She doesn’t seem worried, and I plan on taking advantage of every minute.
“If you were mine, I’d stick to you like glue.” I lean in close to block his dickhead friends from overhearing me. They’re too enthralled in the stock-market topic anyway. The last thing I need is to get into a damn fight my first week on the team.
“When I was, you did. Remember when we went to Brax’s cousin’s party?” She’s already laughing, remembering how the five of us showed up at a party in the next town over. The guys kept hitting on Kedsey and Ella the entire night. Finally, Noah and I sat them on a couch, and we stood in front of them like bodyguards to celebrities. “You both were way overly protective.”
“Still am. Well, I am.”
The conversation is about to take a plunge when she places her hand on my arm.
“Don’t. Just remember him for him.” Her lips turn soft, giving me the same feeling as a safety blanket did when I was a kid. Security.
I nod and sneak a hefty gulp of her drink. “I think about him all the time, both of them,” I admit.
“Me, too. Sometimes, when I’m with Jen”—she looks over to her roommate, who is practically having sex with Saucey against the wall, and then eyes me with a look that says, Can you honestly believe they are doing that here?—“I think, What if Kedsey and I were in college together? What would it be like to go to games to watch you and Noah play? I wonder how different the future would have been…” This time, she trails off, showing this grief thing still isn’t easy, even when you have all your shit handled.
“Not that we’d be together. We were all separating for college anyway.” She shrugs.
The hurt I originally damaged her with when I accepted the Vanderbilt scholarship is present. We broke up over it for a whole half of a day before I convinced her that our future was very much intact.
“Hey now”—I take my finger and place it under her chin to bring her eyes to me. Damn Liam’s friends and their prying eyes—“none of that matters now. We’re together.”
Her lips twitch to argue my sentence.
“At least at the same college.”
Our eyes lock, and it’s clear her resolve is waning. For the first time since I returned, she’s showing signs that the past isn’t fully healed with a new layer of skin grown over the wound. She’s moved on, and she hides it well, but there’s a big sore under the Band-Aid.
“Time for a shot.” I quickly change the topic so as not to turn our short time together into a boohoo party. Plus, Drunk Ella is usually fun, and I’m not wasting my opportunity.
I pour us each a shot of raspberry vodka and slide the glass over to her. “One, two—”
“Three!” She downs her shot and slams the glass on the counter. “Another?” A glimmer shines in her eyes, signaling that the old Ella—the fun Ella, the carefree Ella—is still very much alive inside her.
I pour another but switch it to Jäger. She frowns, but her fingers grip the glass nonetheless.
“I’ll count,” she demands.
“Be my guest.” I hold the shot glass, waiting for her cue.
“One…two…two and a half…” Her head falls back as she begins laughing uncontrollably. “Three.” Her head tips back, and she downs her shot without a grimace.
“Man, have you been practicing?”
She grabs the bottle and starts filling the glasses again. I cover mine with my hand, but she pours anyway. Alcohol drips down my fingers and onto the counter.
“Don’t be a pussy.”
“Pussy? It’s early in the night to start going there,” I argue.
She places her hand on her hip, jutting it out for emphasis. If she were mine, I’d prop her up onto this counter and show her the man I am.
“One more, but then I have to be done. I have a full day tomorrow,” I say.
She wiggles her whole body while her eyes circle around. “Turning the tables on me, Mr. Serious Third Base?” Her last word slurs slightly, signaling that she hasn’t been practicing. If a vodka and 7Up along with two shots get her a little loopy, this isn’t going to be a good night.
“Go!” she screams.
And we down another shot. This time, I turn my shot glass over, prohibiting her from refilling it.
“Pussy.” She grabs the bottle, and I swipe it out of her hand.