my coach.
Liv: It’s up to you, but he’s not going to care. You guys get along. He knows we’re friends.
Me: Yeah, but I don’t want him to think I’m being opportunistic.
Liv: You ARE being opportunistic ;)
Liv: And a little crazy.
Me: What time?
Liv: 7
Me: When do I need to RSVP?
Liv: Waiting to see if you get a better offer?
Me: You know me too well.
Liv: I’m flipping you off. You can’t see it, but I am.
Liv: Let me know by 3 so I can give them a heads up. Whitney hates surprises and it overwhelms her if people come when she’s not expecting them. Hostess rules and shit.
Me: Your dad doesn’t own a shotgun, does he?
Liv: He’s not going to shoot you.
I debate if I chance to go a day without seeing Liv and what that might look like—if it would be testing the theory of my luck versus my outlook.
Me: All right. I’m in.
Liv: Don’t make me twist your leg, ball sack.
Me: Ball sack?
Liv: Rose and I decided pussy is now the term for being tough and ball sack is the term for weak. I mean, it’s accurate. A guy barely hits his nuts and falls over, meanwhile, women are having babies every minute of every day, and I don’t think I have to tell you where they’re coming out of.
I laugh so hard I can’t finish the text and have to go back and read it a second time.
Me: I can’t picture you ever saying the word pussy.
Liv: That’s probably a good thing.
Me: I’ll be there. I’ll swing by and pick you guys up at 6:30.
Liv: Way to pussy up.
A new wave of laughter hits me as I get ready for bed.
I settle into my sheets, grabbing my headphones and turn my internet radio to a comedy channel and try not to think about Coach Harris’s reaction when I walk into his wife’s family birthday party.
It’s still dark when I roll over, reluctant to wake up from the dream I’m having and my comfortable spot. I garble out a threat to Paxton and Lincoln because Caleb isn’t the kind of douchebag who sprays water in the middle of the night. When the water doesn’t stop, and there’s no chuckle or shuffling of feet, I struggle to open my eyes and turn on the light. My room is empty, and the right side of my bed and half my pillow are soaked. A huge yellow stain is above my bed, a constant drip falling from a crack in the ceiling.
“Son of a bitch,” I groan, pushing my short hair back. My phone shines the time: three thirty-two a.m.
I grab my comforter and phone and leave them in the living room before grabbing a large stockpot and setting it on my bed to catch the drips. Then, I go to sleep on the couch. It’s too short, and the cushions sag at my shoulders. I grab an extra pillow and shove it under my knee and close my eyes, trying to think of what I was dreaming about before the water had started to drip on my face. Why was I so unwilling to wake up?
Then the image of Olivia in my bed wearing nothing flashes back, her dark hair fanned across my pillow, and the same underwear I’d seen her wearing at the ER clumsily forgotten on my bedroom floor.
Oh, shit. How am I going to make it through dinner tomorrow?
27
Olivia
“What do you think your dad’s going to say?” Rose asks as she leans in the doorway of my bathroom, watching me put on my mascara.
“About what?”
“About you bringing Arlo.”
I scoff. “Nothing. Why would he care? He’ll probably be happy to have someone to talk football with.”
“Are we really not going to talk about this?”
“Talk about what?”
“He’s going to think you’re boning him.”
The mascara wand slips, brushing my eyelid. I swear, reaching for a square of toilet paper to wipe it clear. “I told him I was bringing two friends.”
“You didn’t tell him one is his injured starting running back?”
“I also didn’t tell him one is my best friend and roommate who hasn’t invited any male visitors over in a week, which might mark a new record for this year.” I give her a pointed look.
“Funny you should mention that because I have a guy coming over tonight.”
“Ian?”
I catch her smile fall before she dips to grab Juliet. She buries her lips into the fur between her ears. “Nope.”
“Disgruntled nope or disappointed nope?”
The doorbell rings before she can answer, and she