AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What if it was Azalea?”
“What?” I ask, caught off guard.
“What if Azalea showed up at your door, begging to get fucked? Would you do it?”
Admittedly, the image sends some blood rushing south. Even so, I don’t like this conversation. “Can we—” I let out an irritated huff. “Can we not talk about her like that? She’s our friend, Grant.”
“I know,” he says, sobering up quickly, and I relax because he sounds sincerely apologetic. “And I know you don’t want to admit you’re hard up for her. But if you had the chance to get with her, are you really saying you wouldn’t do it just because of the slight chance it could impact your career? ’Cause I gotta say, man, that’s kind of sad.”
“I’d never give it up for a girl,” I say. “Not even Azalea.”
It feels wrong coming off the tongue, sounds even more ridiculous to my own ears. But I sit with the lie, let it permeate the air, because I’m not ready to face the truth. About anything. Not how I feel about Azalea, not the things happening with my family. Not my growing guilt over my plan to jet off to whichever random town some rich guy assigns me to this summer, leaving the people I love behind.
Is that still what I want?
Is that what Ishouldwant?
Suddenly, I’m glad that Grant dragged me out. Because I really need a beer.
Anhourlater,I’mstanding in a crowded, hot living room with a nice buzz going, watching a game of beer pong. Grant stands at the end of the table, hunches down, eyes his target. He launches the ball…and it sails over all the cups and bounces across the floor. A chorus of boos rain down on him as he groans. I watch as the blonde girl he’s been chatting up pats his back consolingly. He grins down at her, clearly really cut up about it.
“Maverick!” A familiar voice beside me cuts through the pulsing music, and I look down to see Callie standing there. She crosses her arms, looking put-out. “I’ve been texting you guys.”
“Oh, hey,” I say. “Sorry. How long have you been here?”
“Long enough for Azalea to get drunk.”
I stare at her. “You’re lying.”
“Swear to God.”
“Azalea who?” Grant breaks in, leaning toward us. His girl tucks herself further into his side, as if making sure he doesn’t go too far. “Azalea Medina?”
“No,” Callie drawls. “One of the other Azaleas we know.”
“Where is she?” I ask. “She shouldn’t be alone.”
Callie gestures for me to follow her. “This way.”
“I’ll catch up,” Grant tells me. A cheer rises up from the table as his opponent makes a perfect shot, and Grant groans before chugging the cup.
Callie and I wade toward the edge of the room, where some furniture has been pushed up against the wall. I spot Azalea sitting on a loveseat before she sees us. She’s slouched low and staring at her phone, which she’s holding way too close to her face.
“Hey, Zale,” I say, plopping down beside her. She turns her head slowly toward me, and yikes—her eyes are glassy. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her finish a drink; usually she just takes a few sips of whatever Callie or I have. “What did you drink?”
She just blinks at me.
“I’m Maverick,” I tell her.
“I know.”
I point to the crushed margarita can laying on the couch beside her. “Is that yours?”
“Yes,” Callie answers for her. She’s standing in front of us in high heels, her dress short enough that she would have been sent home in high school. “She drank that and then found the Jell-O shots.”
“I love lime Jell-O,” Azalea says. She rolls her head back and forth, like she can’t quite decide what to do with it, and then unceremoniously plunks it down on the armrest to her right. I always wondered what kind of drunk she would be; apparently, the answer issleepy.
“Zale,” Callie says, using her knee to nudge Azalea’s leg, “do you want to go home? We can leave.”
