Page 13 of Faking Summer
Parker grinned, adjusting his cap. "Let's do it."
The dimly-lit hotel bar was packed with the team and other guests. I spotted Crew, Bailey, and Boston at a table in the corner.
"Over here!" Bailey waved me over, almost spilling his drink in the process.
Just then, the elevator doors swung open, as Chandler and Willow made their entrance.
Boston was practically drooling over Chandler in her little black dress, and I understood the reaction—she could pull off fucking anything. Bailey caught me staring. He knew the situation between us. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and steered me away from the group before she reached us.
"Let's go check out these cowgirls," he slurred, gesturing to the lobby doors.
I downed my drink and followed him, knowing everyone else would slowly make their way across the street. I needed distance from Chandler. I knew I’d done the right thing. Hadn’t I? Being the bigger person to let her explore her connection with Boston was supposed to feel good… so why did it feel like I was the one who’d lost something? Maybe because I had. Not just her—I lost the chance, the possibility of what we could have been. And now, all I was left with was the question: what if? Maybe she wouldn’t have picked me anyway. Maybe I was torturing myself over something that was never meant to be.
The scent of spilled whiskey and worn leather filled the bar. Bailey waved down the bartender with that familiar mischievous smirk tugging at his lips. He ordered shots as more of the guys started to join us.
"Alright," he said, sliding a row of glasses towards our newly formed huddle. "We're taking this shot, and there's a group of girlson our left. We're all gonna pick one to slide next to on the count of three."
I shook my head. "Why do we go along with this shit?" I asked, but Bailey was already counting, his voice carrying over the pulsing music.
"One, two, three…"
The sharp sting of tequila hit the back of my throat, a fiery reminder to never let Bailey pick the shots again. Then, we let him lead the way. He dove into conversation with a girl whose laughter sounded more donkey than human.
Crew and I drifted over to two brunettes nearby. The girl closest to me glanced up, her eyes searching me closely. "Well, hello gorgeous," she purred.
"Hi," I replied, flashing her a dimple. Before I could ask her name, Bailey's voice interrupted with our prearranged code word. "Blue Devils, fire drill!"
Fire Drill was code for “let’s switch girls”—a douchey-yet-effective tactic to remove ourselves from conversation we didn't want to be in, and have someone else take over and distract. It was shitty, but here I was, always backing up Bailey, even when he was an idiot.
"Excuse me, it's been great," I murmured just before the annoyance flared in her eyes.
"Where are you going?" she called out as I slipped past her, Bailey and Crew shadowing my movements, an orchestrated shift down the line.
As I moved toward the next person, I noticed a pair of sexy tan legs and a glimpse of blonde hair. Blondes weren’t my preference, but it was just a chat, right? Then she turned around, and instantly, I realized my mistake. It was the one and only, Caroline Matthews.
"Caroline," I said, making a sad attempt to hide my disappointment. My gaze landed on the two shots lined up in front of her. "Double fisting? Classy. Really setting the bar high."
She grabbed one without hesitation. "What can I say? I aim low—survival was the only goal this week." Then she tossed it back like a pro.
I leaned against the cool wood of the bar. "I know that feeling."
She turned, her glare sharp. "I doubt you've ever had a rough week in your life."
A mirthless laugh escaped me. "You have no idea.”
Caroline's attention snapped away, drawn to something, or someone, across the room. I followed her gaze to Boston and Chandler, all over each other on the dance floor. I winced, the image burning my retinas, overwhelmingly unwanted. In a strange way, I knew Caroline was feeling the same discomfort I was.
"Another shot," Caroline commanded the bartender.
"Shouldn't you finish that—" Before I could finish my sentence, she swept up the second shot glass and downed it—making it disappear in an instant.
"Nevermind," I shook my head. “Guess you know what you’re doing.”
The bartender slid another whiskey my way, the ice clinking against the glass. Before my fingers could wrap around it, Caroline's hand darted out, snatching it from me.
"I'll take that, too," Caroline declared.
"Of course you will," I shook my head as I looked down at her. I had a significant height advantage over her—a fact I never failed to enjoy. Her long blonde hair framed her face in effortless waves, and those cowboy boots she wore only made her look even more defiant.
