“I DON’T WANT to go out,” I whine, snuggling deeper beneath the throw blanket I just draped over my upper half. I have a glass of wine, a cheese and cracker plate I just put together for myself and Netflix is cued up on my laptop. “I’m all cozy.”
My roommate Natalie rolls her eyes at me, resting her hands on her slender hips. We were dormmates our freshman year, and we’ve been living together ever since. We might not have a ton in common, but we get along great as roomies, which is rare. I know way too many people with roommate horror stories.
My biggest problem with Natalie is she’s always trying to push me out of my comfort zone, and that’s not really a flaw. That’s more on me than her.
“You’re turning into an old woman.” Natalie’s tone is accusatory, but I know she’s saying it out of concern. I take her in, noting that she’s dressed in a cropped white tank top that shows off her perfectly tanned skin and her flat stomach. The straight leg mom jeans she’s wearing make her butt look great. Her thick auburn hair hangs straight down her back and her full lips are covered in shiny gloss. Sometimes I sort of hate her because she’s so beautiful, but she’s too damn nice to hate.
“I am not an old woman.” My tone is haughty, giving me serious old woman vibes.
Natalie rolls her eyes. “You’re going out with me. We’ve been in school for almost two weeks and you haven’t come out to the bars once.”
“We’re juniors now. We don’t need to hang out at bars all the time,” I remind her, sounding like a prim, stuck-up nerd, when I’m really trying to sound like a responsible grown up who’s over the bar hopping antics.
“You’ve never hung out at bars. And why wouldn’t we hang out at bars? We’re finally twenty-one and of legal drinking age!” Natalie holds up the glass of wine she poured herself a few minutes ago, just before she downs half of it. “We should pre-party.”
“I am pre-partying.” I wave a hand at my plate before I grab a cracker and slice of cheese and take a bite. “And then I’m going to binge something on Netflix.”
“No more true crime.” She makes her way over to me and yanks the laptop out of my lap before I can stop her. “I’m tired of hearing about murderers all the time.”
“But I love—” murderers.
Yeah. Finishing that sentence makes me sound like a crazy person.
“Get dressed.” Natalie tucks my laptop beneath her arm, holding it close.
“I have homework.” I pout.
“Liar. You were going to watch Netflix all night.”
“I need to write a paper though.” For next week.
“That’s due next week,” she says, like she’s in my brain.
Natalie knows me far too well.
“No more excuses,” she continues. “We’ll only go out for a couple of hours. If it’s boring and there are no prospects, then forget it. We’ll leave.”
“A couple of hours?” I groan. “That sounds awful. I have a nine o’clock class tomorrow.”
“And who’s fault is that? You know better than to schedule a class so early.”
“I didn’t have a choice.” I lean my head against the back of the chair, staring at the ceiling. “And what do you mean by prospects?”
“Don’t be dense, Jo. You know what I’m talking about.” She sends me a knowing look.
Boys. Men. Whatever you want to call them. Nat is a big flirt. It comes naturally to her, and the guys flock to her wherever we go. Back in the day, I didn’t care. I was smug with the knowledge that I had a boyfriend, and being surrounded by boys who had no interest in me wasn’t a problem.
But now I’m just as single as Natalie, and maybe I don’t want to deal with a bunch of guys trying to get in her pants. Maybe it’ll make me feel inferior that none of them want to get in my pants.
Stupid but true.
“Fine. I will go anywhere but Logan’s,” I finally say.
Logan’s is the bar where all the football players hang out. Which means they dominate the space. There is football memorabilia all over the walls and they are treated like gods the moment they walk through the doors.
Yeah. No thank you.
“Logan’s has the Monday night drink specials,” Natalie reminds me. “That’s the only place we’re going.”
I try to protest, but she’s not hearing it. Within minutes, Natalie has me in my bedroom, making me strip out of my sweatpants and T-shirt, while she picks out an outfit for me to wear. Once I’m dressed in jeans and a black cropped tank top that’s basically the same one she’s wearing, she corrals me into the bathroom we share, curling my hair while I nearly poke my eye out putting on mascara.
“You act like you don’t know how to apply makeup,” she mutters as she curls my dark hair way better than I ever could.
“I don’t. I rarely wear it,” I remind her.
Natalie shakes her head. “Your ex really did a number on you.”
I pause, the mascara wand still clutched between my fingers. “What does Bryan have to do with this?”
“He’s the one who convinced you he likes you all-natural. That you don’t need to dress up for him or try and impress him. He always told you he loved you for who you are and look what he did to you.”
I go still, staring at her in the mirror’s reflection until she finally meets my gaze.
“What exactly do you mean by that?” I ask carefully. “And what’s wrong with loving me for who I am?”
A sigh leaves her. “I always thought he wanted you to be this plain Jane, so no one else would notice you. He wanted to keep you to himself and then he goes and cheats on you anyway. Such an asshole. I hope he’s miserable with his new ho.”
