“YOU BROUGHT BOOZE TO A BASEBALL GAME?”
Luna pauses her not-so-stealthy uncapping of her hilariously bejewelled flask to shoot Nick a glare. I avert my gaze, propping the straw of my drink between my lips innocently and hoping I added enough orange soda to mask the smell of alcohol.
Nick’s suspicious stare swings my way, eyes narrowed as he snatches the to-go cup from my hand, cracks the lid, and sniffs. “Vodka, querida? Really? It’s barely the afternoon.”
Neither Luna nor I mention that we’ve been sneakily necking shots since 10AM. Purely a self-preservation tactic, of course—it’s harder to be cold and bored with vodka coursing your bloodstream.
“I’m sorry,” Luna snorts, “are we getting morality lessons from Nicolas Silva?”
Snickering, I grab my drink, patting Nick’s thigh and taking a long gulp out of teasing spite. “Five o’clock somewhere, baby.”
The ‘barely afternoon’ light dances in his eyes as he pretends to scowl at me, tugging on my ponytail playfully. His fingers linger on the nape of my neck a second longer than can be considered friendly before dropping, and I wish I could say my shivering was from the slight chill in the air but I’d be lying.
“Do you know how long these games are, Nick?” Luna chimes in again, swishing her drink to mix the cola she bought from one of the concession stands with her smuggled-in vodka. “Perky asses can only entertain a girl for so long.”
“Here, here.” I clink my drink against hers in a cheer, snickering again when Nick side-eyes me with a warning glare.
I’m kidding—mostly—but Luna is right; baseball games are long, and today is no ordinary game. It’s a pre-season exhibition game, a chance for competing teams to size each other up but they slap a fundraiser on top of it to quell any unsportsmanlike behavior.
If I’m being totally honest, I have no idea what they’re fundraising for. I’m here for Cass, hence why I’ve got his name slapped on my back, one his team hoodies keeping me warm. Luna’s donned one of Jackson’s, while the both of us wear caps detailed with Ben’s jersey number. I want to support this odd little family we’ve created, and I definitely don’t want to give my brother a heart attack, hence why I gently shuck Nick off with a meaningful look before anyone clocks the possessive touch.
Luna might be drinking to pass the time but I’m drinking to soothe my trembling nerves. Because tonight, come hell or highwater, I am introducing Cass to my boyfriend. Or, more accurately, I’m re-introducing his best friend to him as my boyfriend.
The last few weeks with Nick have been, at the risk of sounding like a corny fool, something damn close to perfect. Like an invisible wall between us crumbled, I stopped second-guessing every move, every word—I stopped doubting him and myself. But it’s all tainted by the fact Cass still doesn’t know.
I swear on my life, I really have tried to tell him. Countless times I’ve worked up the nerve but something always interrupts us. A last minute practice, a phone call, an oblivious roommate bursting into the room. The fifth time Ben ruined my painstakingly prepared speech, I almost throttled the kid.
Nick’s being a saint about it. As wonderful, understanding a saint as he is a boyfriend. None of the guilt I feel about harboring a secret I promised I wouldn’t stems from him, it’s all of my own making. He gets that I want to do it right and not drop a bomb on him randomly. That’s not to say he likes it because he doesn’t, not one bit, and he reaffirms that knowledge when he pouts like a big baby at being told to keep his hands to himself.
Tonight, though, I’m going to tell him. Win or lose, come hell or highwater, I’m going to confess. And because it’s tradition around here to hit up Greenies after a game, my shining solace is that celebration or commiseration, Cass will be nice and liquored up, and I will be too.
“Hey, can you see them?” I have to yell at Luna to be heard over the noise around us; Sun Valley’s only stadium is buzzing with people, not an empty seat in sight, what sounds like a million voices melding together to create a loud, unrelenting hum.
Eagerly searching the field for our boys, it takes a moment until we find a cloister of familiar looking figures. Gaze catching on the player with the number six etched on his back, I instantly grin. Alcohol making me brave, I hook my fingers in my mouth and whistle loud in the way he taught me. Cass’ head snaps to me in an instant, a matching grin already on his face like he was waiting for me, like he knows exactly what I’m about to do.
