Page 9 of Faking Summer
"Reese, really?" she murmured.
"Really, I'm good, Blair." Disappointment flickered across her face before she hid it with aforced pout.
With a huff, she slid off my lap and crossed her arms defiantly across her chest. "Fine, but my drinks are on you tonight."
I didn't miss the bartender's knowing glance our way. He'd been an audience to Blair's failed attempt at seducing me. Without breaking eye contact with her, I gave him a subtle nod, agreeing to the transactional peace offering. It seemed like a small price to pay for ruining whatever plan she had for tonight.
Finally, the door swung open as Bailey and Crew walked in. They both grabbed a stool and took a place at the bar.
“Alright, chat… we made it to the bar so you have ten seconds to throw any last minute gifts at me before I log off for the night,” Bailey said, smirking into his phone like an idiot. Lately he was obsessed with making as much money as he could talking to what he called “his fans” online.
"What’s up, bud?" Crew greeted me first with a nod as he took a seat.
Bailey turned off his phone and leaned back in a relaxed manner, casually draping an arm over the top of the tall bar stool. His grin widened as he looked at Blair. "Well, well, look who's here. The devil herself."
Blair squinted at him. "And you'd be the first person I'd send straight to hell," she fired back. It brought back memories of the constant jabs they’d exchange when Blair and I were together—they never got along. Crew caught the bartender's attention with a lazy flick of his wrist. "On that note, we'll take some shots over here."
"Getting bored now," Blair announced abruptly, pushing away from her stool. Her eyes locked onto mine for a moment. "You boys enjoy your night. Reese, if you change your mind," she squeezed my arm, "you know my number."
The others didn't seem to notice her leave, already caught up in the anticipation of shots being lined up before us. Then I caught the tail end of Crew's sentence. “…Season is almost over."
Bailey leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bar. "Can’t believe it’s our last summer together."
“Let’s make these next weeks count,” I called out, lifting my shot into the air.
As the heat from the shot warmed my chest, I thought about these next few weeks with the boys. Constant laughter and reckless stupidity, the adrenaline of game days, chasing girls and random hook-ups–-it no longer had the same appeal it once did. And, I knew who shifted my outlook on it all. Chandler. As bittersweet as it was, last summer had been a turning point. I knew letting her go was the right move. For her, for me. But she showed me what I wanted in a relationship—substance, depth, something more meaningful. It was a glimpse into the future that I wanted, even if I may not be ready for it just yet. I was grateful for the lessons she’d taught me.
"Reese, you in there?" Crew's voice interrupted my thoughts, his hand waving in front of my face, snapping me back. “Wells Clark just walked in.”
A loud sigh escaped me as I leaned back. He was almost as cocky as me, except I wasn’t sure if he actually had a brain. He was a walking cliché in the form of a college football quarterback. Him and I had gotten into a little incident a while back, and let’s just say my fist ended the night after connecting straight into his jaw.
"Hey, look, it's the soccer team," he drawled, a smirk plastered across his face as he approached us.
Bailey, who was on his second beer next to me, set his drink down. "Baseball," he corrected.
"Ah, you know what I mean." Wells shrugged off the correction with a nonchalant wave of his hand. "You play with balls, same thing." His attempt at humor fell flat.
I arched an eyebrow at Wells. "You do realize that the pigskin you toss around is called a ball too, right?" I had to hold back a smile at the flicker of confusion on his face.
His laughter was loud and abrupt, making Crew flinch. "Oh yeah, you're right," he conceded with a grin. "Guess I play with balls too, I mean… besides my own."
"Every word exchanged with you is a brain cell I will never get back," I whispered under my breath.
Wells, unfazed by my comment, leaned closer, the smell of his cheap cologne overpowering the stale beer smell. "By the way, I saw your little sister doing her thing at cheer camp while we were practicing on the field. She's a real looker?—"
"If you speak about my little sister again, I promise you, you won’t be able to walk out of here, let alone speak again."
“Damnit, I would have worn my other shoes tonight if I knew we were getting into a bar fight.” Bailey crossed him arms. “Although, Reese didn’t need any help beating your ass sophomore year.”
Wells' smile faltered. His friend stepped in with hands raised. "Woah, woah," he said, trying to diffuse the situation. "We're all just here to have a good time."
The muscles in my jaw ticked with barely-restrained anger. "You've got about thirty seconds to get him out of my face before my fist ends up in his. Again."
The friend, eyes flickering between me and Wells, seemed to grasp the gravity of the threat. He tugged at Wells' sleeve, urging him away with a nervous glance in my direction.
"Alright, alright," Wells conceded with a dismissive wave of his hand, the cocky grin slipping back onto his face. "We'll continue this conversation another night."
"Yeah, get lost, Clark!" Crew yelled as he retreated.
