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“You sad, sad sack. No decisions, but let’s do sommat with them tomorrow. Even if it’s just meetin’ them for brunch.”
“Okay.”
“Love you, bean.”
I squeeze the ribs I’ve poked. “Love you too, Chaz.”
We haven’t made any plans for the night beyond eating our own weight in burritos, so after we’ve digested for a little while, I drag Charlie to the gym to spar.
My phone pings as we’re walking back, sweaty but smiling. Expecting it to be Darwin, I ignore it.
The crowd waiting at the door of our suite is, therefore, a surprise.
“Answer your phone, b!” Rachel says, when she sees us emerge from the stairwell.
O, several of his friends, Serena, a handful of clones, and what looks like half the lacrosse team make an aisle for us to the door. Rachel, clutching a bottle of booze in one hand and a sleeve of red, plastic cups in another, jumps on me as we get close.
I drop the bag I’m carrying with our gloves and pads to catch her. She wraps her legs around my hips. I stagger into our suite after Charlie, carrying her as she whoops and swings the sleeve of cups over her head.
“What are we doing with the environmentally unfriendly cups, girl?” I ask, finally setting her down in the kitchen.
“We’re partying! It’s a ‘Fuck Our Exes’ party!” She pulls out her phone and taps up a playlist that’s at least better than the crappy techno we were dancing in the Bodeman basement the night we hooked up with Darwin.
Fuck, that feels like a long time ago.
Charlie looks at me. I shrug. It’s not how I’d planned to spend the night but, Hells, it’s a Saturday night. We’re college freshmen. I can’t feel the hangman’s noose around my neck anymore, and dancing until I drop feels like a fine way to spend the evening.
“I’ll get the punch bowl.”
“That’s my b!” Rachel takes a hit straight from the bottle before Charlie shows her where to plug in her phone to use our speakers.
Two hours later, there’s barely standing room in our suite, we’ve emptied the punch bowl several times, the air is laced with the musk of bud, and I’m dancing in a corner with Rachel toBoys Not Bots. There’s barely enough room for us to sway, but that’s okay because Rachel can’t move much more than that without falling down. She has her arms looped around my neck and it’s a good thing the weed smokers are on the other side of the room because her breath would incinerate the suite if anyone lit a flame near her.
“I love you, Teddy,” she slurs, swaying. “You’re my best friend.”
I’m well used to drunken declarations of love from my girls, so I give it back to her.
“I love you, too, Rach. What’d Wyatt do?”
Her chin crumples, then her lips tremble, then the waterworks start. It’s like watching her face dissolve in a mudslide. She was definitely pregaming when she put on her makeup. Or she was covering the signs of grief.
“He dumped me. By text.”
“The fucker,” I commiserate.
“He’s not,” she says soddenly, shaking her head. “He’s a really good guy. I liked him so much. Why’d he dump me when I like him so much?”
“Because he couldn’t cope with you seeing someone else?” Who may or may not be The Mr. Black. I’ve been both too preoccupied and too much of a coward to ask.
“Right.” She burps.
Charlie, who is watching us from the couch a meter away, sniggers.
“I wanted to be like you, Teddy. You had all the boys. Now you only have one. Dream. Crushed. What am I gonna do?”
“Find a new role model, babe,” I tell her, turning us slightly so I can shake my arse at Charlie.
“When are you getting back with Gabe?” she whines. “That’s my only hope. If you guys get back together, maybe I can get Wyatt to like me again.”
