Page 32 of Revolve
The booze makes everything better, or at least easier to ignore. I’m slouched on a stool in the kitchen, watching drunk couples go at it against every available wall. It’s like a full-contact sport just to squeeze past them. Not that I can judge. I’ve definitely been that guy.
I’m half scrolling through my phone when an email from my dad’s assistant pops up, asking me to RSVP for the vow renewal. I shove my phone in my pocket, slide off the stool, and head to the living room.
Before I can make it, Mehar Chopra steps in front of me. Her hand brushes my chest, and I try to flip the switch, be the guy shewas with that night. Just to keep up that version of me, even though what we had was a onetime thing. It always is. But her voice is just static, her laugh echoing in some far-off tunnel.
She shakes her head, then hands me a can before walking off. White Claw. As I’m going to the back door, my fingers itch to crack it open, but I leave it on a table.
Then, like someone lifting noise-canceling headphones, she comes into focus. Black hair, green eyes, bold red lips. Sierra’s perched on a chair while the group around her clinks shot glasses and laughs loud enough to shake the walls. Her redheaded friend—Scarlett, I think—slaps her leg, doubled over in laughter, but Sierra’s smile fades the second Scarlett looks away.
There’s no telling why I walk over to her, but I’ve stopped trying to understand the shit I do when I see her.Like agreeing to be her fucking partner.
“Double D!” one guy shouts. My eyes don’t stray from the girl who’s suddenly gone rigid. Scarlett nudges her, but Sierra only empties her can.
My head cocks with an amused smirk when Scarlett eyes me curiously.
“My friends back at Waterfell weren’t too happy after that last game against you guys,” the blond in front of Sierra says, pulling my attention away from her. I have no fucking clue what he’s talking about. Last semester is a blur, and I have no desire to relive those games. I was reckless, irritable, and far too eager to bash my fists into something on the ice. The commentators dubbed me Dalton’s most physical player. It pissed me off.
“Which friends?” I ask, my tone flat with disinterest.
“Well, the defenseman you cross-checked, for starters,” he says.
Oh. That game. It was after another one of my mom’s calls saying my dad hasn’t been home for days. Not my finest moment. But it wasn’t a fucking cross-check. Their massive defenseman, eyes glinting like melted gold, came at me just as hard as I came at him. Helmets flew off, noses and lips were bloodied, and I even managed to tear his jersey, revealing a tattoo that resembled one of those swirly Van Gogh paintings.
“A game’s a game, buddy. Pretty sure we ended up at their house party afterward.” I only remember that because I got so drunk I woke up in a room I didn’t recognize.
I shake the memory away only to see Sierra placing her second empty can onto the table, then excusing herself quietly. A subtle trace of cherry lingers in the air when she brushes past me.
Like a dog caught on a scent, I trail after her into the second living room. She finds an empty couch by the window and plops down in relief.
I collapse on the cushion right beside her, and she goes rigid. She grips tightly onto another can, and I have no clue when she grabbed that. I can’t help but wonder why she’s indulging, and whether it’s because of this morning.
Sierra groans loudly, rolling her eyes in that way I’ve become too accustomed to. She mutters something about staying for Scarlett.
“Can’t leave me alone?” she says, irritation lacing her words.
“Incapable of it,” I say.
Sierra’s red lips flatten into a thin line. “First you want to be my partner, and now you’re following me around. I think you’re the one who’s obsessed.”
I lean back on the couch. “Nah, I just like to know when the circus is coming to town.”
Her glare sharpens. “Funny, I thought you were their opening act,Captain.”
“Sounds like you’ve been asking around about me. Trying to get to know your new partner, or do you just like calling mecaptain?”
“I’m not impressed. Your praise either comes from sorority girlsor your frat brothers.” Sierra sloshes around her half-empty can just as a group of girls stumble into the quiet of this second living room. “Your fans are admiring you,” she mocks.
I turn to see one of the girls waving at me. I wave back.
“Is that like your bat signal or something? Are your pants going to fly off?”
“I just said hi. You’re the one who wants my pants to come off.”
She tips her can in the girl’s direction. “So, she’s not your next conquest?”
“Conquestwould mean I have to win her affection. I’m pretty sure I already have it.”
Sierra looks at the girl again, before hesitantly meeting my eyes. “Why her? What makes her worthy oftheDylan Donovan.”
