Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EVE
I ’m drunk.
I realized I was drunk two drinks ago, and I did another round of tequila shots with Finn and Hurley anyway. Now Finn has his arm slung around my shoulders as the bartender—one of their buddies, Julian—shows off his signature shaking technique.
Far as I can tell, it’s identical to every other bartender’s back-and-forth.
I’m having fun. Finn’s arm is a warm, comforting weight, and he smells good. Like the ocean—saltwater and seaweed. Having three shaggy-haired surfers hit on me simultaneously is a new experience, and it’s doing wonders for my ego. But it’s also a little…weird. The easy group dynamic makes me think this isn’t their first time sweet-talking a tourist.
Does one of them call dibs at some point, or are they hoping for some sort of ménage à quatre situation? I may be attempting to try new things, but there’s no way I’m feeling three guys at once adventurous. I don’t think I’d be able to get past the weirdness of multiple partners to enjoy the experience. I added sex in (semi public) to my fuck-it list because my rather boring sex life has always taken place in a bedroom and I thought hooking up in a car or in a frat house bathroom might make it a bit more exciting, but who knows if that’ll ever happen either.
Finn’s fingers continue stroking my shoulder. I down another shot. Not because I’m uncomfortable, but because more alcohol should keep me from overanalyzing the situation. I have…I’ll-do-the-math-when-I’m-sober days left before real adulthood kicks in. When I’m feeling claustrophobic in my cramped apartment, eating ramen for the fourth time that week, I’ll be able to think back to the time I drank tequila in a bar with three strangers. YOLO, and all that jazz. Do people still say YOLO?
Since the amount of alcohol in my system has significantly affected my filter, I ask, “Do people still say YOLO?”
Finn, Hurley, and Julian all burst out laughing.
“Well, do they?” I press.
They laugh harder. I’m not sure if that’s a yes or a no.
“Eve?”
I spin toward the sound of my name. Finn’s arm manages to stay on my shoulders. It only falls away when I throw both of mine around Harlow.
“Harlow! Guys, this is my bestest friend in the entire world, Harlow. Harlow, this is Finn, Hurley, and Julian.” I point to each guy as I introduce them, except I mix up Hurley and Julian because focusing on one spot is harder than it was a little while ago.
“Hello, gorgeous,” Julian greets. “Can I get you a drink?”
“She has a boyfriend,” I tell Julian. “He plays hockey and he’s sitting right over there.” I gesture vaguely toward where I remember the table I came from being, except my fingers end up aimed at the ceiling. Goodbye, equilibrium.
“All good,” Julian says. “God and I have an agreement.”
Hurley snickers.
“It’s nice to meet you guys,” Harlow tells the group around us. “Can I get a water, please?”
“Coming right up,” Julian replies.
At the other end of the bar, a guy with a beard shouts, “I’ve been waiting for twenty minutes, Julian!”
“Calm your tits, Taj,” Julian bellows back. “You’re next.”
Julian returns with a glass of ice water, then moseys down to the opposite end.
Harlow picks up the glass and holds it out to me. “Drink this.”
I roll my eyes. She came over to mother me? I’m grateful, though. No way I would have let go and drunk so much tonight if Harlow weren’t at this bar too. She’s my safety net.
“Are you good?” Harlow asks me in a lower tone.
I beam at her. “I’m ah-mazing.”
“Okay.” Harlow mutters something else under her breath. All I catch is tomorrow morning , but that’s a long time away. She smiles at Julian and Hurley, then retreats.
This time, I successfully locate our table. It’s full, aside from my empty seat. Conor is tracking Harlow’s progress across the bar like he’s her personal bodyguard. Aidan is grinning. Rylan flashes me a thumbs-up, then mouths something I’m too tipsy to decipher.
And Hunter…Hunter is completely unreadable. He glances away when he notices I’m looking in his direction, expression entirely neutral.
Hopefully he’s thinking I was right—I didn’t need flirting lessons.
Not that I would have hated practicing with him.
As far as I can tell, he hasn’t flirted with anyone tonight. Every time I’ve looked at the table, he’s been sitting there with some assortment of his—our?—friends.
I guess he is dating Holly. Lucky girl.
I refocus on the bar, taking a long sip from the water Harlow ordered for me. My stomach gurgles as the cold liquid trickles through my system. We ordered pizza for dinner, but I only ate a couple of slices before heading up to shower and get ready for tonight.
They have food here, but I’ve blazed by the munchy stage of inebriation and headed straight into the spins. The thought of eating right now makes me feel nauseous.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I take another sip of water, then pull it out. New messages litter the screen. There’s a series of texts from Harlow, ending with one announcing she was coming over to check on me. Another one from Ben, suggesting I call him. And one from my mother.
MOM: Stop expecting him to change, Eve.
The tips of my fingers go white on the sides of the screen. I scoff, then forcefully shove my phone back into the pocket of my jeans.
I never learn. Not when it comes to my dad—and not when it comes to my mom.
She resents him for never taking any responsibility when it comes to me. And she resents me for wanting a relationship with my father despite him never taking any responsibility.
Obviously, she was going to find out he was skipping my graduation when he never showed up. I figured telling her right away would rip the metaphorical Band-Aid off, so I texted her after I hung up with my dad. That was a mistake. Now, I’m dealing with the double-whammy of my parents’ disregard—my dad’s dismissiveness and my mom’s diatribe.
