The beanie soars through the air, arcing in a clean descent that sinks right into the single opening on the board. It feels good. Feels like a victory, more so than the wins I’ve notched in front of screaming crowds.
Peter and his friend exchange a grin.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, staring at the screen. It would be a mistake—texting her. Logically, I know it. At best, I’ll look desperate and needy. She made me come harder than I ever have earlier and took off before I could reciprocate.
But the reasons I want to see her have nothing to do with sex. I like being around her—I like that I can be myself. It’s all those sweeping declarations people make about a significant other—they make you braver, you feel happier around them, they inspire you every day—wrapped up in one messy package.
That’s only if I overthink it. And that’s the main enticement about being around Natalie—I don’t. I’m not worried about anything else or focused on what I should be doing. I’m just…present.
Our last messages are about my sweatshirt.
And I wish I was the guy who always knew what to say. Who’s effortlessly suave, the way she is. I’ve never pursued a girl—I shoved the distraction to the side and only indulged in the easy. I used to think it was a testament to my dedication to football. Now, I think it might have been a matter of the right girl. Because fuck if Natalie doesn’t make me forget about the sport altogether.
Liam:I’m cleaning up at cornhole.
I’m shocked when she replies immediately.
Natalie:Is that a euphemism?
A smile tugs at my lips.
Liam:No.
Liam:I’m literally winning. At the game.
Natalie:Happy for you. I know losing is a sore spot for you.
Liam:That’s harsh.
Natalie:That’s life.
Liam:Yeah, you’re right.
She doesn’t reply for a few more minutes. I toss three more bags into the hole.
Natalie:How committed are you to seeing the win through?
Liam:Barely to not very.
Natalie:Daily Grind parking lot? Ten minutes?
Liam:I’ll be there.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
NATALIE
“This is weird,” Madeline states.
I hum a vague agreement, my focus on the opposite side of the pool. When Chris texted me, saying Wes was having his birthday party at theGlenmontCountry Club, I thought he was joking.
Turns out he was serious.
For the first time—ever—I’m at a party in Glenmont. We’ve self-segregated in a fairly even split, Glenmont on one side of the pool and Alleghany on the other.
“I think you mean boring,” Tory says, leaning back against the lounge chair with a sigh.
She’s right. For a party, this is pretty lame. On both sides of the pool, people have formed smaller groups they’re hanging out with, like me, Madeline, Tory, and Jess.