One date, sometimes less, and he convinces himself that it’ll never work. She has a pet goldfish and those freak him out, or she’s a flight attendant for an airline he doesn’t like. One time he stopped texting a girl because she had the audacity to wear white pants after Labor Day. And he is not the picture of fashion. He wears socks with his sandals. He’s not allowed to judge anyone.
“I should let you go,” he says. “And you should change into something far more revealing, call Josie, and then go to that party.”
“Tempting,” I muse.
“I’m texting her now. Better think up a really good excuse or hide.”
“How do you even have her number?”
“We exchanged after your accident last year. In case of emergency.” He says it all so casually. Funny how a few near-death experiences can make a person so blasé about it all.
Elias and I have the same heart condition. That’s actually how we met. I was scrolling YouTube one day and stumbled upon a video where he was talking about the condition and how it impacts his training. It seemed like fate to see another figure skater my age dealing with it. I reached out, we started messaging back and forth, and now he’s stuck with me for life.
My phone pings with an incoming text.
“That was fast,” I say as I read the message from Josie. OMG. I’m jumping in the shower. I’ll be ready in thirty minutes.
“I knew I could count on Josie.”
“I don’t think this is a good idea. I told him no and basically implied that he was a slut. Won’t I look like a bitch showing up now?”
“Please. If you show up looking hot, he’s not going to remember anything you’ve ever said or done.”
“I have too much going on right now.” It’s a last-ditch, bullshit excuse and he knows it. Of course, he calls me on it.
“You need to get laid,” he says loudly.
I duck my head in embarrassment, even though no one can hear him, thanks to my ear pods. He’s not wrong though. “Fine, but if this ends badly, I’m blaming you.”
“I can take it. Call me tomorrow or later tonight if you’re doing the walk of shame.” He makes an X over the left side of his chest.
I do the same and then flip him off for good measure.
Oh, crap. What have I gotten myself into?
7
Rhett
“Ha ha, very funny,” I say when I see the mysterious gift left on my bed—a shopping bag filled with three different brands of energy drinks, condoms, and a box of Kleenex.
“What are the tissues for?” I ask, bringing the entire bag out into the hallway. Music blasts through our apartment as we get ready to go out. There are two bathrooms in this place, but the guys are all crowded into one fighting over the mirror.
“Those are for the girls you make cry,” Heath says. Mav elbows him, and Heath rubs his arm as he adds, “I mean, that’s what I assume.”
“Please, I know this was all you two.” I hold up the box of glow-in-the-dark condoms.
Mav cackles. “Those are fun. Makes your dick look like a lightsaber.”
Adam meets my gaze in the mirror. “Maybe the glow will help keep you awake.”
“I hate all of you.” I take the bag back to my room and toss it all on the bed except the largest energy drink.
“That Carrie blowing up your phone earlier?” Adam calls across the hallway.
“Yeah.”
“Everything good?” I know he’s terrified I’m going to get back with her. Adam never liked Carrie. The feeling was mutual, actually. Carrie didn’t really get along with any of my teammates.
“All good.” I don’t know if I manage to sound like I don’t care, but that’s the vibe I’m going with tonight. I don’t give a fuck. About any of it. Not that my ex won’t stop fucking calling or that every time I try to move on with someone else, it blows up spectacularly.
“Last night to get stupid,” Adam says when we’re all finally ready to go. “Tomorrow it’s time to go to work.”
“Hell yeah,” we agree.
We get to the basketball house, known on campus as The White House, and within the hour, I’m already too drunk to walk a straight line. Last night to get stupid? Challenge accepted. I have finally reached the point of not caring about the disaster that is my dating life.
Here’s a free party tip for you. If you want to have a good time at a party (or anywhere, really), stick with Maverick. He knows everyone, drinks like a damn fish, and nothing gets in his way of having fun.
We’ve been teammates for two years now, but we’ve only hung out just the two of us a few times and never like this where I’m ready to match him drink for drink. The longer we hang, and the drunker I get, the more I think how ridiculous I’ve been stressing over everything. Mav is single, and he’s always happy. I don’t know why I let my breakup drama get in the way of having fun for so long. But no more.
We’re talking to a group of girls who immediately ghost us when some frat dudes arrive with a cooler of Jell-O shots. Mav doesn’t seem fazed in the least.
“Who needs girls?!” I shout and raise my drink.
“Easy there, let’s not talk crazy.” Mav pushes my hand down.
“I’m jealous, man,” I tell him. “Nothing gets to you. You’re always the life of the party. I don’t know how to do it,” I admit. “I was a couple for so long. Now everything out of my mouth is a disaster. I fell asleep during a blow job.”
He laughs and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Yeah, also add that to the vault. Take another drink and forget it happened.”
“She didn’t want to go out with me because she thinks I’m a player.” I laugh, a little slurred. “It’s kind of funny, really.”
“Who didn’t want to go out with you?”
“Sienna. I asked her out.” I managed to keep that to myself all day, but the liquor has loosened my lips.
“Well, what’d you say? What’d she say?”
“I asked her to hang out tonight, and she told me I wasn’t her type.”
“Ouch.” He unscrews the cap on the Mad Dog 20/20 and hands it over.
“Yep.” I tip back the bottle. I care a lot less than I did two hours ago. The truth is, maybe she isn’t my type. Or maybe I don’t have a type. She seems different than Carrie, and that’s all I have to go by.
“Sienna’s rad. I could see you two together but stop overthinking it. If it happens, it happens. If not.” He shrugs.
“That’s the most Maverick thing you’ve ever said.” I mock his shrug, exaggerating it in my drunken state. “Whatever happens. If it’s meant to be, it’ll be. If not, I’ll just bless the women of Valley with my six-pack and beer drinking skills.”
He grins. His shirt is still on, but the night is young. “Now you’ve got it. Come on, let’s get you on the dance floor.”
I start to protest. I don’t dance, but fuck it. Tonight I do. Not well, but whatever. Maverick moves straight to the middle, where a group of girls shakes their asses in rhythm to the music. They swallow him up, and… yep, there goes his shirt.