Page 52 of Faking the Play

“Thanks,” Logan said.

The man nodded and headed back to the kitchen, sidestepping a pair of drunk frat guys who were stumbling toward the bar.

“I can’t believe you guys ordered all of this after we just had pizza,” Amelia said as she sat up straight and reached for an onion ring.

I shrugged. “This place makes the best potato skins.”

I stabbed one with a fork, making sure to get plenty of sour cream on it, and then shoved the whole thing into my mouth.

“Are you using a fork?” Ethan asked, grabbing for a cheese fry. “This is finger food, Ryan.”

I ignored him and focused on Amelia. “When you want to get away from greasy fingers, you can come right to me. I won’t get anything on your clothes. I’m considerate that way.”

Ethan’s jaw dropped and Amelia burst out laughing.

“All right,” Logan said. “The food’s making me thirsty. Who wants a second round?”

Thirty minutes later, the guys and I were pleasantly buzzed and Amelia had crossed the line into drunk. I could’ve been disappointed that this meant no sex tonight—no way in hell any of us would take advantage of her—but I found myself enjoying drunk Amelia. It seemed that when she got enough alcohol in her system, she turned back into the dorky little girl we knew back then.

And the last of her filters disappeared.

“I really like fooseball.” Amelia frowned. “Footsball. Yes. I love footsball.”

“You do?” Logan asked, not even trying to hide his smile. “Is it because the three of us play?”

Amelia made a back-and-forth motion with her hand. “It’s because—” She dropped her voice to a stage whisper. “Those tight pants show off everyone’s butts.” She giggled, putting her hands over her mouth. “And you guys havereallynice butts.”

“Yours isn’t bad either, you know.” Ethan winked at her for the tenth time tonight, but I couldn’t be annoyed by it, not when it made her eyes shine like that.

“Butts is a funny word.” She reached for her drink and then scowled at the glass when she saw it was empty. “Can I have another?”

“Why don’t you have some water?” I pushed a different glass toward her. “You’ll appreciate it tomorrow.”

She pursed her lips and put her finger on her chin like she was thinking. “What do I get if I drink it all?”

“What do you want?”

She got this mischievous look that I hadn’t seen from her since we were kids. Crooking her finger at me, she said, “I have to whistle—wiper—fuck. I have to quiet talk it.”

Already laughing, I leaned forward, totally unprepared to have her say, in a verynotquiet voice, “I wanna touch your pen—pin—dammit. Wanna touch your dick.”

Logan spit out his drink as Ethan roared with laughter and Amelia turned on them, glaring at Logan.

“Hey, mister. We don’t spit. We swallow.”

Everyone within ten feet turned and stared. Ethan bent over, holding his stomach, while Logan tried to clean up the mess he’d made while not looking at anyone. Amelia just hummed happily and picked ice cubes out of her glass, popping them into her mouth like they were candy.

And I couldn’t do anything but let the train wreck happen and hope that something else distracted everyone before she said anything else. Fortunately, less than a minute later, a tray crashed to the floor on the other side of the bar and everyone’s attention went that way.

“Fuck me,” I muttered, running a hand over my face. “I really hope no one got video of that.”

“I ate the crunchy water,” Amelia announced. She reached toward me. “Can I touch—”

“How about we dance?” I grabbed her hand before she could finish her sentence.

Her face lit up. “I love dancing!”

And I hated it, but I’d do it, and not just so she didn’t embarrass us both by grabbing my cock in public. I liked holding her.

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