Page 139 of Under the Influence

His eyes light up, his bright smile tugging at my heart. “I like your costume. There’s no crying in baseball,” he jokes.

I think about how I wish I would’ve dressed as Mary Jane but shrug it off, flirting back when I know I shouldn’t.

“Absolutely no crying,” I laugh.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asks, throwing his thumb over his shoulder toward the kitchen.

“Sure,” I smile.

Madden starts playing acoustic guitar, and when his voice cuts through the room, everyone looks a little shocked that he sings so well. The ballad is emotional, and Avery watches him intently from the second-floor balcony in a dress made of white feathers, with a matching halo, of course. With the way he looks at her, anyone in this room can tell there is something there. Suddenly, the lyrics in this song make sense now. He wrote it about her.

“Here ya go,” Carson grins, thrusting a drink in my direction.

“Thank you,” I smile.

“No, thank you,” he sighs. “It was nice of you to convince Madden to play tonight. Especially since the DJ dropped out last minute.”

“Yeah, of course.”

His eyes shift to Avery, and I stare as he watches her watch Madden.

“Guess those weren’t rumors,” he states.

“Guess not.”

“The model and the rockstar,” he shakes his head in disbelief. “It’s basically the main plotline in every single early 2000’s movie ever made, I should’ve known.”

I take a sip of my drink, choosing to ignore him. It’s almost like he’s hurt by it or even jealous. Does he still want her? I shake the thought because it doesn’t matter. We’re just friends.

“I’ll be back in a few. I need to make sure the guys haven’t broken anything in the kitchen.”

I offer him a reassuring smile and turn to walk toward the bathroom.

Jovie stands in my way, blocking the entrance with her hip popped out and her arms crossed over her red bralette.

“What do you want, Satan?” I laugh. “Great costume, by the way. It’s like you’re not even wearing one.”

“Why are you even here?”

“I was invited,” I snap. “Now move so I can pee.”

“By Carson, right?” she laughs.

I don’t bother answering her, annoyed as hell at this point.

“It’s funny how he feels sorry for you. A pity invite. It’s sad, really.”

She pulls her phone from the pocket of her black leather miniskirt, showing me Carson’s Instagram story. His lips against Avery’s cheek.

“That’s who he belongs with,” she spits. “You’re crazy if you think you stand a chance, and as far as Nash is concerned, he told me all about Chicago. He told me every pathetic thing you said to him.”

I feel the tears puddle in the bottom of my eyes and push Jovie’s tiny body out of my way. Slamming the door, I lock it and sob in front of the mirror. My hands shake as I unroll toilet paper to make sure I catch the mascara. Collecting myself, I let out a huff of air. I don’t know which part of what she said hurts the most. Maybe it’s the realization that I like them both. A realization I’ve been avoiding since the day I saw Nash storm from the cafeteria and Carson stare at me through the window. The problem here is that I don’t think I can choose between them. I don’t want to. I want them both in my life.

Despite feeling like I want to crawl under a rock, I leave the bathroom with my head held high. I refuse to let Jovie know that her words got to me. Giving her that satisfaction just isn’t happening.

I don’t feel like I was in the bathroom long, but when I come out, the entire atmosphere has changed. Whispers basically echo through the house, and I feel like everyone’s eyes are on me.

A familiar feeling that I hate.