophomores.”
She snorts. “To dipshit ex-girlfriends.”
I throw back the drink andfuckdoes it sting. “Jesus Christ.” I choke as the fluid burns its way down my throat. “Who the fuck taught you to mix drinks?”
“My Uncle James. He calls it a magic cocktail. You looking for Summer?” She rolls her eyes at me when I nod. “She’s playing beer pong with Cami in the den.”
“I’ll remember this beautiful moment when I’m making the speech at mine and Summer’s wedding.” I knock back the rest of my poison, trying not to gag, but failing.
“No you won’t!” she shouts after me. “She knows you fucked Kitty last night!”
Fuck.
Summer is bent over the table, lining up a shot, when I push my way through the crowd to stand next to her. She’s playing Ryan and CJ from the basketball team with her other best friend, Cami.
“You winning?”
“Go away, Nathan.” She laughs, not bothering to look up at me. “You’re going to distract me.”
“Rude. What if I’m your good luck cha—” I don’t even get to finish my sentence because I’m eating my words as she sends the ball bouncing across the room by accident.
She finally looks up at me, her eyes murderous in a way I find weirdly sexy. I clear my throat. “I’ll cheer you on from over here.”
She rolls her eyes, muttering under her breath knowing I won’t understand her. “Es buen cosa que eres atractivo.”
Scanning the den to see who turned up, I immediately spot Miss I-don’t-have-a-name. She looks significantly more relaxed than she did earlier; her long light brown hair is curly, bouncing around her face as she throws back her head and laughs at something her friend said. Her cheeks are flushed, ocean-blue eyes bright; she looks happy.
I like it.
She spots me before I reach her, and I might be imagining it, but I swear she checks me out. “You made it!” I say cheerfully, although she doesn’t react. I try her friend instead, who’s staring at me with an intrigued look on her face. “I’m Nate.”
“Sabrina.” She flicks her finger between the two of us, eyes narrowing. “Do you two know each other?”
“We met earlier,” I confirm, watching her ignore my attempt to get her to look at me. She takes a sip from—what I can see from my height advantage—is an empty cup. “Didn’t get your name though, sadly.”
She stops pretending to drink and finally looks at my face. She only looks like she wants to hit me with a hockey stick a little bit now, which is a huge improvement from earlier.
“Anastasia. Or Stassie. Whichever, it doesn’t matter.”
“Can I get you guys a drink?”