My lips tug into a smirk. Of course he’s drinking that shit. Not manly enough to drink beer.
“Hey,” he says warily, his gaze darting around the room like he’s looking for an escape.
I say nothing, gesturing towards the fridge he’s still standing in front of.
“Oh, right. Sorry.” He moves to the side, and I open it, reaching in to grab another beer.
When I turn around, he’s still standing there.
“Can I help you?” I sneer, twisting the top of my beer and letting the cool liquid soothe my overheated body. Every time I’m around him, I’m on edge. He makes me uncomfortable, and it brings out my snarky side.
“Jeez, Noah,” he snaps back. “What’s your problem?”
I shrug. “You.”
Zac’s eyes widen like he didn’t expect me to admit it. “Fuck you.”
Bile rises up my throat at the thought. “No thanks. You’re not my type.”
“Wow.” He shakes his head, a humourless laugh falling from his lips. “Now I know what this is all about. Does Coach Johnson know he selected a homophobe to be our captain?”
He shoves past me, checking me in the shoulder, and I let him. My heart squeezes, suddenly feeling too big for my chest, and I rub at it, trying to chase away his cutting remark. That’s not who I am. How fucking dare he? He doesn’t know a damn thing about me.
I swallow around the lump in my throat, hating that I feel like shit. This is a damn party. I should be having fun.
What I need is a distraction.
Abandoning my beer, I move off in the opposite direction to Zac, and head down the hallway to the back of the house, where we have a games room set up with a pooltable, table tennis, and a PlayStation hooked up to our big screen television.
My other housemate, Dane, shouts at the screen, his fingers punching the buttons on the controller as he locks into an epic battle with a bunch of zombies. The girl sitting on the couch next to him kisses his neck, but he doesn’t give her an ounce of attention.
In the corner, our left back, Alex Ritter, and a new kid on the team, Everett Mathers, are playing beer pong at the table tennis table with two girls I recognise from my Business Ethics class. A few other people are standing around watching.
Perfect.
I saunter over to the blonde girl and drape an arm over her shoulder. I think her name starts with M. Molly or Miranda. Maybe Matilda.
“Ladies,” I say, turning on my charm. “Who’s ready to take on the beer pong master?”
Ritter smirks, shaking his head as he holds his hands up and steps away from the table. “Show us, oh wise one.”
I flip him the bird before pulling Molly or Miranda, whatever her name is, to stand at one end of the table. She shivers when I lean in close, which brings a lopsided smile to my lips. “Don’t make me look bad, babe.”
The first game comes down to the wire, but we pull off the win. Mathers taps out, looking like he’s going to be sick. Ritter pats him on the back as he steps in. He has the advantage of being a little more sober than me, but I’m nothing if not competitive.
“Yes!” Miranda or Matilda shouts when we win, throwing her arms around my neck. I stumble back into the wall, a fair bit more intoxicated than I thought. A few people laugh, but then another couple steps up to the table, and attention shifts from us back to the next game.
“Woah,” I slur, wrapping my arm around her waist to steady her.
She looks up at me through her lashes, a suggestive grin curling her lips, and says, “Do you want to take this party somewhere a little more private?”
I wait for the anticipation to kick in, for my dick to show even the slightest bit of interest, but there’s nothing. She’s gorgeous. Big green eyes, a cute button nose, and don’t even get me started about my love for blondes, but there’s no flutter in my chest, no twitch downstairs.
With a sigh, I reach up and extricate her hands from around my neck. “Listen, Molly?—”
Her smile drops and her eyes narrow. “It’s Hannah.”
Oh, shit.
