Page 73 of I Blame the Alcohol

Hurt crosses Stella’s face before irritation takes its place, “It was just a suggestion. We can put the sleepovers on hold until after lacrosse season is over.”

She goes to move away but I grab her hand and intertwine our fingers.

“That’s not what I meant. Spending a single night without you is what sounds terrible. And stop feeling guilty for having struggles. Despite what your father may think, you are only human.” I give her fingers a reassuring squeeze, “Your problems are my problems and mine are yours. We take on the skeletons in the closet together.”

Stella blinks with surprise, her defensiveness visibly slipping away.

“Oh.”

Running my thumb along her jawline, I lean forward to plant a soft kiss against her lips.

“You can stay at my house any night of the week. And on the nights you feel like staying at your dorm, I’ll come to you.”

“Sounds like we're going to be seeing a lot of each other.”

“I plan on seeing you as much as our schedules allow it. Once tournaments start up, I’m not going to lie, it’s going to be tough. But as long as we keep communication channels open and trust each other, I think we will be just fine.”

Stella sighs, “You sound so confident.”

“That’s because I am. There are a lot of things I'm uncertain about but when it comes to how I feel about you, Stel, there is not a trace of doubt in my mind.”

Mo pops out an air pod, “I should be writing this stuff down. You’re pretty good at this gushy stuff, Ellsworth.”

Stella laughs while I stare at him in horror.

“Were you listening this whole time?”

Mo shrugs, “Couldn’t get into my podcast with a love confession going on behind me.”

Stella snorts, “You are such an old man.”

I groan, leaning my head back against the luxurious leather seat.

“That was supposed to be a private moment, Mo.”

“You should be thanking me, now you have someone who witnessed your first moment as a whipped man.”

Johnson pipes up from the pilot seat, “From what I’ve heard, that boy has been whipped long before this flight.”

The O’Brien’s fall apart laughing while I sigh in defeat.

Stella

“Why is there paint on the floor?”

After giving me an enormous reunited-at-last hug, Lou turns to survey the paint shop that is now our dorm’s living room. I grin, gesturing towards the tubs of neon paint like a car salesman presenting his most prized vehicle.

“We’ve got a party to hit this weekend!”

Lou frowns, “Wes mentioned something about that. But where does the paint come in?”

My beaming smile remains undeterred, “It’s a neon party! The lacrosse team is bringing in a blacklight, so the goal is to glow as much as possible.”

She frowns, “Don’t most people just buy bright clothing from a second-hand store?”

Salesman persona firmly in place, I bend down to peel off the lid of the closest tub and gesture towards the unnatural orange glow.

“Some do, but this is better. Picture the infamous scene fromTeen Wolf.”

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