Page 37 of The Underdog

If I’ve learned one thing here, it’s that these boys are major gossips. Seriously, they're worse than my freshman-yearroommate in college—Jessalyn, who I quickly learned would spill everything I’d share with her to our entire sorority.

Because of that, I started to make up lies somewhere along the way. Lies that, eventually, every girl in the house soon believed. I think the best one was when I told Jessalyn that Harry Styles and I had a whirlwind, forbidden romance on my summer break before college. Of course, it was a lie—but no one had to know, and hell, the fact that they even believed it really boosted my self-confidence.

I suppose I’ve always had a thing for British boys.

“Oh, it was nothing.” I push our awkward…stressful…frustrating interaction to the back of my mind, slowly sipping on my drink, one that, if I’m being honest, isn’t half bad. Though, the worst part was when Warren darted his attention over to me, seeing that I was already halfway done. I could've sworn I saw the faintest smile on his lips because of it—now, I’m refusing to finish, just as a way to combat his smug yet undeniably rich ability to rid me of all built-up resentment I have towards him right now.

“Yeah, right,” Hart juts in, visibly un-impressed at my attempt to sweep what happened under the rug. “You two were definitely hashing it out. Has he not apologized for being a dick to you yet?”

I shoot him a glare that says, “What do you think?”

I don’t think Warren is capable of saying the words “I’m sorry.” I mean, if he were, he would’ve said it by now.

“You know what? You two just need to make up already.” Green sips on what must be his fourth pint of the night—slurring slightly. He’s the lightweight amongst the group.

“I’m not apologizing!” I protest much quicker than I wanted to, sinking into the booth to hide from the resulting stares of my outburst. “I already did that,” my voice is now just above a direct whisper. “And it didn’t go anywhere. Warren should apologize tome! I didn’t do anything wrong. I was just trying to make sure he was okay.”

Wilks places a reassuring hand on my arm. “Just make peace, Laney. Coach is stubborn, remember? We established that earlier. So, just bite the bullet and be the bigger man…woman,” he immediately corrects himself, clearing his throat awkwardly as he rests back against the booth.

“Yeah, Wilks is right,” Hart chimes back in. “I know what you two should do. Just shag and move on already. We can all see the way you look at him.”

Everyone but me laughs slightly at his remark. Yet, before I can rebut his allegation, their expressions turn devious. It’s as if they’ve all come to a unanimous decision without me.

“You know what, Hart?” A playful smirk washes over Green’s face. “Great idea. That’s exactly what you should do, Delaney. Go over to Coach, and tell him that the only way you think you’ll be able to get past this drama is to shag and move on.”

“Shag?” I’m unfamiliar with the language. “What does shag mean?”

“Stop, guys?—”

“It means you want to let bygones be bygones,” Green interjects Wilks' attempt at clarifying the word, leaning across the table.

“It does?” I ask, stupidly scanning the other drunken group, who nods confidently.

“Absolutely,” Hart says with an undeniable confidence as he reaches for my hand, guiding me to stand up. “You should go and tell him. Actually, go do it right now!”

“Now?”

“You guys—” I hear Wilks' attempts once more, but not in time as Hart gives me a push in Warren’s direction, and I unknowingly make my way over, swallowing my pride as I’m ready to move onwards and upwards from this silly melodrama.

“Um…Warren?” I murmur as he sits alongside Alf and a few of the other boys with his back turned to me.

My pitiful attempt to catch his attention doesn’t work, leaving me awkwardly hovering over the table before I finally gather the courage to reach out to touch him.

Alf beats me to it before I can as he tilts his chin upwards, prompting Warren to turn around, his sharp gaze freezing me in place.

For a moment, I forget exactly what Hart told me to say, only remembering the keyword of “shag,” which ends up being the only thing I blurt out to Warren when he says, “Yes?”

What is wrong with me?

“What did you just say?” Warren asks in disbelief.

I swallow the dryness in my throat. “I…uh…I wanted to say to you that I’m tired of things being awkward between us, and I think we should just shag and move on.”

As the words fall out of my mouth, so do a series of snickers from behind me, prompting me to turn around, where I see everyone but Wilks beside themselves in laughter.

I close my eyes for a brief stint, my shoulders dropping.

What did I just do?

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