Chapter 7 #2
How were you supposed to look at the same man you’d always looked at and suddenly feel nothing just because you had finally decided you should?
I couldn’t.
I reached for the drink because not reaching for it would have been insane.
“Um,” I said, because apparently all my words had abandoned me, “thank you.” Real smooth.
He gave a small nod. “Yeah.”
That was it.
One word.
Still, my skin felt too tight all of a sudden, like it didn’t fit me right.
I wrapped both hands around the glass, grateful for the cold against my palms.
Wren took a sip of hers and let out a pleased little hum. “Now this is service.”
Jude’s attention shifted to her, but not fully.
I could see it. Maybe nobody else could, but I could.
He answered whatever she said next, something about Penny being busy and the bar being slammed, but his focus kept cutting back to me in quick, almost irritated flickers, like he was trying not to and not doing a great job of it.
Which made no sense.
None.
“Did Penny make yours extra sweet?” Wren asked me.
I blinked at her. “What?”
“Your drink,” she said, amused. “You’re staring at it like it offended you.”
“Oh. No.” I took a sip, mostly so I’d have something to do.
The drink was tart and sweet and strong enough that I could feel it hit the back of my throat all at once.
Lark appeared at my side, eyeing Jude like she was trying to decide whether this was weird or not. “Did you become a waitress?”
Jude glanced at her. “Don’t get used to it.”
Lark grinned. “Maybe Penny can share her uniforms with you.”
Alice, of course, had no interest in letting the moment be normal. She planted her hands on her hips and looked between all of us. “Are we playing or are we turning this into a support group?”
“Play,” Wren said immediately.
“Support group,” Lark said at the same time.
“Play,” I said, too quickly.
Alice pointed at me with satisfaction. “There we go.”
Jude stepped back a little, not leaving but no longer right in the middle of it either. He said something low to Wren that made her laugh, then leaned one shoulder casually against the post at the edge of the game area.
I took another sip of my drink and tried very hard to remember how to stand like a normal person.
Lark elbowed me lightly. “You alive?”
“Yep.”
“You sure?”
“Yep.”
She snorted. “Okay.”
The game started again, and for the first few throws, I was useless.
I could feel Jude’s presence at the edge of everything now, like he had changed the shape of the air just by standing there. Every time I bent to grab the ball, every time I straightened up, every time I laughed at something Alice or Wren said, some part of me was aware of where he was.
Aware of whether he was still there.
Aware of whether he was looking.
Which was embarrassing and exhausting and exactly why I had told myself I needed to get over him.
“Ever!” Wren called.
I jolted.
“The ball,” she said, laughing.
Right. The ball.
I threw and missed completely.
Alice cackled. “Love this for us.”
Lark pointed accusingly across the line. “You distracted her.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Alice said.
“You exist loudly. It counts.”
Wren rolled her shoulders, drink still in one hand as she lined up for her turn with the other. “Okay, ladies, watch a professional.”
“Why does she keep saying that tonight?” I muttered.
She sank the shot cleanly into our middle can. She whooped so loud three different people turned to look.
“Yes!”
“Traitor,” Lark said to her.
“She’s not even on your team,” I said.
“She betrayed me spiritually.”
Wren bowed. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”
Jude laughed at that.
Actually laughed.
It wasn’t a huge sound. More like half a breath with a chuckle in it, but I heard it.
Of course I did, and because the universe hated me, that tiny sound did something strange to my stomach.
I shoved the kickball into Lark’s hands. “Fix this.”
“Bossy,” Lark muttered.
“Effective.”
Lark narrowed her eyes and stepped up. Her throw hit the rim of the front can, bounced high, clipped the side of another, and somehow dropped in anyway.
She screamed.
I nearly dropped my drink laughing.
Alice grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her once. “That was disgusting.”
“That was beautiful.”
“That was witchcraft.”
“That,” Lark said grandly, “was destiny.”
The game kept going like that, all noise and taunting and ridiculous near misses. A crowd even started forming a little around us.
Through all of it, Jude stayed.
Sometimes he talked to Wren.
Sometimes he watched the game.
Sometimes I caught him looking at me and snapped my eyes away so fast I made myself dizzy.
