16 tangled thoughts
By the time the party really starts, I'm already too drunk to pretend I'm not drunk.
Not blackout.
Not stumbling.
Just loose enough that everything feels slightly delayed, sounds blending together too much, thoughts moving slower while the music pounds against the walls hard enough to make the entire house feel alive.
Or possessed.
Probably both.
Someone shoved another drink into my hand twenty minutes ago and I honestly don't remember who, but it's still cold against my palm while Scott screams the words to some song directly into my ear despite the fact that I'm standing right next to him.
"WE ARE SO FUCKING GOOD," he yells.
"You're literally sweating beer."
"That means nothing tonight."
"That cannot be hygienic."
Scott throws an arm around my shoulders anyway, grinning like a psychopath. "This is college football, Bennett."
"This feels like a lawsuit."
"It feels like victory."
The entire house erupts again from somewhere behind us, players yelling over each other while people push through rooms too small for this many bodies, and usually this is the part I like best, the noise and chaos loud enough to drown everything else out.
Tonight it's just... louder.
Not better, just louder.
Scott notices eventually.
He always notices shit faster than people expect him to.
"You good?" he asks, finally lowering his voice slightly.
"Fantastic."
"That sounded deeply fake."
"Correct."
Scott studies me for half a second before snorting. "You're thinking too much again."
"I'm drunk."
"You can apparently multitask."
"Tragic for me."
"Tragic for women," he corrects immediately.
I laugh despite myself and shove him away lightly. "Go flirt with somebody."
"I already did."
"Jesus Christ."
"Actually," he says seriously, "I'm pretty sure she was flirting with me."
"That's somehow worse."
Scott grins before disappearing back into the crowd like he physically cannot stand still for longer than thirty seconds.
Lucky bastard.
I end up in the kitchen mostly because it's easier to breathe there, leaning against the counter while the room sways just slightly every time someone bumps into me.
The alcohol is hitting harder now.
Warm and slow under my skin.
A girl appears beside me eventually.
Blonde.
Pretty.
Confident enough to step directly into my space without hesitation.
"You're Bennett."
Not a question.
"Depends who's asking," I mutter.
She laughs immediately. "God, you football guys really love yourselves."
"That's a harmful stereotype."
"You literally answered like a movie character."
"That's fair."
Her name is Hannah.
Or Hazel.
Something with an H.
I lose track halfway through because she keeps touching my arm every time she laughs and my brain's moving slower than usual tonight.
Normally this part is easy, automatic.
Flirting.
Drinking.
Leaving together.
Simple.
And she's making it easy too, leaning closer every few minutes until her leg brushes mine while she talks, smile getting more obvious every time I look at her.
"You should come dance with me," she says eventually.
"I dance like a divorced father."
"That sounds entertaining."
"It's mostly tragic."
She laughs again, grabbing my wrist lightly. "Come on."
I let her pull me into the living room mostly because resisting feels like too much effort right now.
The room spins slightly once we hit the crowd.
Not enough to matter, just enough to remind me I should probably stop drinking.
So naturally I drink more.
At some point her arms end up around my neck while we move with the music, bodies pressed close enough that I can smell perfume and vodka every time she leans toward me.
"You're quieter than I expected," she says.
"You expected more?"
"You have a reputation."
I laugh once at that. "That's never a good sentence."
"Depends on the reputation."
I should kiss her.
Seriously.
This is normally the exact point where that happens.
Instead I keep thinking about the dorm.
Which is fucking insane.
The thought appears out of nowhere while she's still talking, Everly sitting on her bed with one of those giant hoodies pulled over her knees while she studies, probably listening to music too quietly because she somehow does everything quietly even when she's insulting people.
I blink hard once.
What the fuck.
"You okay?" the girl asks.
"Yeah," I answer too quickly.
But now something feels off.
Not wrong exactly, just empty, like I'm doing something out of habit instead of because I actually want to.
The realization irritates me immediately.
Because I know exactly where it's coming from.
And I refuse to think about that tonight.
"You wanna get out of here?" she asks finally, leaning closer.
There it is.
Automatic answer territory.
I open my mouth. Pause. Then hear myself say, "I think I'm heading home actually."
That surprises both of us.
Her eyebrows lift slightly. "Seriously?"
"Yeah."
"You don't seem that tired."
I laugh quietly. "I'm very tired."
Just not physically.
She studies me for another second before shrugging slightly. "Your loss."
"Probably."
Then she disappears back into the crowd and I stand there staring after her like I've completely lost my fucking mind.
Because two months ago I wouldn't have thought twice.
Hell, two weeks ago I wouldn't have thought twice.
Now all I can think about is going back to the dorm.
Back to Everly.
Which is a problem I absolutely do not want to unpack tonight.