Beckham looks at Emilie and gestures towards Serena. “Serena also cheers. You girls already have a lot in common.”
Serena’s body stiffens even more beside me like she’s confronting Medusa. I wrap my arm around her shoulders to distract her. “You cheer too? Serena is a badass.”
“Really?” Emilie questions.
“She’s top girl or whatever that means,” Beckham notes.
“Didn’t know you werethatgood,” Emilie notes. There’s something about that compliment that rubs me off the wrong way. It sounds friendly but there’s a condescending undertone.
“Yeah, who knew,” Serena mutters under her breath. She shoots me a glance, “I, uh, need to find Alli. I’ll come find you later.”
My stomach knots at the realization she won’t be by my side for God knows how long. A whirlwind of emotions and thoughts succumb to me. Do I stop her? I have this urge to keep her by my side so the world knows she’s with me. Like with me, with me.
Instead of acting on those impulses, I swallow the words and the longing. I lower my gaze to meet hers. “I’ll catch up with you later, alright?”
I press a soft kiss on her forehead before she backs away into the crowd, in search of her friend. I can feel her empty spot beside me burning. Is that clingy boyfriend level five? I want to take my time with her but at some point, I’ll want to announce to the world that Serena Inthavong is mine. But here I am, feeling like I should look for her and simplybe with her.
Jared and Emilie leave after Serena to find their own groups of friends, leaving me to feed into Beckham’s nonsense.
“You’re totally whipped.” Beckham’s voice breaks through my internal thoughts.
“You haven’t met a girl like Serena. Once you do, you’ll join me in the Whipped Boyfriends Club.”
“Boyfriend? You popped the question?”
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
“What’s with the waiting? You like her, she likes you. I see it in the way she looks at you.”
I arch a brow. “People keep saying that.”
“It’s pretty clear to me, man. Looks at you like sheadoresyou,” he insists, a grin teasing the corners of his mouth. Changing the subject, he gestures his beer at me. “Want one?”
I shake my head, declining his offer. “Nah, I’m good.”
Beckham’s eyes widened a bit. “Since when did you start turning down drinks?”
“Since I stopped showing up for these parties.”
“Changed man.” He shrugs, a casual acceptance evident in his gesture. “Traded keg stands to be someone’s arm candy.”
The night swirls on, the atmosphere pulsating with energy and conversations from my classmates around me and the random bickering from Beckham.
“Wait, you believe in unicorns?” Beckham teases. How did we get to this conversation? I couldn’t tell you.
“Of course.”
“So, you believe in Santa too, then?”
“Yeah.”
“Again, why?”
“Well, how would you tell a little girl Santa doesn’t exist?” I counter, leaning back against the wall.
“You just do,” Beckham replies with a grin.
“And make her cry? Yeah, no thanks.” I look around the room, no Serena in sight. “Where’s your girl?”
