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We finish our drinks quickly, and I rinse the glasses, leaving them in the sink before grabbing my bag and stuffing my phone and some cash inside. Maisie follows behind me, tossing me my keys before we head downstairs.
Harlow waits outside the dorm for us, dressed in a pair of high-waisted black jeans and a loose-fitting sparkly crop with spaghetti straps that hang off her shoulders. Her hair is styled into waves, and her makeup painted to perfection.
Instead of letting the jealousy that threatens to overwhelm me take hold, I pull in a deep breath, making it my mission to give the girl a chance. She’s done nothing wrong, and no matter what her relationship is with Maverick, it is none of my business . . . no matter how much my heart wants to convince me otherwise.
She sidles up beside us when we make it to the curb, smiling, and I force my mouth to tip up as she says hello.
“You guys have no idea how much I need a girls’ night,” she says, pushing her phone into her bag and throwing it over her shoulder. A light breeze passes over us, my hair whipping across my face.
The Uber rolls up before I can make good on my promise to try with Harlow, and Maisie shuffles me inside, taking the middle seat and rattling off the restaurant name to the driver.
By the time we sit down to dinner, the glass of wine from my dorm has started working its way through me, and I easily join in the conversation.
“So you don’t really hang out with the girls from the team?” I ask Harlow, my finger running over the rim of my glass—a Coke with vodka added in from a flask Maisie made appear from her cleavage. “I always thought you cheer girls were meant to be cliquey.”
Harlow laughs, not in the slightest offended at the bitterness that lingers in my question. “Not really. I mean, some of the girls are, I guess.” She shrugs, wrinkling her nose. “But I’ve never been into that. I love the sport, but the politics and drama that sometimes comes along isn’t something I’m interested in.”
“So much drama,” I echo, clinking my glass to hers when she waves it in my direction, a uh-huh look on her face.
“I’m guessing you experienced it a lot being around Nash and Mav back in high school.”
“Yeah.” I laugh dryly, shaking my head. “Those girls were like vultures. Nash dated one of them most of his junior year, and Willow and I could barely get a look in when she was around. Her and her friends would literally bowl us out of the way to get to the boys.”
“Wait, is this the girl Willow fought?” Maisie asks, leaning forward with wide eyes.
“Yeah.” I laugh, images from that day flashing in my mind. “We’d been to a football game, and as we did every time, we were waiting outside for the boys to come find us when HBIC basically pounced on Willow. She told her that the boys would never be interested in a nerd like her, and that she needed to back off or she’d do something about it.”
“But Mav is her brother.” Harlow gapes, a bemused expression on her face.
“Yup. And of course Willow was always super sweet and took every insult lying down, but this one time, something just snapped in her and she flew at the girl. Thankfully Mav came out at the right time and pulled her away, but she took a nice solid chunk of hair with her, so it was a win.”
“She sounds cool. I’d love to meet her,” Maisie says in awe, and my joy is genuine when I turn to her.
“You two would get on really well. If you ever get the chance, I just know you’ll become fast friends. She’s funny, super intoStar Warsso you can geek out together, and genuinely one of the nicest people you could ever meet.”
Harlow takes over the conversation then, telling us about the few times she’s met Willow when she’s made the trip to campus to visit Maverick on her breaks. Maisie looks at me, mouthing,you okay?
Nodding, I take a sip of my drink, listening intently.
The usual waves of melancholy I feel talking about my life before are nowhere to be found, and I have to wonder if this is another step to healing the many pieces of me that were once left shattered on the ground.
A few hours later, with our stomachs full, we find ourselves nestled into a booth at a club a couple miles away from campus. Somehow, despite her only being eighteen, Maisie booked us a VIP booth with a free bottle of liquor and a nice spot tucked away from the madness out on the dance floor.
When I ask her how, she taps her nose, winking at me. “I can’t tell you all my secrets, can I? Gotta keep some things to myself. But we can drink and dance.” She looks at me, worrying her bottom lip as she raises a brow, which only makes me laugh, though I appreciate her thinking of me. “Only if you want to, otherwise we’ll sit here and do some finger dancing while we drink our body weight in alcohol before crawling home.”
“There best be no crawling,” Harlow says, a burp escaping her as she comes up for air from her glass. “I did that once, and can I just tell you, concrete burns? Not the one.”
“Okay, there’s a story there, so now you have to tell us,” Maisie says, laughter following, and for the next few hours, we alternate between finger dancing at the table and talking about anything and everything, and it’s nice. Perfect even. Something I’ve needed for a long time, without even realizing.
And when the girls ask about dancing somewhere other than the table, I find the courage to stand up and follow them to an empty spot on the large dance floor. A couple guys swarm around us, but Maisie makes it clear we’re a no-go zone, and thankfully they stay away, leaving me in this small bubble of happiness.
Maverick
“We’re going out,” Nash calls over the sound of the shower. His head pops around the bathroom door, his eyes firmly on my face and not dick—thankfully, considering I haven’t been able to rid Beatrice from my thoughts since the hallway, and the fucker has been standing to attention since.
Really, it’s my fault. Since she left me alone in her dorm last weekend, I haven’t been able to push her out of my head. Not the sight of her in only an oversized tee, or the smile she directed at me, or the way she told me I’d be phenomenal in bed . . . something my body wants to prove.
At first, I was annoyed at myself—annoyed that the anger I’ve spent two years holding onto has disappeared in a matter of months—but as the week has progressed, I can’t stop wondering why I’ve been so angry at her.
