Page 77 of High Hopes

I glance at him, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Yeah. You too.”

He clinks his bottle against mine. “Damn right.” Then he stands and grabs my arm, yanking me to my feet. “Come on. You’re not sitting out the last party of the year like some kind of hermit. Flip cup. Let’s go.”

“I don’t like drinking games,” I argue, but it’s half-hearted at best.

“You don’t have to like them,” he shoots back, dragging me through the throng of people toward the kitchen. “You just have to play them. And you’re going to play them well because we’re not losing to Amir’s team again.”

The back room is packed. Red Solo cups line the counters, and people are shouting over the music, arguing about whose turn it is.

Amir stands at one end of the table, arms crossed, a smug grin plastered across his face. “Finally decided to join your own party, Donovan?”

“It’s not my party,” I mutter.

He snorts. “We’re literally at your house.”

“Everyone calm down,” Chase cuts in, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “Liam’s finally quit his brooding to come play with us. And we’re wiping that grin off your face, Alvarez.”

“Big talk for someone who still hasn’t mastered the wrist flick,” Santi fires back, earning a round of laughter from his side of the table.

“I hate all of you,” I groan.

But I step up to the table anyway. Chase shoves a cup into my hand, and before I know it, we’re off. The first round is a blur of laughter, spilled beer, and increasingly questionable aim. Despite Chase’s insistence that I play like a pro, I manage to miss my flip three times in a row, earning groans and jeers from everyone around me.

“Come on, buddy!” Chase yells, clapping me on the back. “You can do better than that!”

“Maybe if you stopped breathing down my neck, I’d actually make it!” I shoot back, flipping the cup with a little more force than necessary. It lands sideways.

We lose the first round but come back strong in the second. By the third, Chase is fully dialed in, shouting instructions like we’re in the middle of a championship game. I can’t stop laughing, and for the first time all night, I’m not thinking about Birdie or Warren or anything other than this ridiculous moment—this messy, chaotic kind of fun.

Midway through the fourth round, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it at first, focused on flipping my cup, but when the game ends and Chase drags me into another toast, I glance at the screen.

Birdie

Happy New Year.

That’s it. Three simple words. But my heart stutters like she’s just told me she’s outside the house waiting for me. God, I wish she were. I wish I could pull her into the middle of all this and give her the kind of midnight kiss people write songs about.

“Who’s got you smiling like that?” Santi shouts from across the table.

“None of your business,” I say, locking my phone before anyone can peek.

He snorts. “Must be Birdie.”

“Yeah, she makes me smile. You should try it sometime, Santi—having a personality that doesn’t scare people off.”

The guys around us howl with laughter, and Santi clutches his chest like I’ve just mortally wounded him. Then they set up for another game—quarters because Chase insists he’s unbeatable. I’m usually decent at it, but tonight, I miss every shot. Every. Single. One.

I was having fun earlier, laughing, trash-talking, letting myself get swept up in the noise. But now? Now all I want is to talk to her.

Finally, I sneak away from the crowd, leaning against the wall in the hallway to catch my breath. My fingers hover over my phone screen, debating what to say.

Liam

you too. want to meet up later this week?

The wait for her reply is torture. Every passing second feels like a countdown, the buzz of the party fading into the background. I glance at the time—seven minutes. I’ve been out here for seven minutes, staring at a blank screen like a lovesick loser.

“Earth to Liam,” Chase says, suddenly appearing beside me. “What are you doing hiding out here? We’re about to start another round of kings.”

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