Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

HUNTER

A s soon as we step outside of the bar, Eve recoils. “What’s that smell?” she asks, sounding aghast.

“California,” Aidan proclaims proudly. “You see, when it’s not raining all the time, you can really smell the sea?—”

“I don’t feel good,” Eve interrupts.

“Drinking my body weight in alcohol always makes me a little queasy too,” Aidan tells her cheerfully.

Eve groans.

She’s drunk. Wasted would be more accurate. I’m impressed she’s vertical right now.

After Eve stumbled back to our table—minus the guy who’d been drooling all over her for the past hour, thank God—there was a group consensus that it was time to head out.

“Do you want more water—oh, shit.” Harlow hurries after Eve, who’s made an abrupt beeline toward the bushes that line the parking lot.

“I’ll grab her some water.” Rylan heads back inside.

Aidan, Conor, and I stand around awkwardly, listening to Eve’s heaves and the low murmur of Harlow’s voice.

“Really takes you back to freshman year, huh?” Aidan says. “Remember the Beer Olympics?”

“Yeah, because Morgan and I weren’t the ones puking in the yard,” Conor replies.

“Whatever. I participated in twice as many events as you two. Good sportsmanship. Plus, the whole team got trashed. Pretty sure every plant on the property got christened.”

Conor sighs.

I make a face.

We live in that house now.

Thankfully, Aidan ends his trip down memory lane there. “We still on for surfing tomorrow morning?”

He talked me and Conor into a morning surf session while we were watching hockey earlier.

“I’m in,” I say.

I had two beers. Not enough to wake up with a hangover, although it’s late enough I’ll still be tired tomorrow unless I sleep most of the morning.

“Yeah. Me too,” Conor adds.

He’s the only one of us who’s completely sober. Harlow tried to talk him into getting a beer when we arrived, but he refused.

“Great.” Aidan rubs his hands together excitedly. “I was scoping out the boards in the garage earlier and—you need help, Rye?”

Rylan’s back, carefully balancing a plastic cup of water. She glances at Harlow and Eve. “I think we’re good,” she replies before continuing toward them.

Eve’s still bent over, so I can’t see more than her silhouette. This parking lot could use some better lighting. All the streetlights line the opposite edge of the lot, closer to the road.

“How many shots did she have?” Aidan wonders. “Four? Five?”

“A lot,” Conor says. “I knew those surfer guys were bad news.”

I barely avoid nodding along in agreement. Hart’s pissed because they checked Harlow out when she went over to check on Eve. I have no good reason to hate the bartender and his buddies.

“Come on, she looked like she was having fun,” Aidan comments. “Eve’s in way better shape than you were after breaking up with Harlow.”

“Yeah, because I was in love with her.”

“Eve dated that asshole for three years. She must have been in love with him.”

My gaze falls to the ground. I scrutinize a crack in the pavement, lifting my hand to rub at the back of my neck.

Frustration balloons, making my chest feel too tight. Eve’s single, and she’s ten feet away from me, and she’s still completely untouchable. Even if I were skilled at making moves, which I’m not, she’s obviously in no shape to start anything new. And by the time she is, we’ll probably have graduated.

Meaning I’ll have missed my shot…again.

Eve shuffles out of the shadows, flanked by Rylan and Harlow, drinking from the glass Rylan got her.

She lowers the cup, wrinkles her nose, then turns and dumps the rest of the water on the bush she vomited behind. “Sorry,” she says to the plant, very seriously.

Aidan snorts a laugh.

Rylan glares at him, and Aidan immediately shuts up. I mouth tamed stallion at Conor, and he coughs to cover his chuckle.

“I’m tired,” Eve announces, sinking down onto the curb. She rests her chin on her knees, the same way she did when I was changing the tire yesterday.

She looks as tired as I feel. Sad, and lost, too, which makes me want to punch whoever put that expression on her face. I was watching bar guy closely—well, as close as I could without being entirely obvious—and she seemed into him. Smiling and laughing and never looking uncomfortable.

Harlow digs a pack of gum out of her purse and hands a piece to her best friend. “Can you pull the car up here?” she asks Conor. Glances at Eve. “I’m not sure she’s in any shape to walk.”

“I’ve got it.” The words are out of my mouth before I’ve thought them through. Before Conor has even responded to Harlow’s request.

I crouch down next to Eve. She turns her head toward me, blinking drowsily. Smiles. “Hey, Hunter.”

“Hi, Eve. You want a ride to the car?”

She tilts her head, considering the offer. “How far is it?”

“Pretty far.”

I don’t even remember where Conor parked. But since the walk from the bar to the bushes wore her out, I’m guessing it’s an accurate assessment.

“Okay.” Eve yawns. “Ride, please.”

A silly flutter of nerves appears as I tuck one arm under Eve’s knees and curl the other behind her back, lifting her from the curb. It’s the same anticipatory rush I get right before I step on the ice during a game. The same anticipatory rush I used to get right before I stepped on the ice during a game, rather.

A unique burst of excitement and adrenaline I wasn’t expecting to experience again. Ever, anywhere, let alone in a dim parking lot carrying a drunk girl.

Eve yawns again before her head turns into my chest, nestling naturally into the hollow of my throat.

“You smell good,” she murmurs against my neck.

The words linger in the air. She smells like mint, and I can feel it tingle against my skin.

Eve’s voice has the soft slur of too much alcohol and being half asleep. She’s close to passing out completely. I doubt she even knows what she’s saying right now.

“You keep helping me.”

The soft sound of her voice startles me. I thought she was too drunk and sleepy to continue a conversation. “You’re welcome.”

Her answering laugh ends in a sigh. “I messed up again.”

