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“I still don’t understand why it’s named that. Like who wakes up one day and is likehey, I want to open a bar and call it the Nasty Rabbit?” I say in a mocking tone.
“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” She grins over her shoulder at me as we approach Enzo, who’s waiting on the sidewalk, his fingers moving across the screen in a way that can only mean he’s texting. “Who are you talking to?” She turns her attention to him.
“Tigs and Buckley. Telling them where we’ll be,” he explains, shoving the device into his pocket. “Turns out they’re already there. They headed over right after practice.”
“Of course they did.” Alina shakes her head with a laugh.
Tigs and Buckley are two of Enzo’s teammates and closest friends. They are all on the defensive line together. I know enough about football to know what that is, though I’ve never been a huge fan of the sport. My family loves football, as did all my friends growing up. Conner even played tight end in his junior and senior years of high school. But other than going to school games to cheer on my then boyfriend, I never really got into it. Like a lot of people, I just don’t get the point of it.
“Tigs was asking if Rory was going to be with us.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me.
“Great.” I groan, blowing out a heavy puff of air.
“Cut the guy some slack. He’s inlove.” He bats his eyelashes dramatically.
“Sure he is,” I grumble playfully. “In love with beer maybe.”
Tigs, whose real name is actually Titus Riggs—hence the nickname Tigs—has been hounding me to date him since freshman year. When he gets really drunk, which is often, he becomes vocal about it. He’s even gone as far as to stand up on a stool and tell the entire bar that he’s going to marry me one day. It was mortifying, to say the least, but he does stuff like that so often, I almost don’t even notice anymore.
He’s not a bad guy or anything. I’m just not interested in dating anyone, especially someone whose primary collegiate goal is to drink himself into alcohol dependency. I honestly don’t know how he even plays football with the amount of liquor he consumes every time I see him. Not that I’m around himthatoften but often enough to know he goes pretty hard.
“She’s got him there.” Alina nudges me with her elbow. “So, shall we get this show on the road?” she asks no one in particular.
“Let’s do it.” Enzo is the first to answer.
“Let’s,” I agree, honestly just ready to blow off some steam.
The bar is not really my scene. Usually, when I go, I’ll nurse a drink, maybe two, and I’m almost always the first to leave, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it. I do. And today, of all days, I could use the distraction.
Thank you, Archer freaking Copeland...
Chapter Two
Archer
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