As soon as she’s out of earshot, Vin shakes his head. “You lucky son of a bitch.”
“What?”
“You’re so gonna hit that this weekend.”
I scoff. “Nah.”
“You don’t want that?” he asks, eyes wild.
“Nope.”
Vin cocks his head to the side, shooting me a look like I’m some kind of crazy bastard. “Fine. You don’t want her, I’d be happy to take that off your hands.”
“All yours.”
“All right, man. Imma cut you loose,” he says, walking backwards and pointing at me with finger pistols. “See you Saturday.”
I give him a nod and head out, not giving the party another thought the second I hit the sidewalk. I’ll go. I’ll make an appearance, have myself a decent time, and give the people what they want—stories, pictures, and photo ops.
But come Monday, it’s back on.
Chapter 7
Irie
I’m on my third Corona and fully feeling it. Pretty sure my blood is ninety-eight percent hops and barley at this point, but whatever. It feels good to be in the moment and not feel anything but the Velcro stickiness of my shoes against dirty floors.
“What are you doing?” My best friend, Brynn, stumbles into the kitchen of this godforsaken party house we’re in Saturday night.
House parties have never been my thing.
I’m more of a chill-in-the-corner-of-a-hip-lounge-and-sip-cocktails kind of girl, but some guy Brynn’s been pining after since spring semester last year invited her and she wanted a wingman, and so here I am.
“Are you … redecorating?” Brynn stands back, slack-jawed and gawking.
“Organizing,” I say, admiring my work. “Things are more pleasing to the eye when they’re grouped by item type and color.”
I gaze along the messy counter which houses dozens if not hundreds of beer cans, wine bottles, and White Claws, all of them neatly sorted by flavor and color, their labels facing front like pint-sized soldiers.
“Now I’m going to rearrange their cutlery drawer because I don’t know how the hell they find anything in—” I begin to say until Brynn grabs my hand.
“Irie,” she says, head tucked down and eyes unfocused. She’s far more drunk than me, but it doesn’t stop her from attempting to be my voice of reason. “We’re here to have a good time and there are twelve bachelors who live here. You think they give a shit if they can’t find a butter knife?”
“You’re here to have a good time,” I remind her. “I’m just … here.”
“Stop being a wet blanket.”
“That’s not fair.”
I love Brynn, but I resent any opinions that suggest in order to have a good time you have to be a cloned sheep in a massive herd.
She shrugs before bracing herself against me. “I’m sorry, but you’re being a total lame ass right now. In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve only seen you let loose twice. Twice, Irie! And you know what? I freakin’ love you to death, but that other girl was pretty dope and she deserves to come out and play … especially tonight.”
“What’s so special about tonight?”
“Um, the entire PVU football team is here for one,” she says.
My stomach drops, no … plummets.
“You didn’t tell me they were coming,” I say.
In a flash of a second, I’m suddenly feeling extremely sober.
She laughs. “Why would I? You hate football. I didn’t think you’d care.”
Fair point.
I love Brynn and she’s my best friend in the entire world, but she’s also a diehard PVU Tigers fan and nothing in the world could change her mind. Her parents went to PVU. Her grandparents went to PVU. Her older brothers too. They’re the most fanatical family I’ve ever known—they could even put some of the families back home in Missouri to shame with their extensive collection of fan gear.
A group of burly, muscled guys enter the kitchen one after another and I hold my breath, waiting for one of them to be Talon. I exhale when I scan their faces and don’t find his.
“Hey, guys,” Brynn says, tossing her raven waves over her left shoulder before settling behind the kitchen island and designating herself bartender. “What are we drinking tonight?”
The men—whom I recognize as Tigers—call out their orders and like a seasoned natural, she hands out drinks—and flirts. The guys seem to enjoy it enough, though I suppose it gets old after a while … always having girls throw themselves at you, having people notice you everywhere you go.
They leave the room, drinks in hand, and Brynn is all smiles as she mouths, “OH MY GOD.”
Pretty sure they just made her entire college career just now.
“Where’s Nick?” I ask her. “The guy who invited you?”
She checks her watch, tapping through some text messages. “Oh. He just texted me and said he’s here. Somewhere. I should go find him.”
“Yeah. You should.” I wink at her before returning to my pet project. “Since that’s why we came.”
Organizing the cutlery drawer takes all of four minutes, and once I’m finished, I exhale, take a generous sip of my drink, and lean back against the island counter. The room around me sways. Or maybe I’m swaying. It’s all the same at this point.