Chapter 7
CODEWORD: PEACHES
GREY
When I walk into The Horseshoe the next night, I'm both glad I beat her here and disappointed she's not here yet.
I don't know what the fuck that means, and I'm certain I don't want to.
The gang cheers when they see me from a set of high-top tables they've pulled together just off the dance floor.
The place is hopping with townies, the dance floor jam packed, and I wind my way through the throng to our table, already set with pitchers and glasses.
But before I reach it, they cheer Molly's name, and I look over my shoulder, my stomach flipping at the sound of her name. It's been doing that a lot lately.
Molly waves, her cheeks pink and hair bouncy, her cardigan sleeve pushed up her arm to the elbow.
It's a huge, maroon thing with three buttons buttoned.
A flowy, tan skirt with little flowers on it peeks out from the hem.
It's shorter than she usually wears, but her legs aren't showing--she's got on brown tights and chunky maroon Mary Janes.
Under her cardigan is a tight, white top, though she's still obscured by the oversized sweater.
When she finds me in the crowd, she lights up like a lightbulb.
My stomach flips again, then rolls around for a second.
I plunk my stuff down on the table, garnering looks from Tate and Remy when they see what I've got. I ignore them. Carlin intercepts her for a hug, and they talk as they approach, animated and smiling. Teeth clenched, I reach for a glass and pour myself the only beer I get tonight.
"Hey, y'all!" she says when she gets to us, making her way around the table to say hi to everyone. I watch her, glad I'm not the only one. She's a little magnet that way, hard not to notice. Which is tough, because I really need to quit noticing her.
Maybe quit agreeing to help her with every little thing.
I hmph at myself and take a drink.
Molly finally makes it all the way around and climbs onto the bar seat next to me, setting her cross-body bag on the table, beaming.
"Hey, Coach!"
My lips twitch with a smile. "Hey, Molly. You ready?" Remy and Tate are listening so hard, I think their ears might pop off and run in my direction.
"Yup! I had a big honkin' bowl of mac and cheese for dinner and drank a ton of water today, just like you told me to."
"Good." I slide my clear, thirty-two-ounce water bottle toward her.
"You're gonna drink this tonight. Make sure you're paying attention to it or you'll forget.
" I'm already opening the plastic baggie I brought.
When she sees the pretzels strung onto the yarn necklace, her eyes widen in delight.
"Wear this," I slip it over her head. "Now you've got something to nibble on too. Extra points if you eat them all."
She gapes in wonder, inspecting it. "Oh my gosh, Coach--did you do arts and crafts for me? Where did you get yarn? Are you secretly crafty? Do you knit? I have so many questions."
I can't help but chuckle. "I have a bin of my grandma's old stuff. There was some in there."
Molly nibbles one off the necklace, amused. "This is genius."
"Yeah, drunk college kids are regular savants.
" Now Wilder is listening too--my skin's burning where they're lasered on me.
But the girls are in the middle of something at the other end of the table, which I'm thankful for.
They're gonna be in my ass the second they figure out what's going on. "C'mon. Ready to get a drink?"
"Yup!" she says, hopping off the chair, cheeks high and happy. We head for the bar.
"Know what you want?"
"I honestly have no idea. I tried looking something up and got overwhelmed."
"What kind of taste are you in the mood for? Sweet? Tart? Sour? Fruity?"
"I like citrusy things and strawberry, but I don't want anything that tastes like candy." Her little nose wrinkles up.
We pull up to the bar and lean on it while we wait for Leo.
"Hmm. Should probably do something that'll mask the booze a little, not like a gin and tonic. You like lemony stuff?"
"Oh, yeah."
"All right. Order a lemon drop martini. Make sure you specify or they might give you a shot. Order it with Grey Goose."
"How come?"
"Better liquor means less of a hangover."
"Got it."
When Leo approaches, he looks at me to order, but I look at her. She straightens up, smiling.
"A lemon drop martini, please, sir. With Grey Goose."
Leo looks a little surprised, but he's smiling too. "You got it, Molly."
"Put it in one of those fancy coupe glasses you do for bachelorette parties," I say.
"On it. For you?"
"Just water, thanks."
He's as curious as the rest of them, but he keeps his trap shut and works on her order.
"All right, ready for the rules?" I ask.
She nods, studious all of a sudden.
"We covered hydrate and carbs. First, liquor before beer, never fear. Beer before liquor, never sicker."
Molly seems to be calculating something in her brain, and I huff a little laugh.
"You can go down in alcohol content, but not up. Not unless you have a thing for regrets. Really, the best rule is not to mix liquors at all."
"Got it."
"Pace yourself. It's easy to slam drinks like this because you can't taste the booze. But next thing you know, you're hammered and you don't know it."
Her brows nock together. "You don't know you're drunk?"
"You don't know how drunk you are, or will be in an hour."
"Ah, okay. Makes sense."
"If you're feeling spinny, it's time to slow down, not order shots.
Trust me, it'll be your first instinct, especially at last call.
Learn from my mistakes." I continue as she laughs.
"Make sure you're always out with a buddy, and never take a drink you didn't see poured unless it's from one of our girls.
Oh, and don't leave your drink sitting around either. "
"Why?"
"Because men."
"Ah," she says again with a nod. "What else?"
"I've got Gatorade and crackers in my truck for the ride home and Tums and Advil in my pocket. So if you start feeling squirrelly, come find me. Okay?"
"Okay."
Leo hands her fancy drink across the bar, even put sugar and a twist on the rim and everything. I get my water. "Open a tab."
He winks, his eyes cutting to her briefly, but I just shake my head and turn my attention to her. Holding the antique coupe glass with both hands, she brings her nose close to the rim and inhales deep.
"Oh, that smells so good."
Cass gasps from my elbow with a whoosh of air that leaves me thinking she ran over when she saw Molly with a legit glass in her hand. "Hang on, wait! Are you drinking?"
Molly nods brightly. "It's my first drink--I'm gonna get drunk tonight! Coach is gonna coach me!"
Cass pouts. "Why not me?"
Molly bumps her hip. "Because you're a bad influence."
A laugh shoots out of Cass. "Good call. Wait!
We need to do a toast!" She grabs Molly's arm and pulls, her drink sloshing dangerously, but I save it, giving a look to the back of Cass's head as we truck through the crowd for our table.
She stands on a rug of her barstool--Wilder has a foot on the other side so she doesn't eat shit--putting her a few feet above us.
"All right, all right, y'all raise a glass to Molly for her first ever drink!" When everyone has complied, myself included, Cass grins. "To Molly--may your cocktails be strong, your choices questionable, and your hangover gentle!"
Hear, hear!" we cheer, clinking our glasses together, Molly's and mine last. With a conspiratorial smile, we take a sip.
I watch the wonder slip across her face, turning to delight, then to surrender. Her lips glisten briefly before she presses them together, her eyes meeting mine with heat I don't see coming.
Just like the rest of her.
"Well, I get it now," she says.
"Get what?"
"How you could drink too many of these way too fast. How many will it take to get me drunk?"
"Probably one," I admit. Her face flattens like I'm teasing her. "No really. You've never had a drink, so one will for sure get you buzzed. But I have a feeling you're gonna be drinking way more than one tonight."
"You bet your ass I am," she says, smiling and holding eye contact when she takes another sip.
I catch a glimpse of my future and pray it's not me who will end up with regrets.