Page 13 of The Baller

“I’m not drinking that.”

Radley Andrews caught underage… I could already see the headlines.

“Nice of him though.”

“Yeah… it was,” I replied, though my mind was still on the way he seized the phone, without even looking.

He just reached out and took it, quick as a flash.

I don’t even know how he’d seen them; I was facing the direction those guys had come from andIhadn’tseen them. I mean, it would have been hard to see around mystery guy and his human wall-ness, but still, he’d sensed them coming and snatched the phone before I even realized it was happening.

“Who was he?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. He’s the guy I saw in Brown’s earlier.”

Millie put down the beer she was drinking like she wasn’t the same age as me, and also underage. “Holy shit, Rad! No wonder you have that. I wouldn’t have been looking where I was going either.”

She poked a finger right into the center of my bruise, prompting the same sharp pain to radiate from it, just like when I did it in the first place.

“Ouch! What d’you do that for?” I winced, and rubbed along my throbbing forehead.

“Sorry. But shit… that guy is so hot – and he wants your number. You should give it to him.” Before I shook my head no, she placed both hands on my shoulders, squeezed gently, and grinned slyly. “On second thought, maybe I’ll go over and give him mine instead.”

At her words, the strangest sensation took place in the pit of my belly; the ever-present swirling ball of anxiety found itself speared with a rapid shot of jealousy. It was weird. And new. And…

“Kidding. I’mkidding. God, you should see your face.” Millie’s lips split wide with amusement. “But this is good. It means you’re thinking about guys again. Woohoo! Progress.”

“I’m not…” I started, but quit mid-sentence. Because if I said I wasn’t thinking about guys, that would be a big fat lie. Or not. It wasn’t guys, plural; it was just one. The one I’d first seen this afternoon in Brown’s. The one with lips that looked like they’d taste of strawberries. More confusing was that it was something I wanted to find out.

“Seriously. I should go and hand him your number myself.” Her head flicked in the direction I hadn’t dared to look. I didn’t even want to give a subtle side-eye, but subtle and Millie were not two things usually found together.

“Staaawp, Millie. Jeez. Don’t make it so obvious.” I tugged on her sleeve, bringing her back to looking at me. “I’m not giving him my number.”

Everyone says you should never live with regret, but I’d only ever given my number to one guy before who’d asked me, and I regretted it every single day. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake.

She looked around again, not caring in the slightest that she was making it totally obvious we were talking about them. Or him. “Is he in our American literature class? I’m sure I’ve seen him before.”

“No, he said he wasn’t a student.” I shook my head, biting down the smile at the look on his face when I asked him. I could have insulted his mom and he would have shown less indignation.

“Yeah, he looks too… I dunno… put together. They all do. Even with baseball caps on. They look different from the rest of the dickheads in here.” Millie jerked forward as someone rushed past her. “Whoa, this place got busy quick.”

“I know.”

“Who’d have thought a gross dive bar would be so popular?” She winked, knowing exactly why it got so busy. I may as well be wearing a homing beacon for frat boys. “You want to go?”

Finally.

“Yes, please,” I grinned at her.

She flung an arm around my shoulders. “I’m proud of you, Rad, for sticking it out this long. We’ll make this undergradlife ours yet, and this place isn’t too bad when it’s not so crammed you can’t move. I think we’ll come again.”

“When pledge week is over,” I muttered, though it seemed to be more like pledge month, “and it’s easier for everyone.”

“You’re not supposed to try and make it easier for everyone. You’re supposed to live your life,” she repeated, like it was a daily mantra.

Millie turned around to where Meg was leaning casually against the bar a little further up, doing her best impression of an undergrad, even if the beer bottle she was holding was filled with water, or apple juice, or whatever she usually drank on duty. Ava, behind me, always went with Diet Coke.

“Hey, we’re ready to go home.”

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