I’m posted on the arm of an old couch, nursing a Red Bull. Erik is mid-story, being dramatic and gesturing with his hands like he does when he’s upset or passionate about something.
“She walks right past me every time we cross paths, like I’m invisible. Not even a pity nod or wave. Not like we shared our entire childhood together or anything,” Erik says, running a hand through his hair. “I’m starting to think this is my punishment for screwing up the only good thing I everhad.”
I snatch the football from Mason and toss it at Erik. “Probably is.”
Erik catches it and laughs, but there’s a flicker of something else behind it, a little bit of real hurt. “Yeah. Probably.”
Mason reaches for his ball back, laughing. “Bro, you just gotta charm the girl and win her back.”
“Like you charm those referees into not flagging you?” Erik shoots back. “Truly, youdohave a gift.”
The music shifts, and guys keep spilling out the back door in packs, talking too loud, and slapping hands with each other like it’s some frat ritual. I tip my can back, just trying to enjoy my friends and not be annoyed by how annoying everyone else around is.
A girl sits too close beside me, constantly touching on my leg before finally getting up and sitting next to another guy after getting the cold shoulder from me for long enough.
Erik playfully narrows his eyes on me, and I know he’s about to say something dumb. “Alright, Mr. Chastity Belt, real question. When are you gonna actually start dating around here? You know, like…on purpose. So many girls shoot their shot and throw themselves at you, and you’re like”—he mimics a slow-motion volleyball set—“return to sender.”
I shrug. “I don’t know, not really a priority right now, I guess.”
“Translation, ‘I’m too cool, unbothered, and mysterious,’” he says in a fake-deep voice.
Mason grins. “He’s not mysterious. He’s just too picky.”
Erik points at me. “True. The only time I’ve seen his head turn is—what’s her name? Lydia?”
The name makes me want to react, but I keep my face neutral. “It’s not like that. I barely know her—”
Mason’s eyebrows jump up. “Lydia, as in Simone’s friend?”
“I think so,” Erik says. “Black hair, eyes that make you forget your name? The one who—”
“—the one who’s not your business,” I cut in. I don’t need her being talked about or dissected here withtheseguys.
Mason is still nodding. “Simone’s cool, people. Lydia’s always with her. She’s a sweet girl, keeps to herself a lot, though.”
A guy I don’t know well—tall, half-buttoned shirt, the kind of grin that looks sleazy—sidles in close enough, trying to insert himself into our conversation. “Why are you always bringing up that girl, Mase? She’s got a boyfriend. Let it go, my guy. You look love-sick when she’s around.”
Mason’s jaw ticks, but he keeps it even. “We’re just friends, Brett.”
“Uh-huh.” Brett takes a swig from his cup and then swivels toward me like he’s found fresh prey. “You said Lydia? Word to the wise, brother, don’t waste your time.”
Something goes cold in my chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She’s…you know.” He lifts his eyebrows like that’s a complete sentence, and then still decides to fill it in anyway. “Everybody knows her. Especially around here. You show up at the right house, and she’s probably already there. Fun night if you don’t get attached.” He turns his head. “Yo, Chase—”
Chase, who’s been standing behind him looking like he wants to be anywhere else, cuts his eyes away. “Don’t, man.”
Brett laughs. “Come on. Didn’t you tell me how good of a lay she was? That it was the best sex you’ve had? That you would have married that girl just for the pussy—”
“Drop it,” Chase repeats, sharper this time.
I put my can down slowly. “Don’t talk about her like that,” I say calmly but not soft, not wanting him to get the idea that I’ll just let him talk about her like that.
Brett raises both hands, like he’s all innocent. “Just tryna help a brother out.”
“Help by keeping her name out of your mouth,” I tell him.
He snorts. “Relax, Pope Sebastian. I’m saying she’d probably let you hit, that’s all. Buy her a drink, find a room—”
