Page 53 of The Problem with Players

Jerk.

He still remembered how I liked my wings.

I sighed. “Yeah, that.”

I opened one more drawer and found the hairbrush I’d been looking for. I quickly brushed my hair into a high bun and tossed the hair tie I’d pulled out earlier over it.

Afterward, I slid into Nathan’s black sweatpants and his baseball sweatshirt, which I drowned in.

“What’s becoming of your life, Ave?” I muttered to myself before combing my hands over my temple. I turned around one last time to see the wedding gown pooled on the floor before heading out to find Nathan sitting on his couch.

“Thanks for that,” I said as I walked over to the opposite side of his couch than he was on and took a seat. I pulled my legs into my chest and wrapped my arms around them. “And for the sweatpants.”

“They look good on you,” he mentioned. “Want more wine? I can grab the bottle from the bathroom and?—”

“I drank that all,” I blurted out.

He arched an eyebrow. “You drank a whole bottle of wine?”

“Yup.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Define drunk.”

“Do you feel a bit better than when you went into the bath?”

“Well, yes. I feel…” I giggled a little and shrugged.

He smiled, and for some reason, his left dimple looked deeper than ever before. As if God himself carved it out a little more to pull me in.

“You’re drunk,” he said. He hopped up and headed toward his kitchen.

“Do you have vodka?”

“I have water.” He poured me a glass.

“Is that code for vodka?”

“You don’t need more alcohol, Coach. You said you were already numb before you drank one glass. I don’t need you to flatline.”

“Flatlining doesn’t sound too bad to me right now. If I could, I’d take myself out,” I semi-joked.

Nathan gave me a stern look and grew extremely somber. He walked over, kneeled in front of me, and said, “Don’t ever say that kind of shit again.”

“It was a joke.”

“It’s not funny,” he scolded. “Suicide’s never funny.”

You’re right.

It’s not.

My hands wrapped around the edge of his sweatshirt sleeve, and I lowered my head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine. You’re drunk.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to tell you that secret.”

---