I turn and make eye contact with his friend from last night. The same one who watched Cross practically throw me out of his room like I was a piece of trash. He’s giving me a look that I can’t decipher. I blink through my concern and finally say, “What do you mean? Last night, he could barely walk–”
Cross groans, pulling my attention back to him. The moment our eyes clash, he bares his teeth. “Will you shut the fuck up?”
I snap my mouth shut, just like he demanded, but it isn’t to appease him. It’s purely out of shock. I take a step backward when he climbs to his feet. His teammates slowly disperse, except for his friend from last night.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but…”
Cross towers over me like a nightmare, his jaw clenched.
“Go away,” he grits out.
My shock only lasts a few seconds. I raise my chin, level my shoulders, and peer up at him. “You know, I was going to apologize for snooping in your room last night…because of this.” I take my finger and jab him in the ribs, knowing very well there’s a massive bruise there.
He makes a noise and hunches.
“Clearly you have some serious shit going on in your life, butnever fucking mind.” I turn and stomp off the field with a fire of anger trailing me.
Sawyer, with her mouth hanging wide open, sees me coming and quickly loops our arms together. “I don’t know what the hell just happened, but holy shit.”
My heart is beating wildly, my thoughts all over the place.
“Do you have plans tonight?” I blurt. “Because the last thing I want to do is go home, knowing he’ll be there.”
“I do,” she says. “But you’re invited.”
It’s just like old times.
Sawyer and I walk through the door of some house, the smell of warm beer filling the air and reminding me of simpler times at Yale.
“Jeez,” Sawyer mutters. “We’re overdressed.”
I stuff a laugh down, because she’s right.
Most of the girls are wearing practically nothing, but I’m not surprised in the least. I, too, was one of these girls not too long ago, but now, I stand in the middle of a party filled with hockey players, wearing jeans and a sweater.
The only part of my body that’s showing is my shoulder, and that’s simply because my sweater is oversized.
“At least we leave something to the imagination…” I say, trying to make Sawyer feel better about the girls walking around in crop tops and miniskirts, as if it isn’t forty degrees out without the sun shining.
“Come on.” She loops her arm in mine and tugs me toward the kitchen. A keg, red Solo cups, and random bottles of vodkaare scattered along the counter. A guy with a black eye is tending to a group of girls, filling their cups to the brim with beer.
Once they’re full and done flirting with the guy, they turn to head back the way we came. They’re distracted and unaware of the fact that we’re standing behind them, and sure enough, the loudest–and tipsiest–of the bunch trips.
Her red Solo cup, full of cheap beer, flies from her hand. I grab onto her arms to steady her, the beer landing on my shirt, and manage to keep us both upright.
“Oh mygoddddd,” she slurs. “I am so sorrrrrry.”
“Holy shit.” Sawyer bends to pick up the cup. “Are you okay, Scarlett?”
“I’m fine.” I look at the girl’s two friends, and my face screws up with annoyance. “You really should get her home. She’s too wasted to be at a party like this.”
The blonde one snickers.
The other rolls her eyes.
“Who are you? The fun police?” The blonde laughs at her joke while the other takes her drunk friend by the waist to guide her out of the kitchen.
I glance at my wet sweater, sticky with beer.
