Page 63 of What if I Told You

I shake my head. “Nope. But if she likes the guy, it wouldn’t be a one-night stand, would it? It’ll just be the first among many.”

“Hmm. I suppose you have a point.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Yeah.”

Please God, don’t let it come to that.

I could maybe stomach knowing she has a boyfriend while she’s living with me, but knowing and-or hearing her fucking someone? Yeah, just shoot me now because I can’t handle that.

At the end of the second period the Red Tails are up three to two and I’m another three beers in. If I even make it downstairs, I’ll probably just lock myself in my room so I’m not a bother to Ella. Or maybe I’ll just conk out right here on the Clubroom couch for the night.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

Probably wouldn’t be the last.

A few minutes pass and we’re watching the third period when the door to the Clubhouse opens and Oliver walks through accompanied by his fiancée. The guys all say their hellos and greetings but he seems to only have eyes for me. The worried expression on his face tells me I’m not going to like whatever it is he has to tell me.

“Fuck, did someone touch my car again?” I ask him knowing they just came up from the garage.

He shakes his head. “No man. It’s Ella.”

I shoot up from the couch so fast forgetting I’ve had too much to drink and nearly fall face first into the coffee table full of pizza, chips, and everyone else’s beers.

“Whoa. You good?” Griffin asks, grabbing my shoulder to steady me.

“Yeah. Sorry.” I turn back to Oliver. “Where is she? What happened? Is she alright?”

“She’s downstairs,” he says. I sprint for the door immediately, but Oliver calls out to me. “August!”

“Yeah?”

“She’s been crying.”

“Fuck!”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

ELLA

“Never in a million years…” I mumble to myself through the onslaught of sniffles. “Mother fucking asshole. What do you mean, am I a prude? I’m not a fucking prude you…you…shitty ass cum bubble.” I grab a beer from the fridge and pull open one of the drawers to grab the bottle opener but it’s not in there.

Fuck.

Where’s the bottle opener?

“Don’t tell me I’m a bad kisser,” I murmur, opening another drawer and slamming it shut. “I’m not a bad kisser. You’re a bad kisser.”

Sniffle.

Open another drawer.

Slam it shut.

Sniffle.

“Kissing you is like kissing a fucking dog. No, maybe even a cow.”

Sniffle.

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