“Are you okay?” Finn asks.
“I’m great .” I reach for the glass Julian keeps refilling instead of the water Harlow ordered and down another sip of the drink that tastes sweet and slightly smoky.
“Come help me pick out a song, then.” He slings his arm around my shoulders again and steers me toward the jukebox in the corner.
I go willingly, letting Finn support most of my weight. It feels nice to lean on someone. To not have to think about where I’m headed.
He selects Etta James’s “I Just Want to Make Love to You.”
I snort a laugh as the opening lyrics start to play. “Is this your move?”
Finn grins. He’s smiled most of the hour I’ve known him. He seems like a genuine, goofy guy—the laid-back type of person you expect lives in a sleepy town, is buddies with the local bartender, and surfs as much as he can.
Nonchalant, whereas I’ve always been very chalant. Is chalant a word?
“Is it working?” Finn asks, before I can voice the question aloud.
“Not really,” I answer truthfully.
I find Finn objectively attractive. But I’m not attracted to him. Not in the butterflies in my belly , nervous blurting kind of way, at least. Maybe it’s the numbing haze of alcohol.
Finn laughs in response to my candor rather than taking offense, which makes me like him a little more. “Then, no. It’s not my move.”
“Surf lessons?” I suggest, taking over on scrolling through the jukebox selections. Give up when the motion makes me feel queasy again. I’ll just let Etta do her thing.
“Do you want to learn how to surf?” Finn asks. His eyes dance mischievously.
“Nope.” I pop the P for emphasis. “I’ve watched too many shark documentaries with Harlow. The ocean is theirs. And chlorine is bad for hair, so I avoid pools too. I would swim in a lake, but I don’t think you can surf in a lake. Right?”
The way Finn is looking at me—entertained and clearly interested—should affect me. Not many guys have found my babbling charming.
He laughs again, cheeks still stretched in a wide smile. “Right. So, no. Surf lessons aren’t my move either.”
I swallow the bizarre urge to ask him to stop grinning at me. It feels…superficial, like he’s smiling just to smile and it doesn’t have anything to do with me .
“What’s your move, then?” I ask.
Rather than reply, Finn kisses me.
It’s…nice. His lips are a little chapped, but warm. He tastes like lime and salt and still smells like the ocean.
But kissing him is like drinking water. Like reality trickling in and ruining the fantasy. The tease of his tongue and the ridge of his erection against my stomach feel distant, somehow. There’s no answering pulse of heat. It’s like I’m watching a pair of strangers kiss in a movie, not experiencing any sensations firsthand.
I am numb.
Finn pulls back a few inches and smiles again. His eyes are half-lidded, his expression a little dopey. “Wanna get out of here?”
I swallow hard, then shake my head.
He groans quietly. “You’re killing me, gorgeous. That move always works.”
A laugh spills out.
Finn’s grin grows. “That’s more like it.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, then mentally chastise myself for apologizing. I don’t owe him anything. “I just—I just got out of a serious relationship, and I’m not ready to move on—that way—yet.”
Finn stops smiling, but he doesn’t look that upset. He nods. “I get it. Love’s complicated. He’s clearly not over you either.”
I frown at him, then glance around like Ben could have possibly appeared inside Sand Bar in the past few minutes. “What? Who?”
“The blond dude who’s looked like he wants to punch me all night. That’s your ex, right?”
Hunter , I realize. Finn’s talking about Hunter.
My eyes seek him out as soon as I think his name. Hunter’s head isn’t turned this way. He’s saying something that has Rylan laughing so hard she’s covering her face with her hands. I’m immediately hit by a pang of envy that leaves me breathless. I could be sitting at that table, talking to Hunter. Listening to whatever he said that was so funny. Glimpsing another one of his rare smiles. What am I doing over here, proving I can still flirt and considering having sex with a stranger I’ll never see again?
Reluctantly, my gaze leaves Hunter and returns to Finn. “Uh, no. He’s not my ex. He’s just…we’re friends.”
Are we friends? I’m not really sure. I don’t know if I can handle being friends with Hunter, since he’s the one person I seem incapable of staying numb around. He makes me feel , and that sounds like a good thing. It can be a scary and unpleasant thing too. And the more I get used to being around Hunter—to him offering to carry my bag or asking me questions about my favorite podcast between episodes—the more I’ll mourn his absence. In my experience, loss hurts a little less when you expect it.
“Well, your ‘friend’ wants to fuck you, gorgeous,” Finn comments. “Not that I blame him.”
He winks—the guy’s as drunk as I am, I guess. No way is he reading Hunter right.
Finn grabs a pen from a signed receipt off the nearest table and scrawls a series of numbers on my palm. “In case you change your mind.”
I watch him walk back toward Hurley and Julian. I’ve already been replaced. There are two other girls doing shots with the group of guys and lapping up their generous attention.
My phone buzzes in my pocket again, but I don’t pull it out. It’s either my mom or Ben, and I don’t feel like hearing from either of them.
I relax against the wall and blow out a long, unsteady breath, wondering what it’s like to feel prioritized and irreplaceable and hoping, one day, I’ll find out.