Page 37 of The Hearts We Fumble
In the end, I let it go. Because the alternative was admitting I didn’t have many people to fall back on.
The driver slows at a stoplight, the same intersection where I ran into Zane last week.
I glance down at my outfit—black lace bodysuit tucked into dark denim jeans and knee-high boots giving me just enough height to feel confident. My curls are styled in that perfectly undone way, though it took twenty minutes of fighting the frizz to make it look like I’d just run my fingers through it.
I swipe my tongue over my lip gloss, checking my reflection in my compact as the Uber rolls to a stop outside the brown brick house with white pillars.
If I’m going to do this, I might as well look damn good doing it.
I fire off a quick “I’m here” text to Claudia and slip a tip to the driver before climbing out of the back seat. The October air bites at my skin, sharp and cool, sending a shiver down my spine as the wind kicks up around me.
“Wyatt?”
My name cuts through the hum of music and drunken laughter just as I reach the steps of the Alpha Nu house. The yard is already littered with people—some smoking, others swaying to the bass thumping from inside.
I sidestep a couple sprawled out on the steps, tangled together like they’re the only two people here. Judging by the way she’s straddling his lap, lips pressed to his neck, I don’t think they’d notice if the whole damn house caught fire.
Claudia’s heels click against the pavement as she hurries toward me, her wide grin flashing under the dim porch light.
“I’m so frickin’ happy you’re here,” she shouts over the music, grabbing my arm like she’s afraid I might change my mind and bolt. “Robbie and the guys don’t have a game tomorrow, so the whole team is here.”
She waggles her brows like that’s supposed to excite me.
I force a polite smile, but internally? Yeah, no thanks. Been there, done that.
Football players are nothing but walking red flags with six-packs and charming smiles. I’ve spent enough time around my brother and his teammates to know exactly how that story ends. Throw in the athletes I’ve followed in the media, the ones I’ve written articles about for theBraysen Gazette, and let’s just say… I’m officially done with athletes.
Maybe I should go for a blue-collar guy. Someone steady. Hardworking. Dependable. Loyal.
Or maybe I should just stay single and enjoy the selection while I’m in college.
Claudia doesn’t give me time to dwell on it, tugging me up the stairs and through the front door like she’s on a mission.
Inside, the air is thick with the scent of sweat, booze, and bad decisions. “Humble” by Kendrick Lamar rattles the walls, vibrating through my chest as we push through the sea of bodies packed from wall to wall.
Claudia laces her fingers through mine, pulling me deeper into the house, past a group gathered around two long folding tables where a heated game of beer pong is going down.
I already know where we’re headed—the kitchen. That’s where the liquor is.
I could use a shot. Or five. Anything to loosen me up. Anything to stop the overthinking.
Claudia doesn’t waste time, pouring a drink from one of the open bottles on the counter for both of us. She hands me a plastic cup filled with something red and fruity, barely masking the heavy pour of vodka underneath.
I take a sip, feeling the heat of the alcohol spread through my chest. My phone vibrates against my hip.
I could ignore it. Should ignore it.
But my fingers are already wrapping around the device, pulling it from my pocket.
The second I see the name flash across the screen, my pulse skips.
Zane: You coming to The End Zone tonight?
Before I can even process the first message, another text rolls in. Then another. My stomach tightens.
Zane: You can ride with me if you want.
Zane: Never mind. Your lights are off, so you must already be there.
