I order Max his favorite IPA and then stand quietly next to him at the bar while he regales his fight to our teammates. Even people that we don't know are listening to him, all of them fascinated by our excitement and interested in hearing about fighting. I smile into my beer, content to watch Max bask in his glory.
After a while I let my gaze wander around the rest of the bar. Hailey is still locked into her conversation with Lucy, and most of the other guys are still glued to Max.
My attention snags on Tristan in the far corner of the bar. He's leaning on a high top, his gaze focused on the cute brunette in front of him. I can't see her face, but I have a perfect view of Tristan's. He’s wearing his trademark bad boy smirk and blatantly looking over her body, and I can tell it's having the intended effect because I see the girl giggle and touch his arm, pressing even closer to him. His grin grows.
I turn my attention back to Max, not wanting to stare at Tristan's pickup attempt. I try to focus on whatever weight cut story Max is entertaining the group with.
Barely a minute later, I see Tristan's companion turn away from him out of the corner of my eye. She starts to walk toward the back of the bar, seemingly heading for the restroom. When she turns, I get a look at her for the first time.
She's short, and undoubtedly cute, but only one thing catches my attention: she's got dark red lips.
I can't stop my startled glance toward Tristan. I find him staring at me, eyebrow quirked in question. My own eyebrows shoot to my hairline in surprise.
He grins and finishes the last of his beer, at which point I hurriedly turn away from him and back to my own group. I force myself not to look over at him again.
But when I sneak a glance back a few minutes later, Tristan is gone. I sigh in relief.
Although the feeling of relief is short-lived, because it's not long before I hear Hailey yell, "Remy, come get your man. He's one shot away from once again trying to prove he can shotgun a beer bottle."
I sigh into my beer. Downing the last of it, I leave the bottle on the bar and step into my role of Jax's babysitter.
* * *
I groan as I blink my eyes open. Despite only having a few drinks last night, I've always been susceptible to headaches the morning after a night out. I press my hands to my forehead with a wince.
I hear a resounding groan from next to me and turn to see Jax emulating my hands-in-face position.
"The next time you grumble about me taking the tequila from you during the pregame, I'm going to remind you of this very moment," I growl at him. He only grunts and pulls the covers over his head.
I unwind myself from the sheets and slowly stand upright. When my headache doesn't intensify, I pull my sweatshirt over my head and quietly walk out of the bedroom.
I've lost track of the amount of times people have reacted in disbelief when Jax and I have admitted to sleeping in the same bed. Like they can't believe a guy and girl could possibly sleep together withoutsleepingtogether.
The thought always makes Jax and I cringe.
It doesn't happen as much anymore—only occasionally when Jax gets too drunk, and I want to be sure he makes it to his bed. But it was a frequent occurrence when we were in college. Since we attended separate schools, we wanted to spend as much time together as we could when we actually did meet up, so I often stayed the night at his house. Not once did it ever feel weird or like we wanted to do anything other than sleep.
Sometimes we would joke about how that wouldn't have been possible without the awkward—and cringe-worthy—kiss we shared when we were seventeen.
It probably helps, too, that Jax doesn't have any problem finding a girl to actually sleep with if he wants to. Girls flock to his massive muscular form and charming personality.
I make my way downstairs to the kitchen for a bottle of water. As I turn the corner, I see Tristan straightening from where he's pulling something from the fridge. I balk when I realize he's only wearing boxers.
"Christ, it's too early for this," I squeak, covering my eyes. "Can we tone down the bachelor pad for just long enough for me to get out of here? My eyes are burning."
When I peek through my fingers, Tristan is staring at me with an amused look on his face.
"You know, I'm still not entirely convinced you're not a virgin," he drawls.
"Trust me, I'm no virgin," I mutter under my breath. I see Tristan's eyebrow quirk in response. "I just don't feel like being accosted by borderline nudity from anyone I don't want to fuck."
"Oh, honey, you don't know what you're missing," someone purrs from behind me. I see a self-satisfied smirk stretch across Tristan's face just before I spin around.
And come face to face with the cute brunette from the bar last night.
My eyes widen as I take her in. She's dressed in the same outfit as last night, but her hair is rumpled and there's no sign of the dark lipstick she was wearing. Ignoring my speechlessness, she walks over to Tristan and presses a chaste kiss to his lips. "Call me," she says with a smile, before turning around and walking out the front door.
Tristan's grin seems to grow as my silence stretches on.