1
noah
Maverick is on aux.The early 2000’s rap playlist going is a dead giveaway.
“Top me off, King.”
I bite down on my red solo cup, holding it between my teeth and unscrew the bottle of Grey Goose.
“Enjoy yourselves, boys.” I smile, filling up the cups of two of our defensemen with a solid three-finger pour. “Come Monday, it’s all work—no more play.”
“We’re winning it all this year!” Their shouts ring out behind me as I squeeze my way out of the kitchen.
A round of flip-cup takes up most of the dining room, body shots are being slurped up on the pool table, and a Delta Gamma dry-humps one of my teammate’s legs like a bichon frise. I make uncomfortable eye contact with Gabe, lift my drink to him, and continue shuffling my way through the sea of bodies.
“There he is.” Maverick lifts both arms in the air, one hand holding a neon pink pong ball, the other holding the empty plastic cup he just downed the contents of. “Come on, Kingy boy, show everyone here why you play hockey and not basketball.”
Maverick Hall is the only guy on our team who could make me look small. He stands at six-foot-four, bleach blond buzz cut, shiny blue eyes, and he’s grinning ear to fucking ear.
Asshole.
I snatch the ball from his fingers. Without even looking across the table, and in one smooth motion, I flick it from behind my back. The uproar of cheers behind me let me know I sunk it, but I don’t take my eyes off my best friend.
“Lucky shot.” He smirks, lifting his hand to show off the other ball that he had tucked away in his large palm. With his eyes on me, he flicks it effortlessly off the wall behind him. The neon pink ball bounces off the wall and soars across the table. It circles the blue cup once, twice, and then finally falls in. I give him a high-five, and before I can stop it, he pulls me under his arm.
“Speaking oflucky,” he says, pointing across the living room.
I scan the bodies but stop when I spot a leggy blonde in a tight skirt stalking through the crowd with eyes on me.
“Ahh, piss.” I take a full gulp of my drink.
“What’s wrong? Isn’t that Miss. Put it in My Ass?” He’s referring to the one and only night she and I hooked up in my room and she screamed like a fucking banshee, ensuring everyone in the house, and probably all of Linden Creek, heard her.
“Jesus.” I drag a rough palm down my face, looking anywhere but in her direction. “She’s also a stalker.”
“What?!” He can’t control his burst of laughter.
“She texted me almost every day, and when I finally stopped responding, she just showed up at the house. Silas and I were out floating on the lake, having some beers, and she showed up in nothing but her bikini bottoms.”
“Sounds like a good time.” He smiles at me. “Hazel!”
“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” I finish my drinkand shove the empty cup at him, crushing it against his chest. “Have fun with her.” I smile and drop the back of my fist to his crotch.
Maverick folds over cupping his bruised balls. I sneak past him into the room that was marketed as an oversized office. We have transformed it into our designated DJ room. Nine times out of ten, some music major who thinks he’s going to be a world-traveling DJ offers to play for us. Tonight the booth might be empty, but the room most certainly is not.
We have a strict ‘no parties at the house during the season’ rule, with the exception of the weekend back from winter break, and once more at the end of February for Silas’s birthday. I don’t know if it’s because of the time away, or because of how I’ve been throwing drinks back tonight, but all too quickly, I hit my noise limit. I pinch the bridge of my nose, close my eyes, and take a breath.
“Hey, Noah.” I don’t recognize the sensual voice and when I open my eyes, I don’t recognize the girl extending a shot glass to me either.
“Hey…” I trail off, pretending to search for her name knowing that it’s pointless.
“Charlie.” If she’s offended, she doesn’t show it.
I take the shot from her and although I shouldn’t, I throw it back anyway. “Thanks for the drink, Charlie.”
“We could maybe get another.” I’m not usually one to turn down a drink—or a good time—but I feel nothing as her finger begins to trail down my chest.
“Maybe later. I’ve got to…”What? Study? Find my friend?No excuses sounds believable. I’m not up for whatever she’s suggesting, and I just don’t care. I need some fresh air. “Take a shit.”
