She pulls back her phone and says, “Yeah.”
I grab my steering wheel and say, “Well, we’re here at my place, so why don’t you come in and sober up. I can take you home after.”
“What happened to my chocolate?” she whines.
“Shit. I forgot,” I admit. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
She offers a smile, and it takes every fiber of my being not to reach over and touch her face. I want so badly to run my fingers over her lips, run my hands through her hair, and kiss her. Then she starts laughing. I watch her face light with humor as she looks at me.
“What’s so funny, Ce?” I murmur.
She takes off my hat, puts it on her head, and runs her fingers through my hair. “Your mullet always makes me laugh.”I observe her face, glad that my haircut could light her up. “Has it always made you laugh?” I ask, enjoying her fingertips on my scalp. I lean into it for a moment.
She nods, resting her elbows on the center console, staring at it.
I run my fingers through it, self-conscious. “Should I cut it?”
She shakes her head. “No. No, definitely don’t.”
I open my truck door and get out. When I reach her side, she’s opening her door, falling out. I grab her arm to steady her, and then I pull her into my arms. She yelps when I use her legs to shut the truck door.
She starts laughing as I carry her inside. I open the door and kick it closed behind me. She forces her body out of my hold and walks around sloppily.
I chuckle. “You’re wasted.”
She walks to the TV and grabs the game controller. “Can I play?”
“You play Call of Duty?” I question.
She shakes her head. “Do you have Mario Kart?” She bats her eyes at me.
I shrug. “I don’t know what games Scott has.” I grab the controller and sit on the couch. It turns the TV on, and I scroll through trying to find Mario Kart. “Out of luck, buttercup.”
But she’s not focused on the TV anymore. She found a duffel bag filled with Scott’s hockey gear in the corner of the livingroom. Asshole never puts his shit away. She’s already wearing his gloves, holding a puck.
“What’re you doing?” I laugh.
“Found your hockey stuff,” she jokes, grabbing the extra hockey stick. She uses it like a sword, swinging the damn thing in the air.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say, standing up. I grab the stick and pull her towards me. She jerks forward, laughing. “This is Scott’s. Not mine.”
“Ew,” she laughs, pulling off the gloves. She places it back in the bag. I set the hockey stick where it was. “Did you find something for us to play?”
I shake my head.
She stands, looking up at me with a soft smile. “Dylan?”
“Moo?”
She laughs, leaning against me. I catch her, taking a step back as she bears most of her weight on me.
“I want to know…” she trails off, looking up at me. “The girl you walked into the party with tonight. She’s really pretty.”
I grind my teeth, looking over her head. “Does it matter?”
She shrugs. “I guess that’s what I’m asking you.”
I shake my head. “Then no.” She’s looking past me quietly, so I ask, “Why?”
