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A man steps out in front of us, blocking our path to the back door. He’s wearing only black biker shorts and tall Nike socks with green stripes on them, and he’s carrying a plastic tray that looks like it was swiped from the food court at the mall. On it, are half a dozen orange Solo cups.
“Drinks, my ladies,” he says, giving us each a cup. “No one suffers without a drink at my party.” He winks and then he’s gone.
I peer into the glass and smell the golden liquid.
“It’s just Bud Light,” Ciara says, tossing her head back and gulping. “Shit is gross, so down it fast.”
I do as she says, draining my cup in a few seconds. My stomach clenches with revulsio
n, but I swallow down the last sip and smile. “Where’s that boy toy of yours?” I ask, already feeling more confident as if a cup of low-calorie beer has magically metabolized in my system already. “I’m ready to watch some of Texas’ finest beer pong.”
“Why is that, doll?” a voice says into my ear. “Are you looking to join the competition?”
I turn, completely aware that his sudden appearance and seductive whispering in my ear hadn’t scared the crap out of me. Maybe the beer has done its job this quickly after all. Or maybe, this is what I was hoping for all along—the chance to flirt with a warm body, not caring who he is or if he likes me back.
He’s tall and smirky, in that jock kind of way that Nate always had about him. He’s too pale but makes up for it with a chest and arms with so much definition I kind of want to reach out and run a hand across his pecs. His SHSU shirt clings tightly to his body, and he’s wearing black sweatpants.
“Finally, someone dressed for the cold-ass weather,” I say, inwardly cringing when I realize the first words out of my mouth were a dumb joke.
“I’m David.” He shifts the two unopened beer cans to one hand and holds out the other for me to shake.
“Isla,” I say, peering up into his eyes with my best flirty impression. “Are one of those beers for me?” I ask, pouty face in full effect.
His eyes crinkle, and he pops the top. A sprinkle of freckles dot his cheeks and makes him look a little boyish, despite the smell of alcohol on his breath. His hand slides over mine, as he holds my orange cup steady and pours the entire can into it. Then he crushes it in his fist and tosses it over our heads. I glance back and see it bounce on the rim of a blue plastic recycle bin, then fall inside.
“So what brought you to KTD’s championship party?” he asks, licking his bottom lip before taking a sip of his beer. “Or should I say who?”
“My friend,” I say, turning to where Ciara had been standing just a second ago. “She’s probably off filling the position of Trey’s number one cheerleader.”
David nods, and then his eyes light up. “The high school chick?”
The way he says it, like her being still in high school is some kind of elite status should probably make me wary. But I have that same elite status, too, and for once I want to be the desirable one. “Yep. That’s her. We go to Granite Hills High together.”
“Really,” he drawls, leaning his shoulder against the wall, his college-aged eyes raking up and down my body. “I went to Granite Hills. The girls weren’t as pretty back then.”
I take a long drink from my cup. “You’re gonna have to come up with something better than that, David.” I gesture toward the people in the living room. “I mean, maybe one of those idiot girls would fall for a line that cheesy, but I won’t.”
“Ahh,” he says, chuckling. “You’re hard to get. I like that.”
“Making observations of my personality also won’t win me over,” I say. This is fun. Maybe he’s just screwing around with me, but for once in my life I feel like the cat dangling a piece of cheese in front of a mouse, instead of the pathetic girl who is desperate for attention. And David seems to like it this way. Looks like I did learn something from Emory after all.
His feet shuffle forward, bringing us so close I can smell the alcohol on his breath. “How about this. Play me in a game of beer pong. If I win, you go on a date with me next Friday. If I lose …” His lips slide to the side of his mouth, and he glances around, his eyes lost in concentration. “If I lose, you pick any guy you want in this party, and I’ll set you up with him.”
“Sounds like an easy bet for you,” I say, tracing my finger over the letters in the center of his shirt. “It’s like you know I’ll lose and be stuck going on a date with you.”
“We could do another bet if you’d like?”
I let my finger trail down his shirt and then I take another sip of liquid courage. “No, let’s play. I like my terrible odds.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I lost the game of beer pong.
It was the first time I’d ever played it, but my intuition was fairly confident that tossing incredibly lightweight ping pong balls into cups of beer was the kind of talent I didn’t possess, and no amount of practice would ever make me a respectable player. Fine with me, I won in the end. I won the cute college guy as my date on Friday night.
This time, it feels like the real deal, like biting on a gold coin and there’s no chocolate inside. Emory was merely a foil-covered piece of candy, masquerading as a date. My forthcoming night with David won’t leave me reeling in an ocean of useless feelings because this time, my date actually likes me, and although he’s not really my type, I can’t seem to make myself care.
When Emory hands me a fresh cup of coffee from the coffee cart on Monday morning, I’m feeling particularly ballsy, especially since this is the first time we’ve spoken since his stupid apology text last Friday. It’s visceral, the urge to let him know I’m okay and that I’m no longer crushing on him. I can’t just wait around hoping he’ll ask how my weekend went, or ask if I have any plans this weekend because I know he won’t. We don’t really talk at all anymore.
