Page 83 of Jaded

I hold in a burst of laughter. “What are you talking about—”

“Oh, Nat says we have to go right now!” Olli reaches back into the locker, a bundle of clothes in hand. “Bye, Mom!”

And that’s how I find myself in Olli’s wake, headed towards a bar party.

Looks like I will be missing the Syd-and-Brenda girl talk after all.

Chapter 20

Olli

ThefirstwininGod knows how long means big-time celebration. And Everton’s house must be reserved for the misery partying, because we’re doing this in style.

Which to the Dingoes means closing down Michelangelo’s so you can get crunk and be as obnoxious as you want without any civilians getting in the way.

These are the kinds of parties I like—the ones where I walk into a chill, thrill, totally ill scene of laughter, music, and good friends.

Small space: check.

Michelangelo’s, as previously noted, is a cozy local watering hole a few blocks from downtown. Not dark like one of those chic clubs that doesn’t want you to know what you’re drinking, not bright like a restaurant.

No strangers: check.

It’s just me and my team, clustered at the counter and around the tables. Everton and Skyler have started some kind of plastic-cup drinking game. The third line and part of the defense cram into a table, cards clenched in their grubby fists. Dev and Charlie hunch over a literal chessboard in the corner.

I grin. Nerds.

Good music: check.

Soft classic rock filters from the speakers, ushering in a night of Journey and Led Zep with a nice side of Dio to keep things bopping.

So damn chill.

Oh, and hot guy? Double-triple-quadruple check.

Nat Taylor walks into the bar at my side. That’s a new one, eh—Olli arrivingwiththe hottie? I mean, it’s not like he’swithme with me, but still—

“James!”

“Ol!”

I’m barely inside the bar before I get swarmed. A heavy arm slings around my shoulders.

“Yo, superstarrrrr.” Everton’s already a few drinks into his night. “You see how many fans were in them stands? We celebratin’ tonight!”

“Oh, c’mon, man,” I say, but I’m grinning. I’m not above doing a few shots, especially in actual celebration.

So when Charlie ambles over to shove a shot glass into my hand, I lift said glass towards the middle of the crowd gathered around me. “Cheers, boys.”

“Cheers!” they whoop back, lifting an array of glasses and bottles towards mine. As one, we tilt our heads and drink. As I lower my glass, I realize Nat isn’t part of our group.

My eyes stray towards the bar—there he is. All by himself, at the very end of the counter. He leans over it, a few stray locks of dark hair escaped from his backwards ball cap to frame his temple, as he and the middle-aged bartender chat.

Damn, he’s more of a wallflower than I am.

“Eh, don’t worry about him.” Charlie nudges my arm, trying to redirect my gaze. “He’s become a homebody.”

Homebody, I can’t help but wonder, or worrying about his kids?

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