JULIUS
They manage to survive at the bar for two whole hours while the people around them get progressively drunker and louder and clumsier before Sadie announces, with a note of finality, “This has been a great experience.”
“Very … immersive,” he agrees, trying not to notice the couple aggressively making out within two feet of them. Or they might be engaging in some sort of carnivorous ritual; it’s hard to tell, what with the way they’re biting each other’s lips and arms.
“I’m so glad we did this,” Sadie says, also pointedly not looking at the couple.
“I’m glad too.”
She pauses. “Do you want to leave now?”
“Yes,” he says immediately, relieved. “Please.”
They’re rounding the corner when someone bumps straight into him, and he feels ice-cold liquid splash across his side.
He immediately lurches back with a hiss, but it’s too late. Half his shirt is soaked through, the fabric sticking too tight to his skin, and he smells overwhelmingly like beer—not even the expensive kind.
“Shit,” the perpetrator mutters, too stupidly drunk to apologize.
His glazed-over eyes stay on Julius for about one-fifth of a second, less time than it took for him to spill his entire drink over his brand-new nine-hundred-dollar shirt, and Julius forces himself to exhale, to swallow down a series of foul words.
If he were alone, he wouldn’t drop it. He’d need compensation, if not financial then certainly emotional, some form of acknowledgment that being drenched with bad beer is a less-than-ideal way to finish a night that was, up until now, pretty great.
But Sadie is with him, and he doesn’t want to risk getting into an argument. Doesn’t want to scare her.
So he turns to leave, but then he hears Sadie yell out over the pounding music—
“Hey, aren’t you going to apologize?”
If he weren’t so familiar with the sound of her voice, he wouldn’t believe it was her talking.
The model student, the people pleaser, the girl who always speaks like she’s in a library, who hates confrontation almost as much as she hates failing.
She’s the last person he’d expect to shout at a stranger in a bar.
But there she is, eyes flashing, standing her ground, her jaw clenched with indignation.
She steps out in front of Julius, arms crossed over her chest. She’s a whole foot shorter than the guy with the beer, but she shows no fear.
It’s like watching a tiny rabbit attack a bear.
The guy frowns at her. “Huh?”
“I literally just watched you spill your drink on my boyfriend,” Sadie says, her voice growing louder and firmer. “And you didn’t even say sorry.”
“It’s okay, Sadie,” Julius tells her quietly, shocked to even be in this position.
“No, it’s not okay,” Sadie mutters, angling her head back, her features softening briefly as she focuses on him. “You really liked that shirt.”
“I can buy a new one—”
“I’m sure you can, but it’s the principle of the matter,” Sadie insists. “You deserve an apology.”
“I—I didn’t see him,” the guy stammers, his face flushed.
“That’s not a good enough excuse,” Sadie tells him.
And maybe it’s the fierceness in her expression, the sheer, unwavering intensity with which she’s staring the guy down, or the fact that she’s definitely drawing upon her public speaking techniques from all the assemblies they’ve led, but he bows his head like an admonished child.
“Sorry, man,” he mumbles to Julius. “My bad. I’ll watch it next time. ”
“All good,” Julius says. He can barely feel the dampness in his clothes anymore. He’s too busy staring at Sadie, who begrudgingly lets the guy slink off into the crowd with his empty beer cup.
“What?” Sadie says, meeting his gaze, the anger dissolving from her face.
He shakes his head, wordless. How to explain it, even to himself. She has said before that she would choose him, but it still floors him to know she would protect him, stand up for him, care about him this much. Nobody has before. “You didn’t have to do that” is what he manages at last.
But Sadie just shoots him an incredulous look.
“Yeah, um, of course I did.” Like that settles it.
Like he doesn’t just deserve to be cared about, but it’s natural, unquestionable.
His throat tightens. Impulsively, he rests his hand on the back of her head, feeling the heat exuding through her soft hair, just under his fingertips, and she relaxes against his touch with a sigh, like this is natural too, and he feels a love so immense it might actually crush him.
“Come on,” Sadie says, reaching into her purse for napkins, because of course she just happens to be carrying spare napkins around with her. “Let’s head back. Oh my god, you know what,” she says excitedly, “I just remembered—I think I saw Scrabble at the Airbnb …”
As if he couldn’t love her more.