Page 7 of The First Play

“In here,” Olivia says.

I force my floppy head to look her way and give her a smile that I’m sure looks dopey. “Thanks, Livvy Lou.”

“Oh my gosh,” she mutters. “Seriously, how much did you drink, Sen? You’re such a lightweight.”

“I had to,” I whine.

“Okay. Here we go.” Strong hands direct me to the toilet, catching me when my ankle turns again. “I gotcha.” He slows my crumpling descent to the floor, catching my hair and holding it back as my next hiccup turns into a puke explosion.

“Oh, gross. I can’t.” Olivia starts dry heaving, spinning on her heel and rushing out of the bathroom.

A hand lightly rubs my shoulder. “It’s okay.” That soft, husky voice is in my ear again, and I shiver. “You cold?”

He doesn’t wait for my answer, shrugging his jacket off and draping it over my shoulders before passing me a wad of toilet paper.

“Let me get you some water.” He makes sure I’m steady before walking to the sink and grabbing a glass. “I think this is clean.” He inspects it under the light, giving it a quick rinse before filling it.

I’m not sure how I’m supposed to hold it, and nearly tell him that, but he crouches down in front of me, his smile gentle as he helps me drink.

He’s got nice lips. Luscious. Full. I bet they feel amazing.

I can’t take my eyes off his beautiful face as I sip down the cold liquid.

It dribbles off my bottom lip, and he swipes it with his finger.

How is he not running out of the room right now?

I glance at his shirt, my nose wrinkling.

“Yeah, let’s get rid of this mess,” he mutters, standing tall and stripping off his shirt. I gape at his naked torso.

Holy shit, I was right. He is Hercules.

My gaze tracks his perfect form, every ridge of his body chiseled to perfection. Olivia says he works really hard at the gym and on the field. Apparently he never eats sugar and is pretty serious about this whole football thing.

Whatever he’s doing, it’s working.

I watched him practice the other day, and I was impressed. Not that I know anything about football, but he was great at passing the ball—it went so far!—and I like how hot he looks in those football tights.

“Your body is beautiful,” I slur, drinking him in like I want to lick his skin off.

He smirks but looks kind of awkward, like he doesn’t know what to do with the compliment.

“I’m serious.” I blink up at him. “You’re, like, sooooo beautiful.” I reach up as if to touch him, maybe even brush my fingers across those pecs and down the line between his ab muscles.

But my hand kind of gives up, feeling nothing but thin air before flopping against my thigh.

Crouching back down, he brushes the hair back off my face. “So, not too great with your liquor, huh?”

I snicker and shake my head. “This is my first time drinking, really. I mean, Dad lets me have a few sips of his beer sometimes, but this party’s a free-for-all. I have no idea how many beers I’ve had. Plus, there were those little shot things Becky gave me. They burn.” I wince and then start giggling… or am I crying?

“Yeah, I bet.” His finger is soft as he tucks my hair behind my ear.

“I didn’t mean to get drunk,” I blubber.

Okay, so I’m crying, then.

This just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?

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