Page 78 of Walking Wounded

Perhaps because he’s so tall, or perhaps it’s a trick of genetics, but Hal is one of those people who, if he takes it slow, can drink steadily for hours without showing its effects. He drinks his way through every football game, through every Christmas party, every wedding reception. And except for the slightly glassy look in his eyes, or the blush along his cheeks, no one would ever know.

Luke is not one of those people.

Luke has three martinis, and winds up dancing shirtless on top of bars. Or finding his way into compromising photos.

He isn’t proud, but he isn’t really able to stop it from happening, either…not once the alcohol is in his system. He could always abstain from drinking – and a lot of the time he does, these days – but tonight Hal’s sliding drinks toward him, and there’s a reckless voice in the back of his head telling him to keep going and see what happens. See if he’ll wake up next to Hal again. See if they take it further this time.

“Are you sweet on her?” Luke asks when he’s taken the first sip of his third Jack and Coke. They’ve got a little table on the edge of the dance floor, watching people who seem decades younger than them grind beneath the dizzying lights.

Hal sits with his elbows braced on the table, leaning forward into the middle of it, shoulders miles wide inside his blue shirt. “Who?” He frowns, confused.

“Tara.” Luke flicks a glance toward the DJ booth, where she’s snuggled up with Dex.

“What?” Hal barks a harsh, humorless laugh. “No. Dude, no. She’s my client’s daughter, for starters. And I’m not interested, for seconds.”

When Luke looks at him, he finds his friend staring at the table, shaking his head, brows knitted together. “Well that’s dramatic.”

Hal lifts his head, frown harsh now. “I’m not sweet on her,” he says, firmly, and Hal’s a bad liar, so Luke knows he means it.

“Okay.”

“I’m serious.” His stare bores into Luke.

“Okay, okay. Damn. I was just asking.” He didn’t mean it all that seriously, was just asking. But Hal looks troubled, toying with his straw, grooves bracketing his mouth. “What about Maddie?” he asks, tone light and teasing.

“Ugh.” Hal sags back in his chair. “She wrote me a note, you know.”

“No!”

“She didn’t sign it, but I know it was her. She said I was ‘super cute.’”

Luke cackles.

“I didn’t even know it was in my bag,” Hal continues, beet red in the face. “And we were at the gym, and it fell out on the floor…”

“Jesus Christ,” Luke gasps, wheezing now.

“It’s not that funny.”

“Beg to differ.”

Hal rakes a hand through his hair, messing up the neatly-gelled spikes, a move which turns Luke’s laughter to sawdust in his throat. “Mitch picked it up…and kinda read it to everyone.”

Luke chuckles, still, but the hilarity of the situation is dying away. “Aw, poor you. Little girls think you’re super cute.”

Hal makes a face. “Oh, come on. Girls think you’re cute.”

“Hmm.”

“Remember Natalie?”

“Natalie Duncan?”

Hal nods. “I know for a fact she had a crush on you junior year.”

Luke doesn’t believe that. He doesn’t think he does, anyway. He remembers Natalie as blonde, busty, and a little bookish. She’d liked thick cable-knit sweaters and Jane Austen. They’d sat beside one another in Lit and worked on a paper together once.

“Just because you weren’t interested in girls doesn’t mean girls weren’t interested in you,” Hal says, smiling a little.

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