Page 3 of Just (Fake) Married
“You’re right. I’ll go get us both some beers.”
Because he was Ethan McGraw, practically all he had to do was snap his fingers, and some underclassman was putting beer in his hands.
“Hey man, you gonna be cool?” Mike Palmer asked, looking between Ethan and me. “I don’t need the Calloways and McGraws feuding it out in my mom’s kitchen. She’ll be pissed.”
“We’ll be fine,” Ethan said, and drank his beer in one long swallow. He was really drinking fast. I took a sip and tried not to grimace.
The football was thrown again and hit Seth in the face. “Who the fuck threw that?” Seth bellowed.
“Oh shit,” Ethan groaned, and he grabbed a bottle off the counter, opened the door in the alcove between the kitchen and the back door, and pulled me in after him.
“What are you doing?” I asked, hesitating at the doorway. Behind me, Seth tackled someone and they crashed into the cupboards.
“Come on,” he said, with a crooked smile. “I’ll keep you safe.”
How could I resist? I stepped into the pantry, and he shut the door. The small room was illuminated by the light coming in from the wide crack under the door.
We were in a pantry. Alone.
OhmyGod!
“Seth has been wanting to kick somebody’s ass all night.” Ethan took the top off the bottle – whiskey – and took a sip. He grimaced and handed it to me. My brain said no, but my brain wasn’t in charge. I was in a dark pantry with Ethan McGraw at my first party. I took a sip of the whiskey.
He leaned forward, reaching for something on the shelf behind me, and his face came within inches of mine. He closed his eyes, and as cool as I wanted to be, I panicked.
“What are you doing?” I squawked.
“What do you think I’m doing?” he asked, and leaned back, bringing a handful of Oreos with him. “Want one?”
Like he was going to kissme? I took an Oreo and shoved it in my mouth.
Somebody collided with the door, making it shake, and there was a lot of yelling happening out there.
“You don’t think you should do something?”
“What do you think I should do, Harmony Calloway?” he asked, his voice all low and deep.
“Help your brother?”
“There is no helping Seth. If the guy wants to fight, he fights.”
More yelling. People were cheering. I sent a worried look at the door.
“You’re worried about a McGraw?” he asked. “That’s against the rules.” He took another sip of whiskey and seemed a little unsteady on his feet. I could smell the fumes of beer and whiskey pouring off him.
“Are you drunk?”
“Nope.” He ate another Oreo and I laughed, because he was so drunk. “I’m celebrating.”
“What are you celebrating?”
“I’ve decided I’m going to UCLA. I’m going to be a doctor.”
“You aren’t graduating yet,” I said. “How do you know you’re going to be accepted?”
“Semantics,” he said, waving his hand around. “The important thing is, I’ve decided.”
“Then congratulations. What kind of doctor do you want to be?” I asked, feeling like I was drunk just talking to him. Was this flirting? It felt like flirting.
