Page 35 of The Trouble with Players

“Three a.m.”

“Did you just get in?”

“I think so,” he said, a slight slur to his words.

“Wild night?”

He chuckled. “How could it be? You weren’t there.”

I didn’t respond, but it didn’t matter. He continued playing with the shells around my neck. “I like your necklace…”

“Yeah?”

“It’s pretty like you.”

I groaned. “How much did you drink tonight?”

“How’d you know I had some drinks?”

“Because not only are you slurring, you’re talking crazy.”

“No, I’m not. Your necklace is pretty,” he said. “And so are you.”

I tried not to smile.

“Pretty, powerful, proud…Peyton is,” Crew said. “See? I’m a poet too.”

“Drunk is what you are.”

“Are you going to school to be a poet?’ he asked.

“That‘s not a real thing. I’m going to be a journalist.”

“Be a sports journalist so you can write about me,” he said.

“You know, you won’t get to the pros by going out and getting wasted.”

“I can get wasted if I wanna. We’ve got a night off tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I heard. You’ve got the big banquet.”

“You gonna be there?” he asked.

“Why?”

He finally released my necklace and fell onto his back. “So I can see you,” he mumbled before the soft purr of sleep replaced his words.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I entered Gina’s room, carrying my dress by the hanger. It had taken three hours for her to pick out her dress this morning and five minutes for me—after I’d woken up alone in bed. I wondered if Crew disappeared so early because he was embarrassed by what he’d said last night. Or, if he even remembered.

“Hey,” Gina said from her vanity, looking so excited to be going to the banquet.

“Hey,” I said.

“I can’t wait to see you in your dress again,” she said. “You look so beautiful in it.”

I balked. “Too bad I’ve got no one to impress.”

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