Page 73 of On His Team

That only makes him laugh harder.

And because I have apparently lost control of every useful part of my personality, I start laughing too.

Chapter 8

ROWAN

I get up for lift Wednesday morning, regretting going at all last night. Mara apparently believes every song is the last good song that will ever be played in public, so leaving Drew’s birthday took significantly longer than Gianna’s original promise of one hour.

By the time I got back to Hawthorne, showered, and actually fell asleep, I had less than six hours before my alarm. I need eight minimum. Stanley claims that makes me elderly, but I love my sleep. I can’t help it.

I’m sitting on the bench in front of my locker trying to convince my legs that squats are a reasonable thing to do when my phone buzzes beside me.

Gianna: Mara slept at my place and puked at like 4am.

Another comes in.

Gianna: She says she’s never drinking again.

Gianna: I’m giving her until Friday.

I smile at my phone.

Me: Dinner or alcohol?

The typing bubble appears immediately.

Gianna: She is blaming dinner.

Gianna: The dinner was French fries.

Me: Definitely the fries.

Gianna: Thank you for coming last night btw.

I look at that one for a second.

Me: Yeah.

Drew drops onto the bench beside me before I can put the phone away.

He follows my eyes. “Who do you text?”

“No one.”

I lock my phone.

Theo walks past behind him and starts laughing before Drew says anything else.

I look between them. “What?”

Drew gets up and does an exaggerated version of Gianna shoving me in the kitchen last night.

Theo points. “That.”

I’m unbothered as I watch them.

“I can’t believe you came to my birthday,” Drew says. “The rest of Hawthorne couldn’t make it?”