Page 27 of Don't Puck His Best Friend
The elevator ride up to his floor is torture. We’re standing on opposite sides of the small space, but I can feel the pull between us like a magnetic force. When the doors start to close, something in me snaps.
I don’t remember moving, but suddenly I’m pressed against the wall, his mouth on mine, my hands tangled in his hair. The kiss is desperate and hungry, like we’ve been starving for this moment since the second I left his apartment last weekend.
The elevator dings softly as we reach his floor, but neither of us moves to break apart. The doors slide shut again, carrying us back down, but I’m already lost in the taste of him, the way his hands frame my face like I’m something precious and dangerous all at once.
By the time the doors open again, the rest of the world has completely disappeared.
12
Number in Hand
Cole
I’mpostedupnearthe kitchen island with a couple of teammates, nursing a beer that’s gone warm while half-listening to Marcus tell some elaborate story about a fist fight he got into during juniors. The music’s loud enough that I have to lean in to catch every third word, but the gist seems to be that he won and the other guy deserved it.
Typical Marcus story, in other words.
Across the room, Sirus is basically serving as Maddie’s personal furniture. She’s draped against him, laughing way too loud at something he whispered in her ear, and he’s got that dopey grin that suggests he’s already planning their next date. They’re cutetogether, I’ll give them that, but I can’t help noticing that Harper didn’t show up tonight.
Which is probably for the best. This isn’t exactly her scene—too loud, too chaotic, too many drunk college students making decisions they’ll regret tomorrow.
Still, I find myself wondering what she’s doing instead. Probably something reasonable, like homework or sleep or whatever normal people do on Saturday nights.
“Cole!”
I look up to see Maddie peeling herself away from Sirus and tottering over to me, that mischievous glint in her eyes that immediately puts me on alert. She’s had enough tequila that she’s moving with the careful precision of someone who’s trying very hard to appear sober.
“My cousin likes you,” she announces, loud enough for a couple of heads to turn in our direction.
I blink, caught between amusement and secondhand embarrassment. “Is that so?”
Behind her, Sirus grins and smacks my chest with the back of his hand. “Yeah, man, get it.”
“Very subtle, both of you,” I say dryly.
Maddie plants her hands on the counter and leans in like she’s about to share classified information. “I’m serious. You should take her on a proper date. Not some hockey-player-party thing, and definitely not another double date where Sirus and I are practically sitting in each other’s laps. Just ask her out.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”
“Because she’s a good girl,” Maddie says with the exaggerated seriousness that only comes with alcohol. “She deserves someone who treats her right. Like, actually right. Not some player who’s going to pump and dump her or ghost her or treat her poorly.”
There’s something in her tone that suggests she’s speaking from experience, either her own or Harper’s. “Pump and dump, huh?”
Sirus wraps his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. “She’s very protective of Harper,” he explains. “It’s cute.”
“It’s necessary,” Maddie corrects. “Harper’s had her heart broken by enough guys who looked good on paper but turned out to be complete disasters.”
I’m getting the distinct impression there’s a story there, but this probably isn’t the time or place to dig into Harper’s dating history. Still, Maddie’s drunken sales pitch is working better than it should.
“You’re very persuasive when you’ve had tequila,” I tell her.
“I’m persuasive when I’m sober too. Tequila just makes me louder about it.”
I’m not going to lie, I am curious. Harper was... unexpected. Sharp and funny and surprisingly easy to talk to once she stopped looking like she was planning her escape route. The kind of person I could actually see myself getting to know better, if she was interested.
“Alright,” I say, pulling out my phone. “Give me her number.”
Maddie’s face lights up like she just won a bet with herself. She digs her phone out of her back pocket, punches in Harper’s number, and hands it over with a triumphant grin.
