Page 29 of Faking It with the Forward

“It’s watered-down piss.” Reese shakes his head. “At some point last year Reid decided he wanted to go old school with beer. Only brands made before the nineteen fifties.”

“Hey, this beer was made in the eighteen hundreds.” He starts pouring the pitcher into glasses. “If it was good enough for our forefathers, it’s good enough for me.”

“You know these people didn’t have indoor plumbing, right?” Reese says, clearly diving into an old argument. “Progress isn’t a bad thing.”

“I like it,” Nadia says, smiling over at Reid. “Beer is beer.”

“It’s really not,” Reese mutters, but lifts his glass and takes a sip. He grimaces and gives me an apologetic look. “Seriously, you don’t have to drink it. I’ll get you something else.”

“It’s fine,” I say, taking my own sip. I’m not really into beer one way or the other. It all kind of tastes like piss to me. I prefer my alcohol flavored with syrup and sugar. “Mmmmm, so good.”

“See?” Reid says, feeling vindicated. “Twyler’s got good taste.” His eyes dart to Reese. “Mostly.”

Beer issue settled, the table sinks into conversation, the guys talking about the first preseason game coming up. “Anderson’s off the injury list,” Reese says. “Which means that Hartford will be a lot more dangerous this year.”

“Maybe.” Reid doesn’t look bothered by this news. “But they lost three seniors, including Boozer to Wisconsin.”

“Fair point,” Reese says. “I just wish we were playing at home and not away.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” I look across the table to Nadia, “we’ll be on the bus when tickets go on sale. Are you still good for buying them?”

“Yep. The online sale starts at nine.”

“You can’t oversleep,” I tell her.

“I won’t. I promise. I have the whole morning cleared.” Nadia lifts her glass and takes a drink. “I already set my alarm.”

“Tickets for what?” Reid asks.

“The New Kings,” Nadia replies before I get a chance to. “It’s Twyler’s favorite band.”

“New Kings?” Reid says. “I haven’t listened to them since high school.”

“You mean since they had a song in that superhero movie, and they played it on the radio all the time.” Fairweather fans. They’re the worst.

“How many times have you seen them?” Reese asks.

“Eight.”

“Eighttours,” Nadia supplies. “That’s not including multiple shows at each stop. She’s hardcore.”

The New Kings were indie for a long time, but exploded a few years ago. It’s great that they’ve had such huge success, being on that soundtrack set them up, but for the majority of the fanbase, we’re not in it for their fame. Two best friends front the band, and their lyrics are about life and struggling with depression. The good and bad stuff. It’s all real, and I’m not surprised a party boy like Reid isn’t into it more than superficially. Their music has helped me through a few rocky times—including the one with Ethan.

“So, you’re a fangirl,” Reese says, looking at me like he’s trying to unlock some code.

“Is that a surprise?”

“Maybe,” he says, “but as someone who had a shrine to Wayne Gretzky in my bedroom, I don’t think I can judge.”

“They’re coming to the city next month,” I explain, running my thumb over the condensation on my glass. “I haven’t seen them at the arena before and I just want good seats.”

“Twy,” Nadia says, reaching across the table and grabbing my hand. “I’ve got this. Wake up, get in the queue, sit there bored out of my mind for two hours, snag awesome tickets.”

“Thank you.” The tension in my shoulders eases, and I brush against Reese. God, he smells so good. Some kind of intoxicating mixture I can’t put my finger on. I just know it makes me want to lean in and huff him. “I just haven’t missed a tour yet. I’d ask Ruby, but she’s working the reading bowl that day for her school district.”

“Ruby doesn’t need to do it. I’m doing it.”

Reese nudges my knee with his, sending another round of butterflies hurling through my stomach, and says, “I’m sure Nadia can click a few buttons, aren’t you?”

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