I’m not sure what she’s talking about, exactly, but I figure “Everyone makes mistakes, Eve” is a safe answer.

“But the same one? That’s intensity.”

“Insanity,” I correct.

She laughs again, but this one sounds sad. “Right. Insanity. I never learn. He doesn’t want me.”

She’s in love with another guy .

“He’s an idiot.”

Eve exhales. “Yeah.”

She sounds unconvinced, and I’m not sure what else to say.

I don’t know any details about her breakup, but after forty-one months together, it must have been big. You don’t casually call it quits after that long. I don’t want to seem insensitive, but I do want to tell her to move on and forget about the dick. I’m sure as hell not going to suggest she give him another chance.

I doubt it matters what I say. The odds of Eve remembering this conversation seem extremely low.

“Is chalant a word?” she asks suddenly.

“Chalant? Uh, no. I don’t think so.”

“I knew you’d know the answer,” Eve says confidently.

It’s another one of those statements I’m unsure is a compliment or not. She’s not being sarcastic, despite the fact my reply wasn’t exactly definitive .

“There’s a lot of shit I don’t know, Eve.”

Specifically, what the hell to do around her.

“I’m trying to be nonchalant,” she tells me. “Instead of chalant, if that was a real word.”

“Caring isn’t a bad thing.”

Her whispered “It feels like it is” is so low I wouldn’t have heard it if her mouth wasn’t right by my ear.

And I have this sudden, epiphanic moment where my attraction to Eve becomes more tangible. Because I know exactly what she means. I may pretend I’m a 911 operator when I’m on the phone with Sean, but that apathy collapses as soon as the call ends. There have been so many fucking times when I’ve wished I could shut that flow of turbulent emotion off, the same way you turn a faucet or flick off a light. Because it’s useless and unnecessary and Sean doesn’t want it. Doesn’t feel it, so why should I?

I glance down at Eve, nestled against my chest. Her eyes are closed, her breathing even. She’s asleep.

We’re almost at Conor’s car.

“You parked so far away,” I hear Harlow bemoan behind me.

“Not really.” Hart sounds amused, not annoyed, and there’s no one else he’d be using that tone with. He doesn’t drink during the season, so I’ve witnessed Conor around plenty of tipsy peers. His patience level usually hovers at zero.

“Easy for you to say,” Harlow replies. “ I’m the one wearing heels.”

Now that Eve’s stopped talking, I can hear them clacking on the asphalt. I’ve honestly never understood why women wear heels. Walking on sticks can’t possibly be comfortable, as evidenced by Harlow’s complaining.

“Heels don’t make the car any farther away,” Conor tells her. “Honestly, this says a lot about your slacking with training, Hayes.”

Harlow huffs. “Maybe I’d be in better shape if my coach didn’t get so distracted.”

Conor is training Harlow for a marathon she’s running this summer. It’s a fundraiser for an organization that works to prevent drunk driving, which is how Harlow’s parents were tragically killed when she was in high school. I know Conor is hoping to run it with her, but it’s another piece of his future that will get decided by the draft.

“Maybe your coach would get less distracted if you stopped training in spandex outfits that show off your tits and ass.”

“They’re aerodynamic , Conor. Mr. Focused can’t handle a sports bra and some leggings?”

“Not if you’re wearing them,” Hart says seriously.

I speed up my steps, guessing their conversation is going to become increasingly R-rated.

Hart’s SUV is locked, and I don’t have a free hand to open a door anyway. So I just stand next to the car, holding Eve.

Hart and Harlow arrive next, Harlow beaming brightly as she clings to Conor’s back.

And, looking at them, I’m relieved.

Even when Aidan was at risk of not graduating, I was never really worried about his future. Not because he has a trust fund, although money never hurts, obviously. Because Phillips is adaptable. He makes himself at home around anyone, in any situation.

Conor is rigid. He has one plan. One way of doing things. One mindset. There’s a real possibility he won’t make it to the pros, and I can’t picture him doing anything else except playing hockey. I don’t think I could do anything to cushion the blow of that not happening. Neither could Phillips. Or Coach. I know Conor’s protective of his mom and contentious with his dad.

I’m a lot less worried about Conor’s future, watching Harlow slide off his back. She wobbles in her heels, clutching at Hart’s shirt tightly for support, only a few inches shorter than him with the added height. “I love you.”

“Love you t—” They’re kissing before Conor gets the last word out.

I avert my gaze, deciding being the single one amidst happy couples is about as bad as being sober in a crowd of drunks.

“—could have asked!”

“Harlow and Eve didn’t have to ask !”

Aidan and Rylan loudly announce their arrival. At least the bickering separates Hart and Harlow.

Phillips sighs when he reaches us, then glances between me and Conor. “When did you two get so chivalrous?”

“Harlow’s feet hurt,” Conor explains.

“I’ve always been chivalrous,” I add. “Remember when your car stopped working and I chauffeured you around for a month?”

Aidan scoffs. “It was not a month.”

Eve groans against my chest. Hopefully just a reaction to Phillips’s loud voice and not an indication she’s going to throw up again.

I catch Conor’s eye and nod toward the locked car.

“Oh, shit. Yeah. Sorry.” He digs the keys out of his pocket and the SUV’s lights flash.

Aidan picks Rylan up and deposits her two feet closer to the car, right next to the door. “There ya go, babe.”

Rylan rolls her eyes, but she’s fighting a smile as she climbs in the back seat.

“I’ve got her,” Harlow tells me, appearing at my side.

I set Eve down carefully, making sure her Converse-clad feet are under her before dropping my arm. She groans again, resting heavily on Harlow as she guides her best friend into the car.

I climb into the front seat, and Conor starts driving.

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