Page 25 of Striking Range

“Evie here plans on drinking at the bar tonight,” Skylar interjects, thankfully changing the subject before Kelly can actually put hands on Henry.

“Really?! Me too!” She’s excited again, leaning forward over the table.

I smile at her.

“Count me out—I have a quiz tomorrow,” Henry grumbles.

Kelly scoffs. “Loser. But I guess not all of us can be super geniuses like Sky. Speaking of, did you two enjoy your alone time last night?”

She wiggles her brows as I inhale my Sprite down the wrong pipe.

Does she mean the bathroom? Or is it obvious just by looking at us that we… touched once everyone had left?

“Sure did,” Skylar answers, quick and nonchalant.

My head whips in his direction, suddenly very interested in his thoughts on the matter. He did?

But then, because he’s set on crushing all of my worst fantasies, he adds, “We arm wrestled, and I won. Twice. Obviously.”

“Damn. You’re weak, Everett,” Henry snickers.

Right. Of course. Obviously Skylar isn’t going to go around telling people we made out. And he probably didn’t enjoy it; he clearly isn’t affected by or concerned with the situation, even if it was his first makeout session.

Actually—what the fuck? Why isn’t he more concerned? Was he really that repulsed? Unimpressed? Did my drunk ass just imagine all of his neediness, his desperate hands?

Is it because I’m a guy?

“He’s not lying,” I interject, suddenly extremely annoyed. “He had me pinned.”

It’s Skylar’s turn to choke on his drink, most likely being bombarded with the memory of his hips pinning mine to his bed as he demanded more of my praise. As he fell apart under my wandering mouth.

“You’ve always been pretty tough, Sky,” Henry compliments, digging into his burger as soon as the plate hits the table.

As Jenny retreats, I can feel Skylar’s eyes on me.

“Yeah,” he says, but he sounds far away. “You know me. Tough.”

Chapter Seven

Everett Young

The bar is loud and full despite it being a Sunday. The only slow days that Seabird truly has are Monday through Wednesday—Thursday is karaoke, and Friday through Sunday are considered the weekend.

Everyone wants to party on the weekend. Especially when Sinclair Public College is right around the corner, and all its students have very few options when it comes to hang-out spots.

Kelly and I navigate the crowd, taking our usual seats at the bar as Skylar makes Kelly her favorite cocktail and grabs me a beer.

He’s wearing his work uniform: a pair of black jeans that are too flattering for my taste and a gray shirt with the Seabird logo on it. His curls are perfectly disorganized and disheveled—the epitome of a beautiful, spritely bartender.

Loud, warm laughter rises above the rest of the noise in the bar, and our attention is drawn to the back corner. I recognize a lot of the people in that group; they’re in my department. Ash’s voice is ringing in my ear, reminding me to make new friends.

Appropriate ones.

But I have very limited desire to walk away from Kelly or Skylar; I’m quite comfortable where I am. Maybe another time.

“Here.” Skylar sets our drinks down on the bar.

He has a rag thrown carelessly over his shoulder now, sweat lining his forehead from the packed room and running from corner to corner of the bar top. He’s only been on the clock for an hour, but it’s been busy since he arrived.