Making a fist, I gently tap it against my cheek twice in a punching motion before extending my pointer finger toward him. Even from a good distance away, I see his expression soften as he repeats the motion back to me. Our little pre-game ritual.
Knock ‘em out.
“That was cute,” an accented voice croons in my ear the moment a whistle blows and Cass’ attention is drawn elsewhere. Rolling my eyes, I shift to ask Nick if he’s really mocking a sacred childhood custom but when my gaze snags on something over his shoulder, my lips clamp shut and settle in a grimace.
When me and Luna first sat down clad in gear representing our guys, there was a very distinctly negative murmuring aimed in our direction that definitely came from the haggle of jersey chasers lingering nearby. Clearly, if the nasty looks they keep shooting us are anything to go by, they think we’re encroaching on their territory and I strongly believe that if not for the glorified bodyguard pasted to my side, the overwhelming stench of Victoria’s Secret body mist wouldn’t be the only thing choking us.
But while Nick’s presence might be the only thing preventing a catty brawl over men I have no interest in, when I recognize one of the girls eyeing us up downright viciously, I wish he’d spontaneously evaporate.
God, I really should remember the name of the girl who wants to bang my boyfriend, huh? It would be better if, when cursing her out in my head for smirking at my boyfriend like she’s seen him naked—which she has—I could refer to her as something other than bitch.
“Ignore them.” Nick’s mouth says them but the hint of awkward, unnecessary guilt in his tone screams her; he knows exactly who’s got me all riled up.
Huffing, I refocus my glare on Nick and utter the understatement of the year. “I don’t like her.”
The little bastard chuckles, white teeth gleaming as he grins. “You’re jealous.”
“You,” I poke a rock-hard pectoral muscle, “are not allowed to mock, Mr. I Want To Punch People For Looking At You. Look at how she’s looking at you!”
I’m being a freak, I’m well aware, but the words simply refuse to be swallowed. Hell, it’s taking enough effort to keep my voice at a low whisper instead of an indignant yell. I blame the vodka, which is also urging me to plant a big, smacking kiss on Nick and stake my freaking claim despite what a terrible idea I know that is.
Bad vodka.
Knuckles brushing my cheek as he tucks a wayward curl behind my ear, Nick turns my own words back on me. “I can’t control how she looks at me, Amelia.”
Touché, motherfucker.
Brazen now the game has begun and is occupying most people’s attention, Nick’s touch lingers, his thumb brushing the hollow of my throat. “Do I need to prove how pointless your jealousy is?’
It’s borderline embarrassing, how goddamn tempted I am to yelp a ‘yes, sir’ and drag him to his truck for a quickie but before I can break like the weak, horny woman I am, a throat clears loudly beside us. “Rein in the horny, guys,” Luna scolds, but her smirk is far from chastising, “unless you want a baseball bat to the skull.”
Nick and I spring apart—I don’t know when we became so close, practically nose to nose. Oops.
In hindsight, getting smashed before divulging a potentially relationship-ruining secret was probably not the best idea. It’s a shame that only dawns on me once I’m past the point of no return.
Honestly, I was at that point for, like, three hours. I forgot how hyped baseball games got me, and I forgot how damn good Cass is; no one wonder he’s such a freaking hotshot around campus. Just as inebriated and exhilarated, Luna battled me for the title of loudest supporter as we cheered for our guys and heckled the shit out of the other team, all the while sucking down spiked sodas. At one point, when we reached the height of our rowdiness, Nick actually moved to sit between us, a hand clamped on each of our shoulders to stop us from clambering atop the seats to really amplify our taunts.
It was all fun and games until the sporting portion of the day came to an end and the horde moved to Greenies, and the reality that I needed to be eloquent and careful when telling Cass about Nick, not slurring and stumbling, set in.
There have been few times in my life where I’ve been grateful for the grease-riddled food Greenies provides, and this is one of those times; it’s prime alcohol-soakage. I polish off a burger and fries in record time, pinching some of Nick’s too when I think he’s not looking. Think being the operative word. Nick shoots some serious side-eye my way, the arm slung around the back of my seat shifting to tap my shoulder, but he doesn’t stop me, and if we didn’t have an audience, I’d kiss him for it.
