“Here,” I say, stretching out the bottle, though I’m still not facing him, assuming the reason he followed me was to get the schnapps back. For what? Other than a toothache, I don’t know.
There’s a soft chuckle, and I turn back around to see him taking a seat next to me. I return the bottle to my lap. His black ripped jeans show off his bare hairless knees. I glance up at his face and finally get a good look at him.
Behind his soft hazel eyes, is concern.Calm the fuck down, bro. It’s one bottle of schnapps from your $20 cover charge frat party.
“Are you okay?” he says, ignoring the contraband.
I take a deep breath. Okay, so he’s not here to reprimand me for stealing from the stash. And his concern is not for the schnapps. Interesting.
“I’m Xander, by the way,” he says. “I saw you leave in a rush …” He holds eye contact with me. “With a bottle of schnapps.” His lips tip up at the ends, making his eyes sparkle. “And I know no one in their right mind would actually drink that stuff out of pure enjoyment.” His tone is so gentle, it almost gives me goosebumps.
For a split second, I consider being embarrassed. An objectively hot male, named Xander, with very nice forearms and hairless knees, has locked his eyes on me. But being embarrassed only matters if you want someone to think about you in a certain way, and it turns out, I don’t care what this guy thinks ofme. I’m never going to love him. Or sleep with him.Love is family. Sex is fleeting. Marriage is a sham.
I decide honesty is the way to go.
“I’m Ash and I’m a ‘cold-hearted bitch.’ ” I let go of the schnapps to air quote “cold hearted bitch” without thinking through the physics of it all.
Xander catches the schnapps before it lands and places it gently on the ground, without skipping an intriguing eyebrow raise.
I continue, ignoring how his actions have closed the distance between us on the bench.
“I just cut someone loose via text message,” I say, shrugging. “I’m an asshole.”
Before I can launch into the worst bit about all this, Xander interjects. “I highly doubt that.”
I press my lips together to stop myself from smiling.
“You don’t know me. I could most definitely be an asshole.” I cock my head and look at him. Say what you will about the schnapps, it’s pumping confidence through my veins.
“What’d you say in your text?” he says, and there’s a glint in his eyes, like he’s testing out whether he can get away with teasing me. “I’ll be the judge.” And for the first time since 10:59PM, which is approximately forever in breakup years, my heart feels lighter.
“Like you aren’t already judging me,” I say. At least he’s pretending to be captivated. Which is all I need to continue. “See: peach schnapps.” It’s a segue I can’t resist. I pick up the bottle and take another long gulp, grimacing at the end.
“You’re right,” he says, standing. “If you’re going to drown your sorrows, don’t do it with that.”
I glance up at him and his ripped jeans and white T-shirt. He runs his hand through his hair, but his curls can’t betamed. They flop back in place. It’s adorable. I notice a small tattoo on his bicep. A blue swallow. Cute. And hot. Plus, he’s got a personality. All things that any sane human woman would want in a guy. And then, he flashes me his dimpled grin that, when combined with those curls, makes my stomach bottom out.
“Let me buy you a real drink,” he says, taking the schnapps out of my hands and discarding it in a conveniently located garbage can. “Then you can tell me all about exactly what makes you an asshole. I’m curious.”
And for some reason, I find myself nodding.
Five minutes later, we’re sitting at a hole-in-the-wall Mexican bar off campus. One that’s imperceptible to university students who favor ramen and stealing food from the dining hall, which is a total rookie mistake because the drinks are cheap and they don’t card here. I’ll never tell. Xander found it the first night of O week when he was craving tacos.
“Two margaritas,” Xander says, giving me a gentle bump in anticipation, as if to say, you’re about to drown those sorrows real good. Funny thing, on the walk over, I hadn’t thought about the breakup. Or my mom. Or The Cheating.
I learned about Xander.
For instance, I learned that he isn’t a frat boy. He’s a junior, like me. He’s just got that raw charisma that sucks even upper classmen into his orbit. And he’s majoring in criminal justice. I want to make a joke about that, but somehow the words escape me. Instead, I can’t stop thinking about how my cells are vibrating at the direct contact.
The bartender slides two salt-rimmed margaritas across the bar. Xander and I clink our glasses, and each take a sip at the same time.
“Holy wow,” I say, my mouth still watering, wanting more. The most interesting alcohol I’ve had so far has been White Claw Citrus Squeeze. This is something else.
“Right? Sweet, sour, salty, bitter—sounds like a Taylor Swift breakup song,” he says.
“Sounds like chemistry,” I say, turning the glass in my hand, like it’s the subject of a thesis. Title: “Margaritas and the Effects on Happiness.” As I take another sip, a voice in my head corrects the title.Xander and the Effects on Happiness.Shuuddduppppppp, brain. His lip twitches into a half smile, his hazel eyes amused by my response. I can feel myself slipping into his orbit. And one thing I know for sure: I can’t.
“If we’re going to hang out, I need to set some ground rules,” I say, deciding to get ahead of whatever this is. I want to taste the margarita in his mouth. I also do not want to be sending a text message to Xander in the near future:I can’t see you again. Sorry.I just don’t think I’d recover. Something tells me I must protect whatever this is at any cost.
