“Is that the real reason?”
“Well, partly.” I scratch my arm. “The other part is there’s no way I could afford to go where they were eating.”
“You could always have asked her to go to a cheaper place.” He takes a sip of his drink. “My sister’s nice, I promise. I know she probably comes off as dramatic and a bit pushy—which she is—but she’ll be a good friend to you if you’ll let her.”
“I’m trying here.” I gesture at the house where the party is taking place. “It’s the reason why I’m here. Although, I spent more time with Finn than her … She wandered off the minute we got here.”
His brows elevate. “You hung out with Finn?”
I push away from the lamppost and straighten. “Yep. We played beer pong. Or, well, whiskey pong.”
His eyes search mine. “You’ve been drinking?”
“Just a little bit.” When he frowns, I tap his cup with my finger. “Dude, don’t be judge-y with me.”
“This is water,” he explains then shows me the inside of the cup.
“It could be vodka. Or everclear.”
“Smell it.”
I do. It’s water, for sure.
“I don’t drink. Not during the season, anyway,” he explains. “And I try not to because I’m a terrible drunk.”
“Do you get angry or something?”Like my father does.
“No, I cry, actually,” he confesses with a drop of embarrassment.
His confession throws me off so much that it takes me a flicker of starlight to speak again.
“You know, you don’t match my first impression of you,” I finally say. “Unless this isn’t the real you.”
He stares down at his cup. “It is, and it isn’t.”
My head angles to the side. “What does that mean?”
He quietly exhales then lifts his gaze to mine. “It means I live a life where I have to have different versions of myself.”
The breeze picks up, blowing strands of hair into my face. “That sounds kind of depressing.”
“Why do you think I cry when I get drunk?” he quips. Then he drags his fingers through his hair and abruptly changes the subject. “So, about training you … I was thinking that we could meet in the mornings and run. I usually run with a group of guys, but we also run in the evenings, too, so I can just do that with them then.”
“You want to run with me?” I double-check, surprised.
“If that’s okay?” he answers. “I mean, it’s the best way to train you.”
“Yeah, if I can keep up with you.” Not that I think I’m slow. I’m just being realistic.
“We can go at your pace. And then I’ll have my evenings for my training.” He briefly hesitates. “Unless you don’t want to.”
“No, I do. I just … Are you sure you want to? Because I thought you were just going to give me some pointers?”
He dithers. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but if you want to make the team, you’re going to have to improve your times a bit. Not that they’re bad. They just need to get slightly better.”
I study him. “How do you know what my times are?”
He squirms, avoiding eye contact with me. “I looked you up online.”
