Cora makes me feel like there may be a sliver of luck left in this world for me.
We reach the porch. The wood creaks under our weight. Someone inside yells. The door swings open before we even knock, a blast of heat and music swallowing us whole.
The air inside is thick with beer and sweat. Music is borderline too loud and there are even some sort of lights in the kitchen. Like they want it to be a club in here. I roll my eyes even though no one else is there to see.
I scan the space without meaning to, but I feel her before I see her. Across the living room, near the far wall.
White top. Faded jeans. Hair falling over her shoulders, reminding me of the first night we met.
She’s laughing at something one of her friends says. Head tilted back just slightly. Hand curled around a cup she’s barely drinking from.
For a second, the room narrows. The noise dulls.
She feels it too, because then she looks up. I feel it in my chest, how bad I want her. Her eyes find mine and it takes everything in me not to race over there and kiss her in front of every person here who thinks they have a shot.
They fucking don’t.
The song changes and Brinn grabs Cora’s hand, pulling her out into the makeshift dance floor, which is just the living room with some of the furniture pushed back.
Troy tosses me a bottle of water, as none of us plan on drinking tonight. I unscrew the cap—thankful to have something to do with my hands—take a drink, and try not to stare while Cora dances.
I know I’m not the only one watching. Her friends are gorgeous, just like her, and they just make you want to be closer. I’ve never heard one of the guys talk shit about any of the women she’s friends with.
Before I can stare any longer, one of the basketball guys claps his hands, pointing to us. “Troy! Get over here, man. Bring the boys!” he shouts.
Troy grins, and just like that we’re being pulled toward the back room, swallowed by noise and bodies, the dance floor disappearing behind us.
I’minthekitchenwith Leo and Matty, plus some of the basketball team I’ve just met, arguing about something stupid—whether a hot dog counts as a sandwich—when I realize I’m laughing.
Not the tight, controlled version when I’m trying to blend in, but actually laughing.
Someone yells my name over the music. I turn to see Brinn standing next to Cora, waving the hand that’s not clutching her drink.
She’s got a red cup in one hand and a look in her eyes that says she’s definitely been drinking.
“Laaane Maxwell,” Brinn drawls, offering her cup like she want to cheers my water bottle. I indulge her and she takes a sip of the beer. Cora stands next to her and I swear her smile gets brighter with the way her friend drags my name out.
“That’s me,” I reply.
She points, pushing a finger in my chest. “You. Saving the day with Cora’sresearch.” The way she says the last word makes me believe she’s saying one thing but definitely means another.
Cora shakes her head, taking a drink of her beer.
“I heard she’s very happy with the results. Of the research.” She’s bringing the cup to her mouth again as Cora laughs, her cheeks pink.
“That’s… uhhh… good. Glad to hear it.” I fight back a small smile, but not before Brinn can clock it.
She playfully slaps my arm. “Oh my god! I’ve never seen you smile. It’s a miracle.”
One of the basketball players, Wes, comes over. “Brinn, don’t pinch his cheek or anything.” He jokes and Brinn puts her fingers up, like she’s actually going to grab my face.
Wes is younger—a sophomore, I think—and someone I met while lifting weights late at night. Apparently, his brother-in-law is about to be Brooks Pittman—NBA player for the New Jersey Jags. He divulged this when some of the football guys kept lurking.
Cora moves next to me, giving Wes room to be included. Her fingers brush my forearm when she settles in. My mind goes immediately somewhere it shouldn’t. To the way those same fingers curl into my shirt when we’re alone. To the way she looks at me in the dark when no one else exists.
I shake it off when I want to wrap my arms around her, pull her closer to me, get the fuck out of here and take her back to my place.
The four of us fall into easy conversation. The thing about the basketball team is that I like most of them. Most. Not all. I even see Leo out of my peripheral, giving me the thumbs up, probably because I’m socializing. Fuck, maybe he saw my almost-smile, too.
