Page 21 of For the Boys
“Maybe,” Berkley said. “Let me think about it.”
Berkley headed upstairs to change into pajamas and wash her face as she considered her friends’ proposal. She hadn’t heard from Brent since Amelia had all but told him to make a move or fuck off, and she was honestly too busy to think about anything but school most days. She also thought she was too old to still be hanging out at places like The Backdoor, the incident back in August notwithstanding, but her friends had looked so hopeful and excited. They wanted to do this for her.
Was she willing to give Brent a chance and see what would happen? Truth be told, she wasn’t entirely sure. She valued her independence above most other things in life and had all but sworn off men thanks to a succession of shitty relationships. But this wasBrent Jean. Brent Jean, who was a star athlete. Brent Jean, who she had been majorly crushing on from afar for years.
Maybe, just maybe, she could tempt fate a little.
She walked back down the stairs and paused at the entrance to the living room. “I’m in,” she said, and couldn’t help grinning as her three best friends started clapping and planning.
As much as she tried to deny it, she wanted—no, needed—to see what would happen with her and Brent. It wasn’t enough to fantasize anymore, not when the real thing was basically right in front of her.
Thursday, Berkley had the entire day to herself, and it seemed like the perfect time for some much-needed self-care.
Plus studying, of course. The Bar exam would be a beast, and she couldn’t afford to lose any time preparing for it. Not to mention she had an exam early Friday morning in one of her contracts classes.
The first thing she did was fill the bathtub with water that was almost too hot to stand. She added a bath bomb and sank in, staying there until the water grew tepid and her skin wrinkled. Once out of the tub, she dressed in her favorite robe and gave herself a long-overdue manicure and pedicure. She was watching her fingernails dry when her phone rang.
“Hello,” she answered, setting her phone down on the table and carefully tapping the speakerphone button.
“Berk,” Lexie said.
“Lex.”
“Go out with me tonight. Please please please. I know you don’t have anything to do tomorrow.”
“Actually, I have an exam early. Where were you thinking?”
“Contour,” Lexie said, and Berkley groaned. “I know you hate it, but it’s ladies’ night.”
“Yeah, and you know that means all the itty-bitty college girls will be out in droves, cashing in on those discounted drinks!”
“I don’t care. I want to dance.”
“There are literally thirty other places in the city we could go that won’t be packed to the rafters with screaming females using their fake IDs for the first time.”
“Please, Berk? We never go out, just us, and I really want to go to Contour. This week at work was hell. I spent two days in freaking Cleveland trying to sign a guy. Throw me a bone.” Though she couldn’t see Lexie, Berkley knew her lower lip was sticking out in a pout.
Berkley laughed, then sighed. “Fine. But I don’t want to stay out too late. Pick me up at nine.”
For whatever reason, Contour was the favored club of the underaged. Maybe it was the lax security and complete absence of anyone checking IDs. If you had the balls to walk up to the bar and order a drink, you got one. Looking past all of that, it actually was a great place to get tipsy and dance your feet off, so it suited their purposes that night just fine.
The crush of bodies met them the second they walked through the door. Thankfully, Lexie’s tall frame and take-no-bullshit personality were perfect for unapologetically shoving her way through a crowd. When they pushed past the worst of it, Berkley moved in front of Lexie, as Berkley’s small stature was more suited to the subtle bobbing and weaving required to reach the bar that was about ten feet and thirty people away.
Berkley squeezed between the last few people in her way and was about to ask Lexie what she wanted to drink when someone tapped her on the shoulder.
“What can I get you guys?”
Turning toward the voice, Berkley was confronted with the large presence of Mitch Frambough, an alternate captain and one half of the Warriors’ top defensive pair.
And “large presence” was no exaggeration. Mitch was about six and a half feet tall, with a broad chest and shoulders, and blond hair long enough to curl around the back of his hat. He was built more like a football player than a hockey defenseman.
He grinned down at her, all straight white teeth and sparkling green eyes. Berkley remained in shocked silence a beat too long, which Lexie took as her cue to save the day.
“Would you mind terribly getting us a couple beers, please?” Lexie asked sweetly, batting her eyes. Berkley rolled hers at Lexie’s tone, coming back to herself.
Mitch glanced at Lexie over Berkley’s head and replied. “Comin’ right up.”
Not even a minute later, Berkley was sipping on her beer and weaving away from the bar through the throng of people, led by Mitch and followed by Lexie. Mitch stepped up to a table at which two men sat clutching beers and making fun of women out on the crowded dance floor.