Although, we don’t really have an audience. The others were crushed in the booth with us but they’ve gone their separate ways, leaving the two of us tucked in the corner alone. I can barely make out Cass in the flurry of admirers crowding around him, so I’d bet he can’t see me. So, I suppose there’s not harm in shifting an inch closer to Nick, leaning into his side, craning my neck to kiss his.
Way less preoccupied about being caught than I am, Nick yanks me even closer, a groaned laugh brushing the top of my head. “God, how much did you drink? You reek of booze.”
“Relax, old man.” I wriggle upright, his skin warm beneath my fingertips as I pinch his cheek. “Let the youth have fun.”
“So mouthy when you’re drunk, meu amor.”
If I was sober, the new term of endearment would undoubtedly send me into a spiral. But I’m not; I’m drunk and I want to kiss my boyfriend but I can’t, and when I suddenly spot the reason why, I jump to my feet and clamber over Nick’s lap, muttering that I’ll be right back and yelping when a parting slap stings my ass.
Suck it up, I silently command myself as I follow Cass outside to the smoking area, cornering him before another adoring fan can. “There you are,” he slurs when he spots me, face lit up with a smile. Chucking an arm around my shoulders, he gives me a shake, and consequently causes the pint of beer in his hand to slosh down his arm. He doesn’t notice; it appears he’s trying to catch up with me and Luna. “My good luck charm.”
Slapping his chest, I force an eye roll. “Oh, please. You’re that good all by yourself.”
“True,” he admits cockily with a dramatic shrug, quickly reverting into sweet big brother mode, “but it’s still nice to have you back.”
Oh, hell.
I steel myself against the nerves and guilt whirling around in my gut; I can’t lose my nerve again. I need to tell him now or I fear it’ll start feeling like I never will.
Shucking him off, I poise my confession to escape, but in true fashion for whenever I try to freaking speak, someone else beats me to it. “I have a question,” Cass drones, and something about his thoughtful, slightly suspicious expression makes me sweat.
I fidget under his gaze, or maybe as a result of the oddly accusatory note in his tone. “Shoot.”
“You and Nick both disappeared on New Year.”
Oh, he so fucking knows. Or suspects, at least. I’m hoping for the latter because at least that’ll cushion the blow a little, right? “I don’t hear a question.”
Cass crooks a brow as if it’s obvious. “Where were you?”
“In his room.” Truth. “Talking.” Half-truth. A justified half-truth because I doubt ‘we were fucking like rabbits’ would go down well.
Cass leans toward me in a way I’m sure is meant to be mildly intimidating in a brotherly interrogation kind of way but really, it results in him spilling beer down himself again. “Just talking?”
“Yes.” The bold-faced lie tastes acrid but I can tell him we’re dating without divulging the more intimate details. “I was too drunk and a little upset and Nick took care of me.” Three truths to counteract the lie.
As he scrutinizes me, as I become more and more sure he sees right through my minor deception, I’m about to add one more truth, the most important one, to the list.
And then Cass opens his mouth and my stomach hits the ground.
“Thank God.” He drops his head as a booming, relieved laugh leaves him. “Thought I was gonna have to kill him.”
“That’s a little dramatic.” I steal his beer, sucking down a hearty sip to clear the lump in my throat, the bitter liquid emboldening me enough to play a dangerous game. “Would it really be that bad?”
Another laugh, painfully sarcastic this time. “Yeah, Amelia, it would be that bad. He’s my best friend and I love the guy but I know how he treats women,” I cringe, “and I’m not letting him do that to you.”
He’s different with me, I want to say but true as that may be, it’s a foolishly cliché, naive thing to say that would only make Cass more resistant. “I’m a big girl, Cass,” I claim instead. “I can handle myself.”
“I’m not saying you can’t.” Cass sighs. “Listen, I know he has this weird crush on you before he knew who you were but it’s different now. He knows you’re my sister and that crossing that line is not okay. He wouldn’t do that.”
“Yeah.” I laugh despite the pit in my stomach. “You’re right.”
