"Yo!" Burns calls just feet from me as if it wasn't the first time he tried to get my attention. I exhale all of the air in my lungs to the point where my chest burns and my abs are so tight I think they may cave in before twisting back around.
"You have two choices here, bud. Start talking or start drinking. And honestly, I'm good with either."
"Yo, Drew! Where the hell ya been?" Jace Holloway, the Gators' rising rookie, slaps his palm into mine and claps me on the back. The motion sloshes the beer in my hand, causing droplets to splash from the can and run down my wrist.
"Just busy, man," I explain, bringing the metal to my mouth. I run my tongue up the side to catch the last drip and slurp up the beads that sit along the rim. With the signing bonus I know Jace got, he can afford to have someone clean up my mess. But it's not the mess I'm worried about—it's the waste of the alcohol I so desperately need.
Jace laughs as he spins his Golden City baseball hat, then nods. "Yeah, I feel you. Good to see you out though, brother. Caught the last two periods earlier… you seemed a little off, I can't lie."
I slug down another two gulps of the cold, bitter liquid and hold the can out to him as my only response before a group of his teammates pull him back toward the kitchen.
Scanning the room, I spot the back of Brett's head behind the black leather couch, probably losing at Chel against Ward and another one of the Gators. There's a group of guys playing pool in the massive game room through the door on the right, a woman hanging off of each one, and some dude I've never seen before messing with the laptop hooked up to the speakers.
Brett and I have been drinking since after the game, starting with just a six-pack between the two of us at his house to take the edge off. I wasn't sure what else could fix this day besides seeing Brooke. She found me after, and told me how proud of me she was, then kissed me like she meant every word. But apparently Coach's girl asked her to take Cooper for the afternoon, and she had to agree—something about her owing her one after the secret she's kept. The way her eyes sparkled when she said it told me thatIjust may have been that secret, and there was nothing discreet about how that affected me.
The alcohol has been a close second as far as relief goes, though it definitely doesn't hit like it used to. A guy my size would need a lot more than three beers to numb any pain, but as I stand here attempting to chip away at it, I'm realizing nothing will work like she does.
My anxiety kicks up as I once again feel completely alone in a fucking room filled with people. This isn't my scene. It never was. But it feels even more foreign now that I've gotten a taste of the old me—of the real me that I haven't seen in so long.
Sipping again at my half-empty can, I continue to let my eyes wander the room. They land on a girl now posted up by the couch that I recognize from these types of parties. A puck bunny or cleat chaser—doesn't matter, really. They all seem to run in the same social circle, just like us athletes. She's objectively good-looking with strawberry blonde hair that flows down in waves past her shoulders. She has a tank top on despite the weather that looks at least three sizes too small, and she's staring through me, lust in her eyes, tempting me to approach her.
I run a hand through my hair as I blow out a breath before taking one last sip of my beer. Slowly striding forward, I set my can down on the narrow table that runs along the back of the sofa. I drag my thumb under my chain, letting her look rush past me. It hits me in the chest as I lean down, lowering my voice.
"Hey, I'm gonna get out of here."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah… definitely."
I pull my phone out and turn it on. I powered it off after my dad's third call and Jane's fifth all-caps text. There was no way I was screening those notifications—and so many others—the whole time I was here.
"Alright, bud. You okay to get home?" Brett pauses his game and looks over his shoulder as I glance up at my newest admirer.
"Yeah, man. I'm good. I'll call the car service."
"You that buzzed?" he asks, his brows creased together.
I huff out a laugh, nudging his shoulder. "No, dipshit, you drove me here."
Brett snorts, rubbing his forehead. "That's right."
"Yougood?" I chuckle.
"Oh, yeah." He jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the TV screen where his player is still frozen mid-stride. "Brutal O.T. Brain's cooked."
I shake my head and grin, dropping my hand onto his shoulder. "I'll see ya later, buddy. Thanks for the hang." He slaps me on the arm and winks before turning back toward the screen.
When I fully stand up, I lock eyes with the girl. She's staring straight through me—even deeper this time, and once again, it hits me between the ribs. It's not lust or desire or even curiosity that drills me. What knocks the wind out of me is ache, longing, maybe even need. Her attention doesn't make me wanther, it reminds me of the girl Iactuallycrave.
Tapping on the screen, I light up my phone. It's riddled with missed calls and texts from everyone—Jane and my dad, one from my agent and even a couple of the guys. My heart sinks as I scroll through them. They may not all be related to the game, though I'm sure my P.R. manager and father will have notes. But I don't even get a chance to read them. Wedgedbetween a voicemail notification from dad and a missed FaceTime from Jane is a text that stands out amongst the rest. One that starts my heart beating again.
Mystery Girl
Coop left early to go to a friend's. Am I losing my touch as the cool aunt? Text me later if you want to hang out now that I'm free apparently.
That ache in my chest snowballs into something deeper. More primal. Once again she's able to drag me out of the trenches of my mind—of my whole fucking life. And exactly when I need her most.
In the time it takes me to pull up the number for our team's 24/7 confidential car service Monte put in place his first year here, I completely change my plan. I know where I am, and I know where Brooke lives. And thanks to not giving a single shit about what I looked like at this party, I'm in joggers, a hoodie, and the sneakers I created with my last brand deal. I can get to her place in less time and miles than it takes for me to complete my morning run. And if I'm lucky, I'll be just sweaty enough that she won't see the tears of relief that may happen to fall as I sprint toward my one place of solace.
