Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
He doesn’t look like he’s judging me. Not for tonight or for those things we’ve done together.
I wonder if he’d be interested in having another go. He sure didn’t seem like it the way he stormed out of the hall, leaving me to pick up my clothes and get back to class, to pretend nothing happened despite the sweat rushing down my face and my warm—surely red—cheeks.
A group of guys step out from the back of the house and make their way toward the fire. As they get close, I see Greg and Morgan within the group, holding hands.
The blood in my face drains.
I want to die.
Even worse, Keith is with them.
Of course he is.
I know it isn’t right to expect a buddy to choose sides when shit like this happens between friends, but I can’t deny I wish Keith would have decided Greg and Morgan were such big assholes they didn’t deserve his friendship.
Obviously, that isn’t the case. And I shouldn’t be surprised. Keith and Greg have the same major—take several classes together, so I can’t blame him. But I do a little bit.
God, there’s too much room on this couch.
Morgan spots me first and nudges Greg to get his attention.
Just fucking great.
As they glance my way, I avoid looking at them. I’m gonna keep my cool. Or be as cool as I can under the circumstances.
I notice Keith as he spots Tim. I can tell by the way his gaze settles on the ground that it’s upsetting him. Probably making him as uncomfortable as I am about Greg and Morgan being here. Although, I can’t feel too sorry for him considering he didn’t bother to text me to give me a heads-up.
The group Greg and Morgan are in stays on the other side of the fire, but Keith makes his way around to me. He approaches, and we hug it out.
“Sorry, man,” he whispers. “I ran into them on the way in.”
That makes me feel better. Like he didn’t let them totally blindside me with this.
I check Tim’s reaction. He looks around uneasily, too.
Keith sits beside me.
“You drinking?” he asks, looking around for my cup.
“Yeah, I’m—”
“Here you go,” Jeffery says as he approaches with two Solo cups in his hands. He gives Keith a threatening glare, as though Keith is cock-blocking.
“Jeffery was sitting here before you guys came,” I say to Keith as I try to diffuse any tension.
“Oh, sorry man,” Keith says, scooting across the couch.
Jeffery smiles. “Not an issue, dude. You don’t have to move.”
He plops down back in his place, wedging himself between us and spilling some of his drink on my jeans, the cool fall air biting at my skin.
He hands me my cup and takes a swig from his own.
Now that I’m in the middle of this clusterfuck, I want to leave. But if I do, everyone will think it’s because Greg and Morgan are here. That I’m weak. And I don’t want anyone knowing they’re getting to me like that.
As Jeffery starts telling me a story about how he got trashed over the weekend, I drink as quickly as possible. Greg keeps throwing glances my way, and Keith keeps side-eyeing Tim.
I wasn’t planning on getting hammered tonight, but I’ve changed my mind.
Tonight, I drink to die.
6
TIM
I feel for Mark. The guy can’t catch a break.
He heads into the house, I figure to get another drink. It’ll be his fourth since Greg and Morgan arrived.
Can’t say I blame him. He’s done a good job of avoiding them, but he doesn’t realize they’ve been conspiring with their buddies to approach him ever since they got here—something I’ve overheard them whispering as I’ve pretended to stay engaged with my pals who were sitting on the bench when I first got out here.
From what I’ve been able to make out, Greg and Morgan want to make peace. Not sure that’s gonna be happening tonight, though. Not judging by how Mark’s been acting.
Mark just needs to fucking leave.
And I need to fucking get out of here if I don’t want to keep getting those sad doe-eyes from Keith. Since I called things off he’s been weird. Shown up crying at my door on one-too-many nights, and I keep running into him at parties, where he’ll get drunk and do the same fucking thing. The script’s gotten old, and I can’t take watching him cry about us—telling me how much we could have had together.
Not again. And I can tell he’s only a few more drinks away from working up the courage to approach me.
I finish chatting with the guys on the bench and decide it’s probably a good time to head out. No need to stick around and watch Mark awkwardly find his way out of Greg and Morgan’s plan.
As I pass through the kitchen, I see Mark pouring some ginger ale from a two-liter bottle into his cup. It runs over the rim and spills onto the counter.