Page 34 of Night Shift

The corner of Vincent’s mouth curls up into a half smile, and it’s like the best shot of hard alcohol I’ve ever had—none of the burn, just a slow shot of heat that lands deep in my belly. It’s almost too much. I look down at my cup of wine.

Vincent bumps his hip against mine.

“I’m really glad you’re here, Holiday,” he says. “Especially after Monday. I know it was. . .” He trails off and grimaces, which just about sums up the catastrophe that was the end of our little tutoring session.

“I wanted to talk to you about that, actually—”

The words are out before I can stop them. Shit. This isn’t going to plan. I’m supposed to keep it light and fun. I’m not supposed to make a big speech—not when I’m pretty sure I’ll say the wrong thing again and ruin this. But Vincent stands straighter, like he’s physically bracing for whatever verbal hellfire I can rain on him, and suddenly it feels imperative that I clear the air. Even if I have to scream the words over a Doja Cat song.

“Vincent, I—”

“Knight!”

All my courage evaporates.

There’s a basketball player standing on the other side of the bar. He’s an absolute unit of a human (seven feet tall, give or take an inch) but his cheeks are round and his face is decidedly boyish. I think he’s a freshman. I’m not entirely sure, though, because most of my roster stalking has been focused on Vincent and the boys I saw in Starbucks.

A muscle in Vincent’s jaw ticks—the only indication he gives that he’s annoyed by the interruption.

“What’s up?” he demands.

Vincent’s teammate isn’t dissuaded by his sharp tone. “Do you have a copy of the key to the basement? Jabari said there are some kegs down there we can bring up.” His eyes shift past Vincent and land on me. “Hey, I’m Griffin—”

He attempts to reach a hand across the bar for me to shake, but Vincent steps forward and creates a human wall between me and his teammate. I’m quietly glad for it. Maybe he’s learned his lesson about keeping his teammates out of our business.

“The key’s in my room.”

“Cool. Do you want to give me your room key? Or do you want to go get it?”

“I don’t remember where I put it. But I don’t want you turning the place inside out. Why do we even need kegs? There’s plenty of alcohol.”

“But we wanted to have a keg stand competition,” Griffin says forlornly.

Vincent sighs and turns to me. I get the odd sense that he’s about to ask for my permission, and I’m again reminded that I can’t own him.

“Go take care of business,” I say, giving him what I intend to be an encouraging pat on the shoulder but turns out to be just an excuse to run my palm over the curve of his muscle. I can’t remember the name of it right now. Maybe I should ask him later for an anatomy lesson.

God, I really need to put down this wine.

Luckily, it’s dark enough in here that Vincent can’t see how badly I’m blushing.

“You’re staying, right?” he asks, still looking uneasy.

“No, I did my hair and makeup and walked all the way over here for the free wine.” I give him a pointed look. “Of course I’m staying. Someone has to make sure Nina’s not breaking international beer pong ethics.”

“I’ll find you later,” he tells me. It sounds like a promise.

As soon as Vincent disappears into the crowd, though, I’m suddenly and painfully aware of the fact that I’m standing completely on my own in a house full of strangers. With a deep breath, I duck back out from behind the bar and dive into the crowd, joining the stream of people heading into the dining room.

I’m relieved when I find Nina posted up on one side of a beer pong table.

She’s not as happy to see me as I am to see her, though.

“Where’s Vincent?” she demands.

“He had to go take care of some official party business.”

Maybe tonight wasn’t the ideal night to try to talk to him privately. People are drunk and loud and desperate for a piece of him. His teammates, the other athletes, the kids from his classes, the girls who are watching from all corners of the room and waiting for their chance—all of them are playing a strategic game to win Vincent’s attention, if only for a few minutes before someone else swoops in to steal the birthday boy.

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