Page 46 of From Now On

A nudge to my ribs—courtesy of Aidan’s sharp elbow—makes me glance up. “Give it a go, Morgan.”

“Go at what?” I ask absently.

I basically tuned him—and everyone—out ten minutes ago so I could focus on staying awake. I’m attempting not to be a wet blanket, but I’m fucking exhausted. I don’t think I ever fell back asleep last night, so I’m going on about three hours of sleep.

“Hitting on Eve,” Aidan answers.

Thatgets my attention.

I look at Eve, which I’ve been avoiding doing. I’m genuinely concerned I’m not going to be able to avert my eyes after a polite amount of time has passed.

The shirt she’s wearing?

Fuck. Me.

That’s what I imagine that shirt would say, if articles of clothing could talk. There’s absolutely no way Eve’s wearing a bra under it, and her tits are wrapped up like a goddamn Christmas present with a few bows on top.

And…shit, I’m staring.

I quickly glance at my smirking best friend instead. “What are you talking about, Phillips?”

“Eve’s on the prowl tonight. Hart and I are taken, so you’ve gotta do the practice run.” Aidan grins. “Pretend to pick Eve up, and then we can give her some constructive criticism.”

“Stop making me sound like a jungle cat, Aidan,” Eve says.

When I glance her way again—not looking can be as conspicuous as staring—Eve’s cheeks are the same shade as raspberries. From embarrassment, or from the multiple rounds of shots Conor and I opted out of. He’s driving and I’m having enough trouble staying awake semi-sober.

Eve seems to be studiously avoiding eye contact with me as she tells Aidan, “And a practice run is totally unnecessary. I’ve successfully flirted with guyswithoutcoaching, thank you very much.”

“You’ve gotta be a little rusty, though,” Phillips replies. “Weren’t you with your loser ex for like three years?”

“Forty-one months,” Eve mutters, then sips more of her drink.

It’s almost empty. Between that and the shots, she’s gotta be pretty buzzed by now.

Aidan’s forehead furrows. “Huh?”

“Three years and five months,” Rylan supplies.

Aidan rolls his eyes, then tugs on her ponytail affectionately. “Nerd alert. Anyway, as I was saying, you’re rusty. A little practice never hurt anyone.” He smirks. “Plus, Morgan’s moves are legendary. I could use some entertainment.”

I’m still five steps behind in this conversation.

Whenwas it decided that Eve was “on the prowl” tonight? If I’d known I was going to have to sit and watch her flirt with other guys, I would’ve driven slower and delayed our arrival. Or stayed home and slept.

I glower at Aidan as he continues grinning at me.

I’m notlegendaryat picking up women; I’m absolute shit at it. I make meaningless small talk or resort to cliché lines I’ve heard teammates use over the years. The biggest problem is—and I’m aware how conceited it sounds—I’ve never had to work very hard at picking a woman up. No matter how little I say, no matterwhatI say, she’s interested. I’ve never needed moves.

The irony is not lost on me that I’ve done a “practice run” with Eve before. Or that, under different circumstances—like the absence of our friends and her not fresh off a breakup—a chance to flirt with Eve Driscoll would be the highlight of my year.

Considering I won a national championship a couple of weeks ago, that’s fucking saying something.

“I’m going to grab another drink,” Eve announces, standing.

I glance at her glass. It’s now empty.

Eve’s seemed…off since she joined us at the table. I’m assuming it has to do with the phone call right after we arrived. Her ex, maybe? She didn’t offer any information when she returned, and it’s not my place to ask. Just like it’s not my place to suggest she slow down on the drinks.

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