“Thanks,” she says.
I’m still dying to ask her about her art. As a kid, she was always drawing or painting—not just the typical kid stuff.She created full-blown masterpieces and sophisticated concepts when she was barely fourteen. After Cal and I went off to college, Cal told me that she had gotten into a private art high school and had her first solo gallery exhibit before graduating. However, her pile of art supplies hadn’t moved since she arrived. I didn’t understand this ‘content assistant’ thing she was doing, which didn’t seem related to art, but I didn’t ask. After all, I hadn’t exactly been open about being dumped from the Iron Cats, so I guess neither of us was ready to talk about what was really going on.
Whatever this domestic routine was, it was temporary. Convenient. Two people crashing at the same place. Nothing more.
“We’re pathetic,” Sophie says, standing up after we’ve both been rotting on the couch, hands on her hips like she’s gearing up for a full-blown intervention. “We need to put on real pants and leave the house.”
I glance up, caught somewhere between amused and intrigued. “Yeah? Got somewhere in mind?”
She shrugs, but there’s a spark in her eyes that’s new. “Let’s walk down to that bar on the corner. One drink. Pretend we’re real people.”
The thought shouldn’t excite me this much, but it does. Not just the chance to get out—but getting out with her. “Alright,” I say, pushing upright. “But I need a shower first.”
“Same,” she says, cringing a little. “I honestly can’t remember the last time I showered.”
“Probably another sign we need to leave the house,” I reply, trying not to picture her in the shower—but now it’s all I can think about. And because there’s no way I’m standing up now without making things weird, I add, “You go first.”
“Welcome back, kid,” Frankie says as Sophie and I enter Bar None. “I wondered if you’d ended up in a ditch after the last time I kicked you out.”
My eyes dart to Sophie, but she seems unbothered by Frankie’s assessment. The truth is, after spending hours a night here the first week I was in town, I hadn’t been back in the two weeks since Sophie showed up. “Good to see you too, Frankie,” I say and don’t elaborate.
“Your usual?” Frankie asks.
“You have a usual at this bar?” Sophie asks, but it’s more of a tease than a judgment.
“I mean, it’s just a beer,” I say, then add, “And a shot of tequila.”Then repeat until I pass out in Cal’s bed,I think, and I feel a little embarrassed by past Liam’s drinking behavior.
“Make it two,” Sophie says to Frankie.
Frankie sets our drinks on the bar. Sophie passes me a tequila shot before picking up her own. “To leaving the house,” she toasts, and we clink our glasses. I watch the creamy column of her neck as she tips back to shoot the drink. Her curls spill down her back, and her cheeks flush when the alcohol hits her tongue. My mouth goes dry.
“What?” she asks, setting the empty glass down on the bar and sucking the lime between her teeth.
“Nothing,” I say quickly and take my shot.
“Liam!” a woman calls from the back corner of the bar. Cal’s downstairs neighbor, whom I’d met before he left.
“Is that Liv?” Sophie asks, waving back. She grabs her beer and heads towards the booth where Liv is sitting with her eccentric roommate and some other guy.
“Sophie?” Liv stands as we approach the table, pulling Sophie into a hug. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh,” Sophie says. “Cal said I could stay at his place any time I needed, so…I’m crashing there while he’s away.”
“I thought you were crashing there?” Liv turns towards me, and my insides tighten.
“Liam and I go way back,” Sophie explains before I can answer. “He’s like another brother. We’re coexisting.”
I can’t explain why Sophie’s assessment stings. It’s one thing for me to remind myself we’re just coexisting—it’s another thing to hear her dismiss us so casually to someone else. We are just coexisting. I’m sleeping on the couch, and we just circle each other all day. So she’s not wrong, but do I want her to be?
“Yeah, it’s cool,” I say.
“You two want to join us?” Liv asks, and as she gestures toward her companions in the big round booth. “You remember my roommate Andy?”
The perky blonde waves from the booth. “Hey.”
“And this is Owen, my fiancé.” Liv gazes at him with hearts in her eyes. “I can’t believe I get to say that for real now.”
My eyes snag on the guy—the same one I met in Cal’s lobby, the so-called fake boyfriend. Except judging by the way he’s glued to Liv—and the rock on her finger—there’s nothing fake about it. Sure, I’ve spent most of the past few weeks drunk or hungover, but I’m sure it was only three weeks ago I was giving her some pathetic baseball-as-love pep talk. Guess it worked.
