I smile at today’s champ, my heart expanding in response to his thoughtfulness, and settle in, hoping like hell this movie can hold my attention.
For the next thirty minutes, no one speaks. It’s one of the things I love most about the Eleven. In such a fast-paced, loud, relentless world, we’ve curated a ritual where we can all just be. I’m safe here, among my friends. I don’t have to worry about how they perceive me or expend loads of energy trying to fit in. Our little group is a refuge I’ve only ever experienced with one other person.
A loud knock on the door interrupts the quiet that’s settled over us.
Grumbling, Saint pauses the movie. “Who’s missing?”
“No one. The gang’s all here,” Kenji confirms, stealing one of his best friend’s Coco Crunchies when he’s not looking.
Groaning, Shelby hauls herself up from the floor and heads for the door. Saint hops up to follow.
The room remains quiet, even as people stand to stretch or take a bathroom break.
“Yo. Evan,” Saint calls from the door. “It’s for you.”
I sit up like a shot, panic washing over me.
“What do you mean it’s for me?” I holler back. The only person who might even know I’m here is Luca, and there’s no fucking way I can face him again tonight.
Saint appears, eyes wide. “Luca’s dad is here to see you, I guess?”
Mortification rolls through me.
“You mean Alaric Steele, team principal of Granata, is at the door late on a Sunday night?” Ren exchanges a look with Kenji, then homes in on me.
There’s no plausible reason for Alaric to show up like this. His drivers aren’t here. Luca isn’t here either. Even if he is my boss, it’s late, and I’m off the clock.
Everyone’s sitting up now, pretending not to look at me.
The scrutiny is more uncomfortable than it would be if I were being directly perceived.
My hearing goes a bit fuzzy and my stomach rolls. I’m exhausted and overwhelmed; I don’t know how I’ll face the man at the door.
I’m considering begging Mia to intervene and send him away when he rounds the corner, looking disheveled but still so devastatingly handsome.
“Hi, all,” he greets with an awkward wave.
The room buzzes, yet it’s whisper quiet as he scans the familiar faces.
“Do you do this every weekend?” he asks, no doubt trying to make conversation.
When no one responds, he continues his search. Finally, he finds me, and when we lock eyes, my stomach whooshes, the sensation as nauseating as it is hopeful.
“Evangeline. Could I speak to you in private, please?”
Mia hisses between her teeth. “Damn, Ev.”
I stand and shoot her a glare. I may as well get this over with. Prince doesn’t even wait for me to cross the room before he’s reclaimed the seat at Mia’s side.
I carefully traverse the bodies of my friends sprawled around the room, avoiding eye contact once again. I don’t even look at Alaric as I walk past him.
“Don’t wait on me,” I tell Saint, who’s still hovering in the entryway, remote in hand.
Shelby steps into the doorway, stopping me with a questioning look.
“I’m fine.” I’m not, but I don’t want to make this into a bigger deal than it already is, and I don’t need the added pressure of my friends’ opinions right now.
“Follow me,” I tell Alaric as Shelby steps aside and I shuffle into the hall.
