Page 16 of The Fine Line
“Really,” she insists. “You guys killed it out there.”
I lean back. “We lost.”
“Oh.” She wilts slightly.
I squint at her. “Did you even go?”
She drops her eyes, picking at the label. “Had some homework.”
The front door slams open again. Twelfth time in five minutes. Another crowd. Volume spikes. The new group floods the kitchen, pushing Bella to the corner.
I step in front of her, hand between her shoulders to steer her aside. “Here,” I say, tilting my chin toward the back door. “Wanna go somewhere quieter?”
Bella blinks, scanning the room. “Um… sure,” she says brightly, though her expression doesn’t quite match.
“Wait!” she blurts before I can move. “Could I just grab a few more beers?”
Her smile snaps back into place. Batting her lashes like she plays the Majors.
“For my friends,” she adds, glancing over my shoulder.
I turn. Three girls ten feet away. They all wave like synchronized robots.
“For my friends,” she adds.
I turn. Three girls wave from across the room.
I press my tongue to my bottom lip, sighing softly.
Then I snap back into form. Shoulders squared. Usual grin in place.
“Sure, of course.”
I should know better by now. Should’ve stopped hoping.
But it’s wired into me somehow—that stupid flicker of belief that maybe this time someone actually wants me.
Not something from me.
Bella beams as I open the fridge and liquor cabinet.
“Grab whatever you want,” I say.
“Thanks, Sutty,” she coos, kissing my cheek before heading to her friends. “You’re the best.”
Am I? At what?
“Didn’t I tell you girls he’s the best?” she calls, already digging through bottles.
They nod, giggling.
I mutter, “No problem,” and turn away just in time to catch Bella pouting, like she’s suddenly disappointed I’m not paying her more attention.
I know that’s all she ever really wanted.
Maybe later.
I drift toward the living room where a few of my teammates are playing table hockey. I lean back against the wall, head tipping up, eyes closing.