Her words are like a punch to the heart. Made worse because I know she might be speaking the truth. “You really think he tried to…hold me down?”
Natalie nods, releasing the last bit of hair from the curling iron before she sets it on the counter and turns it off. “He totally did. He convinced you to stay home all the time too, and you know he wasn’t doing the same. He was out all the time. He’d post videos of himself at parties every single weekend!”
She’s right. He would do that. And I would get mad and then we’d start arguing. It sucked. I hated it.
I finish applying mascara, adding a few extra coats so my lashes are really long. Then I grab the cream blush Natalie gave me for Christmas last year and pull off the lid, applying bright color to my cheeks. I blend it in with my fingertips, Natalie watching me.
“He forced you to have a boring time at school while he got to have all the fun,” she reminds me. “He’s a complete dick.”
“No, Bryan is an asshole,” I announce, standing up straighter.
The proud smile on her face tells me I said the right thing. “Girl, you are preaching to the choir. I totally agree. Screw that guy.”
“Fuck that guy.” Our gazes lock in the mirror and she grabs hold of my shoulders, giving me a gentle shake.
“Yes, fuck that guy. He’s the worst. You need to find yourself a new guy and make out with him tonight.” Natalie grins.
My confidence deflates, just like that. “I don’t want to make out with anyone, Nat. Not yet. It’s too soon.”
“Right, right. Okay, no making out. Just…talking with a hot guy. Maybe even exchanging numbers? Socials?
“Maybe,” I hedge.
“Baby steps, okay?”
“Yes, baby steps.” I pick up a highlighter stick that belongs to Natalie and uncap it, then dab my fingers in the shimmery cream and dab it on my cheekbones. “How does that look?”
“Oh, I love that color on you.” Natalie smiles, and I smile too.
Maybe tonight at Logan’s won’t be too awful after all.
We arrive at Logan’s an hour later, pushing our way inside through the clusters of people as we make our way to the bar. Natalie flirts with the bartender the second their gazes catch and he gets started on our drinks, causing the others who’ve been waiting to groan in protest.
“How did you make that happen?” I yell at her, in order to be heard over the music and loud conversations surrounding us.
She shrugs. “I come here way too much. He recognizes me.”
“And who exactly are you coming here with?” I know she has a far more active social life than I do, but how often is she going out to the bars?
“Friends. People from class.” She gently shoves my shoulder. “You should come with us more often.”
“I might.” I’m lying, and she probably knows it. The bar scene has never really been my thing. But maybe I never gave it a chance…
Glancing over my shoulder, I check out all of the people surrounding us, shocked by how packed it is. There seems to be an equal mix of females to males, the majority of them clutching glasses or beer bottles, locked in flirtatious conversations.
Logan’s is the premier hookup bar downtown. As in, you can easily find someone to get together with at Logan’s. Plus, you can’t beat their drink prices. They have some of the best in town, and the Monday night specials bring everyone out.
Clearly, judging from the crowd.
We’re still waiting for our drinks when the double doors at the entrance swing open, an entourage striding in that immediately earns approving shouts from the crowd. My gaze snags on them, on one in particular, and I realize it’s the football team.
Knox Maguire has made his appearance.
Women squeal his name like fan girls and they swarm the guys like bees to honey.
“Here you go.” I turn to find the bartender sliding my glass toward me across the counter, and I take it from him with a faint smile.
“Thank you.”
“We owe you one,” Natalie adds with a wink as she grabs my arm and steers me away.
“Nat, wait!” the bartender calls after us, but Natalie ignores him with a soft laugh.
“Wait a minute, you didn’t pay for our drinks?”
She shakes her head, leading me toward the back, where there might be some open tables. Doubtful though. “I always get a couple of drinks out of him every time I show up, and he knows it. He just likes to act put out.”
“Well, thanks.” Coming to a stop, I raise my glass toward her before I take a tiny sip, grimacing. “Oh shit, that’s strong.”
“He delivers a heavy pour, even with the free ones. I’m sure his boss hates him.” Natalie laughs, chugging from her glass before she grabs hold of my wrist. “A table just freed up! Let’s go!”
We dart toward it, not minding that it’s littered with empty cups, a plate full of congealed leftover nachos, and a pile of crumpled napkins lying on top of it. Natalie shoots ahead of me, falling into one of the empty chairs with her arm raised, clutching her glass, most likely so it won’t spill.
A few guys show up at the same time, intent on getting our tiny table before us and I swing around, ready to plop my butt in one of the empty chairs when I hear a, “whoa there.”
Just before my ass lands on the lap of a very firm, very warm male.
Humiliation washes over me and my face is on absolute fire as I try to get up but big hands clamp around my waist, keeping me in place.
“No need to run off. You can stay awhile.” The familiar voice is so close to my ear, I swear I feel his lips brush it.
A shiver steals through me and I lean to the left to find…
I’m sitting on Knox Maguire’s lap, his eyes going wide when he registers who I am.
“Wait a sec. Do I know you?” he asks.
