AllFreeNovel
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As opposed to Seer, I’ve learned, who blasts the door open, reads you like an open book, and then tells you the deepest, darkest secrets about yourself that you don’t even know. I’m overwhelmingly thankful that, though I’ve come to really like Seer, she’s not my boss, because on a scale of sugar coated to dark chocolate, I take criticism at a solid cavity-inducing sweet level, and Seer hands hers out mixed with 99% cacao.
There’s a knock on the door behind Frannie, and then I hear Kyle’s voice call out “Is everyone decent?” There’s a chorus of “Yes!” and he pushes open the door, Fitz hot on his heel, and his eyebrows are knit together with a tension that tells me they’ve been like that all day. He meets my gaze, and the lines immediately melt away. Seer holds out glasses to the men, ushering them in the room as Frannie closes the door behind him.
“Thanks for the drinks, big man.” Fitz looks confused at Jackie’s words, and then glances down at his sister, and the cup in my hand.
“Yes, thanks, dear brother, for this refreshing bottle of non-alcoholic champagne, so everyone can join in on the festivities.” Frannie holds up her glass, tilting her head pointedly at Lizzy, Carla and I, and he rolls his eyes.
“It’s coming out of your budget.”
“Bet,” Frannie and I say at the same time, and then look at each other, wide eyed. She laughs, finally taking in what I’m wearing.
“Please tell me-"
“Jesus.” I feel self-conscious, tugging at the pair of bike shorts I’m wearing under a giant tee shirt. “Of course this isn't what I’m wearing.” I point behind her, to the dress hanging on the rack, and she gives an appreciative nod.
“To the best planning committee a girl could ask for,” Jackie’s voice suddenly calls, and I realize she, Fallon, and Vic have joined us on the other side of the room. She holds up her glass, and we toast, even Seer and Frannie. I take a sip, letting the bubbles settle over my tongue. My lips purse, and they all stare at me.
“Even when I was drinking, I hated champagne.” I hand my glass to Kyle, who shrugs, tipping back the glass.
“More for me.”
I look at Fitz, nodding my head back toward the corner of the room, near a window looking at the garden on the backside of the venue. I snag the bag Carla was digging in, pulling out a purple box and handing it over. He takes it, and looks like he instantly regrets it when glitter clings to his hands, to his shirt.
“Oops,” I manage, hiding my smirk behind my hand. He sets the box on the arm of the couch, sliding the lid back and pulling out the long tan belt coiled inside.
“What’s this?” He holds it in his hands, pulling it until the gigantic belt buckle is between his fingers, where he eyes the giant F square in the middle of it.
“I made it.” My voice is quiet, but I press on. “I thought you might like something to match the rest of us, I made one for Kyle too, but it doesn’t match mine, and-"
“I love it.” His voice is equally as quiet, and his hand moves to my face, pulling me into a hug and pressing a kiss to my head.
“This is too sweet,” Lizzy calls.
“I think I’m going to puke,” says Frannie at a deadpan.
Carla’s voice is close as she asks “Does this mean we can open presents now?”
“Ooh, presents?” I roll my eyes at the excited tone to Seer’s question.
“They’re in the bag, have at it.” Carla digs in like a kid on Christmas morning.
“I’ve been watching her work on these for weeks, I have no idea what we’re all getting, though.” I’m not really paying attention as she hands out each bag, because I’m watching as Fitz undoes his belt buckle.
“Take it off!” Fallon cackles.
“I’m going to murder someone by the end of the night,” he says under his breath, tugging the belt through the loops of his jeans - arguably, the first time in ten years. They’re worn and tight in all the right places, and my, oh my, does Mr. Westfall look fantastic with a belt buckle the size of his gigantic hand front and center.
“Please don’t.” I pat the side of his face. “You’re too pretty for jail.”
Fitz
I’m in jeans. I’m in jeans, and a checkered shirt, with a big ass belt buckle above my crotch, at a WHG venue, and every instinct in my body is telling me to go hide out in the office until tonight is over.
But I may get killed if I do that, by an undetermined number of suspects who shall remain nameless, but are all wearing matching accessories with tooled, dark flowers etched into the leather by the lead suspect herself. At least, that’s what I remind myself as I scan over the crowd of people pressing into the Pine, where I hug the wall, occasionally giving a “Hey, man,” waving.
I’m easy to spot, I know. I’ve never really blended into the crowd, and it was one of my favorite traits back when I was around these people every day. It got me what I wanted, got me where I wanted on the lacrosse field. But even my old teammates aren’t quite sure how to approach me, probably because I look like I just swallowed a bitter pill.
“Would it kill you to smile?” Frannie stands next to me.
