“We were both wasted. Trust me, she didn’t remember much either.”
“So that’s why she hates you?” Hunter presses.
I wave a hand. “Naah. The beef started over something else. Which I’m not going to fucking talk about right now, because Jesus Christ, it’s Saturday night and we should be partying.”
Tucker chuckles. “I’m gonna grab a beer. You guys need a refill?”
“I’m good,” Hunter says.
As Tuck heads for the counter, I pull out my phone and check the time. It’s nine-thirty. I scroll through my contacts while Hunter starts talking hockey to me again. I think I still have Allie’s number from when she was planning Hannah’s birthday this spring. She’d sent about a hundred mass texts outlining every mundane detail of the party.
Yup, it’s still in my phone. I saved her contact info as Wellsy’s Blonde Friend. I should probably change that to Bondage Girl.
I type a quick message.
Me: U make it back to the dorm ok?
It’s a dumb question, because she left our place this morning, so of course she made it back. Still, I’m surprised when she answers right away.
Her: Yep. Here now.
Me: Shitty weather 2nite. Prolly good ur staying in.
She doesn’t respond to that. I stare at the screen in frustration, then wonder why I care. I’m the king of casual hook-ups. I rarely ever want a repeat performance after I’ve slept with a girl, and if there’s one girl I shouldn’t sleep with again, it’s Allie.
Not too many things in this world make it on my Scared Shitless list, but Garrett’s girlfriend is solidly positioned in the top three. Wellsy won’t be happy if she finds out I slept with her best friend, and if Wellsy’s not happy, Garrett’s not happy, which means I’ll have to deal with G tsking at me all disappointed-like. Logan will follow his lead, and then Grace will jump on the Dean-is-an-ass bandwagon, and the next thing I know, I’ll be taking shit from all directions. That’s reason enough not to go there, but my sexed-up body is being a stubborn asshole.
I want her again.
One more time wouldn’t hurt, right? Shit, or maybe twice? I’m not entirely sure how many times it will take to get her out of my system. All I know is that every time I think about her, my dick gets impossibly hard.
Beside me, Hunter has transferred his attention to a group of girls at a nearby table, and I can’t help but be proud when one measly nod from him causes the trio to saunter over to us. My boy’s got game.
“Which one of you is going to buy us a round?” one of them teases. She’s tall and blond and rocking a minidress that stops mid-thigh.
As Hunter opens his mouth to respond, all the lights in the bar flicker ominously.
I frown and glance over at Tucker, who’s just rejoined the group. “Is it the Apocalypse out there or something?”
“It’s coming down pretty hard,” he admits.
The lights stop flickering. I take that as my cue to bail, because if we’re dealing with a potential power outage, I’d rather be home when it happens instead of on the road. Besides, for all my talk about partying, I’m really not feeling the bar tonight.
“Hey, I’m heading out.” I clap a hand over my roommate’s shoulder. “See you back at home.” I don’t miss the disappointed pouts on the girls’ faces, but I’m confident they’ll forget all about me once Hunter and Tuck turn up the charm.
I exit the bar a minute later and realize Tuck wasn’t kidding. In the ten seconds it takes me to get to my car, I’m soaked to the bone, dripping water all over the Beemer’s leather interior. The bolts of lightning streaking across the sky are so bright they make the act of flicking on my headlights almost redundant. I could probably just let those blinding white flashes light the way home.
I fish out my phone again.
Me: Weather’s worse than I thought. Keep a flashlight near u in case power goes out.
Oh, for chrissake. I sound like I’m writing a shitty survival guide. Why am I even texting her?
Allie responds with, Thx for the tip, then follows it up with, Srsly, stop worrying about me. I’m reading on the couch. Under a blanket. Snug as a bug in a mug.
Me: In a rug.
Her: ??
Me: Snug as a bug in a RUG. That’s how u say it.
There’s five whole seconds of radio silence, and then my phone rings in my hand. I’m grinning as I answer the call.
“Why would the bug be in a rug?” she demands.
I snort. “Why would it be in a mug?”