Page 21 of Rival Summer

I slid onto a barstool, my fingers tapping lightly on the smooth counter as I waited for the bartender. He reached for mycard as I ordered a cranberry vodka, but the guy next to me—a stranger with an easy smile—waved cash in the air.

"Let me get that," he said, his voice smooth as he paid for my drink.

"Thanks," I said softly, a polite smile gracing my lips, all the while hyperaware of being in the spotlight again. It was as if two sets of eyes were burning into me—one blue, one green.

I turned my head ever so slightly, catching sight of them. Boston, with those beach waves that made him look like he'd walked straight off some dreamy shore, and Reese, whose vibrant green eyes and tattoos seemed to promise adventure—and trouble. Both wore expressions I couldn't quite decipher. They were obviously aware of my free drink with the gentleman, and I was relishing it.

"New in town?" the kind stranger asked, attempting to recapture my attention.

"I guess you could say that," I replied absentmindedly, my thoughts elsewhere.

Even with my back to them, I could feel their disapproval. But I didn’t need their approval. I just wanted to do my own thing—have fun on my own without needing either of them.

My third cocktail of the evening was making itself at home in my bloodstream when Willow finally sauntered up to the bar. "That line was ridiculous," she groaned, eyes sparkling with playful mischief that could only mean she needed a drink after said adventure.

"Willow, meet my friend, Brad!" I slurred out, gesturing to the man with a sloppy grin beside me.

"Ben, actually," he corrected with a chuckle, extending his hand towards Willow without missing a beat.

"Right, Ben!" I laughed, too tipsy to be embarrassed. Their hands clasped in a friendly shake. Willow's laugh mingled with ours, a sound that felt like home in Bayside.

My favorite song started to play through the crowded room, weaving its way into my veins. It was one of those irresistible songs that forced me to dance without hesitation. Willow shot me a grin while she waited by the bar for her drink. My feet were already two steps ahead, itching for the dance floor.

"Ben!" I called over the music, my voice laced with excitement. His eyes met mine, a mixture of amusement and hesitance flickering across his face. "Come on! You can't not dance to this!" I insisted, grabbing his hand.

He resisted for a fraction of a moment before his lips curled into a reluctant smile, and he let me pull him along.

I was in my element, bouncing and dancing as I sang along to the music. Ben's laughter mingled with the music as he watched me throw my hands in the air and move around him. Then, in a smooth motion, Ben spun me around, taking me by surprise. My hair fanned out before settling as he pulled me in close, our movements suddenly more intimate than I’d expected.

As I came to a stop, my gaze accidentally landed across the room, right toward Boston, Reese, and Parker. The three of them were standing around a pool table. Reese's cue stick hovered motionless over the green felt, his stance frozen mid-stroke. Boston leaned casually against the pool table, but there was nothing casual about the tension in his jaw or the concentration in his eyes. Parker, usually so laid back, was frowning, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched me.

I couldn't decipher their silent accusations, but I felt them, sharp and unsettling. The last notes of the song played out and I seized the moment to retreat from their scrutiny, taking a long, steady sip of my drink.

A new song, one I didn’t recognize, was turned up through the speakers, then. It acted as a siren call to the bartenders, though. A cheer cut through the air as every head turned inunison. The few girl bartenders who, moments before, were pouring drinks, dropped everything and rushed onto the bar.

"Come on, you two!" one of them shouted over the music, beckoning me and Willow with a finger and a grin.

We looked over at each other in excitement, accepting the challenge. Willow's laughter rang out, uninhibited and infectious as we hopped up onto the bar, our feet finding a spot between puddles of spilled drinks.

"Take a shot!" another bartender yelled, thrusting the neck of the tequila bottle toward us.

I grabbed the bottle first, fueled by the crowd cheering us on. The liquid scorched down my throat as I tilted my head back, then I passed it to Willow, who took her shot with a wink to the audience below. There we were, perched above the world, queens of the moment, stress dissolving with every pulsating beat of music.

I noticed Ben’s laughter, his voice somehow audible over the chaos. "Now it’s a show!" he called out, clapping his hands above his head. Willow’s curls bounced as she matched my two-step with her own moves.

As we swayed, lost in our own little world, I caught sight of a familiar pair of piercing blue eyes. Boston was now at the bar, his arms resting on the counter, a muscle in his jaw ticking with intensity. Next to him, Reese's green eyes were narrowed, arms crossed over his chest as if he was about to burn the bar down.

"Are you going to take care of this, or should I?" I heard Reese snap at Boston. It was clear that neither of them appreciated the fun Willow and I were having. But their protectiveness was clashing with the wild night I was trying to have.

Before I could even process what was happening, Boston's voice carried over the music. "Chandler, get down."

I shook my head at him, not about to let them ruin my night—no one was going to pop this hot girl summer bubble. Certainly not Reese or Boston.

Then Parker appeared, his expression an odd mixture of amusement and annoyance. "Chandler, for fuck’s sake, get off the bar." His gaze shifted to Willow and his tone lightened, filled with that familiar mischievous quality that always seemed to surface whenever she was around. "Willow, stay up there and take off the bra," he teased, eliciting a burst of laughter from her before she rolled her eyes dramatically. She stayed put, playing to the crowd.

The air shifted around us, thick with tension, as the divide between those on the ground and us on the bar grew more pronounced. I found myself torn between laughing the guys off with Willow and addressing the concern I could feel radiating from Boston and Reese.

"Come on, Chandler. You’re too drunk. You’re going to fall and hurt yourself," Boston added, softer now, as if remembering that his role had always been to look out for me, not scold.

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