Page 8 of We Were Something
Logan Becker.
It sounds familiar. I can’t place exactly why, though it’s probably from spending four years with this locker and his name written in black Sharpie at eye level. But who knows?
“See? I told you I graduated quite a while before you.”
Rolling my eyes, I lean a hip against the neighboring locker and cross my arms, my slightly drunken mind scrambling to quickly do the math.
“16 years isn’tthatbig of a difference.”
I expect him to scoff, tell me something dramatic like…I don’t know, that he’s an entire human being with a driver’s license older than me or something else equally ridiculous. But he doesn’t. He just closes the locker door and shoves the padlock back into place, then leans back against the wall of metal, looking straight ahead.
“Okay, so maybe 16 yearsisa big difference,” I finally admit, eliciting a low chuckle from somewhere deep in his chest.
Pushing away from the lockers, I take a step to the side so I’m right in front of him, looking deep into his eyes. Or as deep as I can manage with the way my vision is slightly swimming.
“But that’s the fun part of trouble, right?”
My eyes fall to his mouth as he licks his lips, and I know something monumental is going to happen. I can just feel it in the way my stomach is rolling. The way my body heat is rising. The way I feel wobbly on my feet.
I take one step closer, hoping my bravery and interest is enough for both of us since he seems a little gun shy.
“So what’s it gonna be, huh?” I say. “Is my more-than-obvious flirting getting us anywhere?”
He licks his lips again.
“Because I’m gonna be honest…” I lean forward and whisper in his ear. “I’d go anywhere with you.”
There’s a long pause, and I see him take a deep breath. Stand up straight so his long frame towers over me. He reaches out and takes some of my short hair between his fingers. Opens his mouth to say something.
Just as I bend over and throw up all over his leather shoes.
CHAPTER2
PAIGE
“You did not.”
I pin Lennon with a look that communicates more than words could ever convey then return my focus to the menu I’m holding.
I already know everything Mary’s offers for brunch by heart, but staring at menu items likeMango Toast with Hazelnut Pepita Butteris a less painful prospect than watching a ripple of quiet laughter roll across the table.
It’s rare for me to be embarrassed, but my intoxicated heave-ho in the halls of my former high school—and at the feet of a handsome stranger—has struck an uncomfortable spot, and I’m finding the sensation difficult to…swallow.
“That is just…” Rebecka’s words trail off as she tries to find the right filler, and when she takes too long, I tear my eyes from the menu and give her my own.
“Disgusting? Mortifying? The least sexy thing to ever do right before you try to kiss a man?” I offer, my eyes dipping toGrain-Free Tahini Granola. “Believe me,” I grumble, “I’ve run through the entire gamut of words to categorize what happened on Saturday night. There is alonglist of descriptive terms, and each one makes me feel even more horrible than the last.”
“Girl, I amsosorry,” Hannah chimes in, her tone of voice the most authentically caring out of the bunch. “I can’t even imagine.”
“And the crazy thing,” I add, finally dropping my menu ruse and looking around the table with a shrug, “is that I have literallynoidea how I got home. None. I was almost blackout after only a few drinks. Since when is my tolerance so low?”
Rebecka takes that as an opportunity to launch into the story of the last time she blacked out, thankfully—mercifully—dragging the attention away from me for at least a few minutes. It isn’t long before she has the entire table in stitches as she reminisces about her nineteenth birthday when she tried to go shot for shot with some bro-sie frat guy she was crushing on during college.
“Needless to say, I have no idea what happened,” she continues. “All I know is I woke up face down in Ji-Eun’s back yard wearing nothing but those nineties butterfly hair clips on my nipples.” Her hands instinctively cover her breasts. “My boobs have never been the same.”
A few more giggles erupt around the table, though things are cut off when our waitress arrives and everyone begins to order.
This is our weekly routine, brunch at Mary’s to share our weekend shenanigans. We call it Monday Mournings, and it is my favorite part of the week. A chance to catch up with my friends and get some delicious brunchy goodness.
