Page 10 of I Blame the Alcohol

“Your tongue is hanging out.” Nico murmurs the words as he deals out the next round.

I snap my mouth shut, struggling to tear my gaze away from the toned legs peeking out from the incredibly short dress Stella is wearing tonight. She shifts just as I’m about to return to the game and suddenly I get a clear shot of who she’s talking to.

A sound rips from my throat and to my horror, I realize it’s a growl.

I blame the alcohol.

Stella

This dress is fucking tight.

I was surprised I managed to get it on, but even more surprised when the seams didn’t burst the minute I sat in Wes’ car. Either Lady Luck is on my side tonight or this dress was made by a seriously impressive seamstress.

At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was a bit of both.

“So, you live on campus?” I try not to roll my eyes at Hunter’s obvious leering but it’s getting old fast. Once Lou gave Wes the okay to make his rounds, this rookie decided to make his move.

Let me be the one to say, thus far, his performance has been seriously subpar.

Lou, the friendly one of our pair, shakes her head patiently, “We met on the first day of university. We’re roommates.”

Hunter flicks his eyes to Lou but before his gaze can drop below her chin, he nervously glances back to the living room where Wes’ animated voice can be heard. I bite back a laugh as Hunter visibly accepts defeat and steers his gaze away from the slope of Lou’s popping cleavage and back onto friendly territory with my girl’s beautifully made-up face.

As I’d predicted, the cobalt blue top not only accentuates Lou’s modest curves but also brings out the different shades of grey swirling around her pupils. With the tiniest touch of blue eyeshadow and some sparkles for her collarbones, Lou catches the attention of every male in this room.

Unfortunately, the lacrosse player currently taking too much of my personal space is ruining the first ten minutes of this party. Hunter’s millennial, shaggy, teen idol hair leaves much to be desired, and we aren’t even going to mention the unsubtle bicep flex he did while handing me a drink.

I can’t believe I made out with this guy.

Tugging at the ends of his Flames jersey, Hunter takes a step closer to me. “That’s sweet. I room with a couple of teammates on campus as well.”

His hand not holding the solo cup snakes towards me, and I resist the urge to smack it away. Why guys think one make out means they can touch you whenever they want is something I will never understand.

“Bet it’s not even a ten-minute walk from my dorm to yours. Gotta love convenience, eh?” The wink Hunter throws my way is almost as smarmy as his smile. I return it without hesitation, keeping one eye on the hand closing in on my waist.

“That must mean you live in the same building as Wes. Last I heard, he was pretty protective of the people his girlfriend hangs out with.” My smile widens until I feel my canines pop out. His hand stills, midair, ten centimeters from my body.

“So, I guess that means he knows exactly where to find you if you crossed a line he didn’t like.” The hand starts to backtrack as I continue with an air of casualty, “But the good news is Wes doesn’t have many friends who would help hide a body. Isn’t that right, Lou?”

In my peripheral, I see Lou clamping her teeth down, trying not to laugh.

“Oh, wait.” I tap on my chin with false realization, “Wes is friends witheverybody.” I let out a laugh that would make Tinker Bell stash every ounce of pixie dust she owns and quiver with fear.

“So where does that leave you, Hunter?”

“I-I need to go.” The rookie doesn’t even say goodbye as he turns on his heel and stumbles through the mass of people, trying to put as much space between us as possible.

Smart man.

Lou snorts into her drink, shaking her head, “The poor guy will never approach you again.”

“Only if I’m lucky.” I smile and toss a carefully crafted curl over my shoulder.

It took me over an hour to curl every strand of my waist-length, pin-straight hair, but the finished result was well worth the effort. The platinum curls create the perfect backlash for the short,tight, halter dress I accidentally chose to wear tonight. I finished the look off with a touch of navy eyeliner and voilà! Three hours later, I was ready to party.

If there’s one motto I’ve created all on my own, it’s that perfection takes time.

“Trip! I need your help.” Wes’ voice breaks through the thumping bass and Lou looks at me with wide eyes.

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