Page 100 of Bad Crush
“Congrats on the game.” Ginny stands as I get to the table and hugs me.
“Thanks.”
She pulls back and searches my face. I know that look. A concerned Ginny is an unusually stubborn Ginny. “Are you okay?”
“Yup,” I say. I take one of the empty glasses on the table and pour myself a beer. I nod and say hello to everyone. I make a lap around the bar. It’s easier to fake quick, easy conversation than fall into something deep or meaningful with the people who know what’s going on.
“Dakota’s not here?” I ask Rhett as I refill my glass for the third or fourth time.
“Not that I’ve seen. She was at the game, though.”
I nod.
“I think I’m about ready to go,” he says. “You want to head out?”
I mull that over. Go back to the apartment where Reagan is ten feet away, and I might run into her or stay here where she isn’t and drink? The choice is obvious. I’d rather be far away, so the physical distance matches the emotional. Being that close, knowing she’s there but doesn’t want to see me, makes that awful churn in my gut worse.
“No, I think I’m going to stay. You go ahead. I’m sure Heath and Ginny are headed back soon.” Those two never stay out long anymore.
He looks like he might want to say something, but Rhett always chooses his words carefully—mulls them over before speaking. I take advantage of that and walk away before he figures out what he wants to say.
I find Maverick at the bar. He’s got three shots in front of him. Jordan and Liam are cheering him on. Liam’s got his phone out, taking video of the whole thing.
Maverick contemplates which glass to take and settles on the one in the middle. He tosses it back and then grins. “Rumple!”
He dances around playing eeny-meeny-miney-mo with the remaining two.
“What’s he doing?” I ask Liam.
“Shot roulette.”
Oh fuck. “Tequila?”
“No.” He chuckles, then whispers, “Cheap ass vodka.”
My lip curls.
Maverick wraps his fingers around the glass on the right and closes his eyes as he takes it. “Oooooheeee,” he says as he drops the empty back on the bar. “Triple Sec.”
“Fuck,” Jordan curses as Maverick slides the last shot to him.
“Yo, Scott.” He claps me on the shoulder. “I’m unbeatable, Cap.”
“Getting the team fucked up, are we?”
Jordan shoots the vodka and then gags. He shudders. “My insides are on fire.”
“Another?” Mav asks him.
Jordan and Liam look to me and shake their heads.
“I’m in,” I say. “But I get to pick the shots.”
“Hell yeah.” Maverick’s excitement should tell me just how bad of an idea this is but fuck it.
Maverick goes to the bathroom while I order three shots from the bartender. “Anything else?” she asks with a smile.
“No, I think we’re good after this. You can run my card.”
