Chapter 8 #3
“To a lot of you babies getting your first caps tonight,” Courtney Sinclair added.
“And a few first goals,” Danielle added.
“Let’s fucking go!” Morgan yelled. She slammed her shot down onto the table then threw it back, drinking it easily in one gulp.
The rest of the team, Becky included, followed suit.
Straight vodka. Becky’s whole body burned.
She hated vodka, too many good memories lingered in the burn.
Her eyes finally came into focus to find Wren watching her like she remembered what it tasted like on her lips.
No, that couldn’t be the reason. There’s no way Wren remembered that they had been drinking vodka all those nights ago at camp.
That couldn’t be the reason she was watching Becky so intently from across the table.
It had to be something else. Maybe she was just zoning, too.
Finally, their eye contact broke and Wren turned back to Ali to laugh at whatever the redhead had said.
Becky shook off the urge to roll her eyes.
She looked down at the glasses in front of her.
Her water was empty. Her only option to rinse the vodka out of her mouth was a very dry red wine.
The combination was tragic. She downed the wine quickly and had to crawl over half of the team to get up to get something new to drink.
She wanted something fruity and sweet, anything that would mask the flavor of everything she had just had.
“Anybody need anything else?” She asked the table, before heading up to the bar.
A few people had held up empty or nearly empty beer bottles, with pleading faces.
It was a bitch to get out of those massive round booths, so she nodded emphatically to each of them and did her best to remember what her teammates were drinking.
A waiter followed her back to the booth with the beer bottles. The team just shifted down when she made it back, giving her ample room to sit at the end of the booth. She was thankful that she didn’t have to crawl her way back into the heart of the booth.
“And what about you, Becky?” Erin Rice asked her, pushing modern glasses up the bridge of her nose as she spoke. Becky was still amused by how many of them wore glasses when they weren’t playing.
“I missed the start of the conversation,” Becky said, blushing a little in response.
“Oh, sorry. We were talking about relationships. Are you in one?” Erin asked.
Becky did her best to not look at anyone, particularly Wren.
She didn’t know why, but admitting she was single in front of Wren, who was dating a supermodel, was uncomfortable and embarrassing.
She shook her head. “Not at the moment, no.” Becky also still wasn’t really out.
Sure, all of her friends knew she was gay and anyone who did enough digging, or had even half of Katie’s internet sleuthing skills, should be able to figure it out, but she had never come out and explicitly said it.
Nor had she ever done a photoshoot with a rainbow flag or anything like that.
To avoid looking at anyone or anything else, she drank more of her tequila sunrise than she probably should have.
“Are you looking? I know a few guys who are single that actually don’t suck as humans.” That was from another rookie named Kinsey Stadler.
Becky shook her head, not really feeling that now was the time or the place to mention that she was into women, exclusively. “Thank you, but no. I’m good.”
Wren caught her eyes over the table, an amused expression danced in her green eyes, the hint of her dimple cut into her cheeks. Becky just raised her eyebrows with an expression that hopefully screamed “Please change the subject” as she took another big gulp of her drink.
“So, do we just sit around and get hammered, or do we dance when we go out to places like this?” Wren asked, answering her silent cry for help.
Becky didn’t know how helpful it had truly been, though. She was a terrible dancer, but she appreciated the effort more than she knew how to express.
“Hell yeah, we dance,” Courtney Sinclair yelled over the music and the rest of the little side conversations taking place at their booth.
Courtney immediately began pushing the girls out of the booth and towards the dance floor.
Becky had no choice but to join them. She chugged the rest of her drink, hoping for some additional liquid courage, before following everyone out to dance.
Fortunately, she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t dance.
While there was a group of them who could—Wren, Courtney, Erin, Morgan, and Kinsey—the majority of the team, Becky included, seemed to just be content swaying with the beat of the music and occasionally jumping when the music, or the crowd, called for it.
They danced for a few songs and then did another round of shots. These were dark and made Becky’s chest burn. But she played it off as best she could, and she bit into a lime, hoping that would help. It was sour and bitter and didn’t really do anything to stop the burning in the pit of her stomach.
The jumping sloshed the four drinks she had just consumed around in her stomach, giving her the distinct realization that she was going to puke.
She quickly headed off the dance floor and beelined it for the bathroom, pushing open the nearest stall and barfing up all the drinks she had just downed.
The floor was way too gross to sit down on, so she hovered uncomfortably over the toilet, doing her best to keep the hem of her dress from touching anything as she waited for a potential second wave of nausea.
When there wasn’t one, she did her best to clean her stall up and stumbled out to clean herself up at the sink. Her eyes widened when she saw Wren leaned up against the wall next to the paper towel dispenser with her hands stuffed in the pockets of her suit jacket.
“You alright?” Wren asked, her green eyes were deep with concern. Even in the poorly lit club bathroom, Becky could see the line of worry wrinkled into the center of Wren’s forehead.
Becky swallowed uncomfortably. “I just drank too much too fast.” She rinsed her face and washed her hands at the sink.
“Wanna get out of here?” Wren asked, smiling softly.
Becky shook her head no, but regretted it immediately. The world spun and for a second she worried she might barf in the sink. “Holy shit. I’m a lightweight.”
Wren hummed like she was really considering what Becky had said. “If I’m remembering correctly, you were never much of a drinker.”
Becky winced. Wren had remembered. “No, I’m like a glass of wine every now and then kind of gal.”
“Kind of gal?” Wren repeated, doing a poor impersonation of Becky’s accent. “Jesus. Come on. Let me walk you back to the hotel room. This isn’t the classiest place to throw up.”
Becky tilted her head to the side and studied Wren for a second, noticing for the first time that her purse was thrown over Wren’s shoulder and she was holding Becky’s jacket. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked, her brain spinning from her wicked combination of different types of liquor.