The weirdest part was that Wren started noticing it too.
Not in some dramatic, obvious way. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t raise a brow or smile like she knew something I didn’t.
But a couple times, when she was waiting for her turn, I caught her watching her son from the corner of her eye. Watching where his attention went when nobody was directly speaking to him.
And every single time, it came back to me.
I didn’t know what to do with that, so I kept playing.
At some point, the score got stupidly close, which only made Alice louder and Lark more feral.
“One cup each,” Alice announced, pointing between our remaining cans and theirs. “Final toss decides it.”
“Who made you commissioner?” Lark asked.
“I’m a natural-born leader.”
“You’re a natural-born pain in the ass.”
Lark handed me the kickball. “Here. You take first shot.”
“Nope,” I said immediately, shoving it back at her. “I am not blowing this for us.”
“That is the most honest thing anybody’s said all night,” Alice said.
Lark grabbed the ball from between us. “Fine. Let greatness handle it.”
“Your confidence is noble,” Wren told her.
Lark took her shot and it missed by a mile.
Alice clapped slowly. “Greatness, huh?”
Lark turned to me. “I had to lull them into a false sense of security.”
“That looked like a real sense of failure,” I said.
Wren took the next shot and bounced it right off the rim.
Groans and cheers broke out all at once.
Then Alice stepped forward. Something about the way she held the ball told all of us she was about to either do something impressive or humiliate herself beyond recovery.
“Do not make this,” Lark said.
Alice smiled sweetly. “Watch me.”
She launched the kickball and it sailed in a perfect arc, hit the inside of our last remaining can, and dropped with a hollow bang that somehow sounded louder than every other shot that night.
For half a beat, nobody moved.
Then Alice lost her damn mind. She screamed so loud I flinched, threw both arms over her head, and immediately started running a victory lap around the game setup while Wren doubled over laughing.
Bell, from a nearby table, started clapping like Alice had won an Olympic medal.
Star whistled. Clove stood up and shouted, “That was sick!”
Lark stared at the can, betrayed. “I hate all of you.”
I laughed so hard my stomach hurt.
Alice came back around, triumphant and breathless, and pointed at us. “Bow before your champion.”
“Absolutely not,” Lark said.
Wren grabbed Alice by the wrist and lifted her hand like a referee declaring a winner. “The queen of garbage-can beer pong.”
Alice preened. “As it should be.”
“That title sounds like a disease,” Lark said.
Alice gasped. “Rude.”
“I’m still not wrong,” Lark shrugged. She took a long drink of her Amaretto Sour and sighed dramatically. “Next time Jesse needs to come with us so at least somebody on our side can throw.”
Everything shifted.
Alice laughed first. “Oh my God, yes. We’ll recruit him.”
Wren said something under her breath that I missed because all I noticed was Jude.
Not his face, at first.
His body.
The way it went still and then not still.
He pushed off the post with a quickness that made it look almost accidental, like he’d just remembered he had somewhere else to be.
“Alright,” he said to Wren, but his voice sounded clipped. “I’m gonna head out.”
Wren blinked at him. “Already?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Early morning.”
That was all.
No look in my direction, pause, or anything. He just turned and walked away. Fast. Faster than he needed to.
“Aw,” Alice said, not paying attention to anything that mattered. “We scared him off with our athletic superiority.”
“Obviously,” Lark replied.
Wren was still looking after him with a faint crease between her brows, like she wasn’t sure she believed his excuse either.
I took another sip of my drink and told myself it was for the best.
“Come on,” Alice said, already scooping up the kickball again. “Rematch. Best two out of three.”
Lark groaned. “I knew winning that one would only make you worse.”
“It’s not my fault excellence is a burden.”
“Your ego needs its own zip code,” I muttered.
Alice grinned at me. “And yet you still love me.”
I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling again.
Because life did that sometimes. It yanked you around by the throat one second, then dropped you right back into laughter the next like nothing had happened.
The game started up again.
People drifted away from watching us.
The Social Club went on being loud and alive and full around us.
I threw the kickball when Lark shoved it at me, laughed when Wren accused Alice of cheating, and let the night carry forward without trying to figure out what had just happened with Jude.