The total polar opposite of his bestie.
I cover my mouth when a giggle slips free at the thought of Saint hearing me refer to Bennett as his bestie.
A slower melody with a sensual, sultry beat moves through the speakers, and the lights on the dance floor dim slightly. Lennon and Saint move together to the music, pressed tightly together, and Bennett has found another girl to dance with, which leaves me alone, sitting here, watching all of the couples dance together while I swirl my straw around my drink.
I groan out loud as I bring the glass to my lips and toss the rest of it back. Although I should prooooobably stop drinking since I am like six drinks past what my limit likely is.
I’m probably going to have the worst headache ever tomorrow.
But soooooo worth it.
It’s my freaking twenty-first birthday, and I deserve to have fun.
These are supposed to be the best years of my life. Not the wasted years of my life.
Lennon was so right.
I shouldn’t even be thinking about Wilder right now, but of course, my drunken thoughts wander to him, and I sigh.
I’m pulling my phone out of my cross-body clutch before I even really think about it, opening my email app to a new email.
Chewing my lip, I hover my fingers over the screen. It’s blurry, the letters slightly running together, so I squint to focus.
From: [email protected]
Subject: You’re a dick
CoachHawthorne,
I’m probably going to regret this email tomorrow, but right now I don’t care. Not even a little bit.
Actually, the amount that I care doesn’t even exist.
It’s my twenty-first birthday, and I’m out at a club with my friends, and have had approximately five, no six, of the best fruity drinks and I’m having sooooo much fun.
Srsly, if you’ve never had a drink at Rue Rouge, you’re missing out, but then again… you’re good at missing out, aren’t you??
Anyyywaayyyyyy
Just wanted you to know that I don’t care that you’re a dick, and I don’t care about your stupid dick either.
It wasn’t memorable. I haven’t even thought about it.
I paused my amazing time to tell you that I don’t care about you, and now I’m going to go back to yet another delicious drink and guess what… I’m going to go dance with your favorite person, the star goalie of your team.
I’m surehe’llappreciate me
I’m giggling to myself before I even press Send, absolutely about to lose it over the fact that I just typed this ridiculous, slightly childish, and petty email to Wilder.
I am like… eighty percent certain that I’ll regret it tomorrow in a sober mind, but right now, it feels so freaking good.
Serves him right.
The lie about his dick was truly the icing on the cake.
THE BIRTHDAY CAKE.
