16. CORA
CORA
One drink turned into three. Three turned into four. Now I’m in that fuzzy space where my body feels warm and my brain feels a little reckless, and I can’t quite remember how many times Ryan’s ordered another round.
I should’ve gone home hours ago.
He keeps talking, louder now, leaning in too close while his words starting to blur together. Something about stocks. Something about his dad’s firm. Something about connections and hedge funds. The kind of conversation that makes my skin crawl, but I laugh anyway. Too high, too fake.
Because what else am I supposed to do? Admit I don’t care? Admit I’d rather be anywhere but here? Admit that he’s so predictable and boring, I’d rather watch paint dry?
Unless I have the chance to make someone jealous.
Every time I look across the room, Lane is there. Beer bottle hanging loose in his hand, jaw tight, eyes flicking toward me before he looks away. And every time I catch him, something inside me twists a little tighter.
I can’t stand it, so I drink more.
When I shift in the booth, Ryan’s hand lands on my knee, his thumb pressing into bare skin. I force myself not to flinch, not to shove him off, even though irritation hums through my chest. He grins at me like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“You’re a lightweight, huh?” he teases when I sway, my elbow knocking lightly into my glass.
“I’m fine.” The words come out sharp, but they don’t even sound convincing. Not to him. Not to me.
“You sure? Because I don’t mind carrying you home,” he drawls, his gaze dragging down my legs in a way that makes something sour rise in my throat.
I grin like it doesn’t bother me at all. He buys it.
I tip back the rest of my drink just to have something to do with my hands.
This was supposed to be my night to relax. My chance to prove to myself that Lane Maxwell doesn’t matter. That Freddy’s texts don’t matter. That I can just be a normal college senior for once.
Instead, I’m sitting here, a little too drunk, with a guy I can barely tolerate, and all I can think about is the fact that Lane is watching.
And worse, how badly I want him to.
The bar feels too loud, too hot. My laugh comes out jagged, like I’m trying to sell it. Maybe to Ryan. Maybe to Lane. Maybe to myself.
But the truth is, I’m not. I’m wasting the one night I had for myself. And the worst part? I know exactly who I wish I were wasting it with.
Leo waves me over, and something in me flickers at the idea of flaunting my date in front of Lane. He hands me the perfect excuse. I slide out of the booth and make my way to their table, trying to look casual. Unbothered. Like this isn’t the whole point.
Ryan follows, his smirk slipping a little as he realizes where we’re headed.
“Hey guys. This is Ryan,” I say, voice a little too bright as I gesture toward him. “He’s, uh…”
Leo grins immediately. “Hey, Cora girl. We all know Ryan.”
Cora girl. The nickname he’s always used for me.
Troy raises an eyebrow, looking Ryan over like he’s assessing a threat. “Know of him, at least.”
Ryan laughs, the sound a little too tight, lifting a hand in an awkward wave. “Ready for the season?”
“Yup,” Leo replies, way too loud. Even through the drinks, I can tell they’d all rather Ryan be somewhere else.
Matty and Noah hold back laughs as Leo leans back, nudging Troy with his elbow. “Cora, you look… great. Sloshed, but still holding it together. That’s impressive.”
I giggle and sway a little, gripping my glass for balance. “Thanks, Leo. I try.”
Lane sits across from me, quietly sipping his beer. His jaw is tight, his eyes fixed on me like he can see straight through everything I’ve done tonight and every reason behind it. He doesn’t say a word. That’s worse than anything else.
“Seriously,” Troy says, his tone lighter but still carrying weight, “what’s going on with you tonight?”
I know he cares. Troy’s always been one of the easier ones. We’ve had classes together. He pays attention, and knows me well enough to know this isn’t normal.
“Nothing. Just… celebrating the weekend,” I lie, my words slipping a bit as I wave a hand.
“Seems like one hell of a celebration,” Leo snickers.
“Hey.” I try to sound offended, but I sway more than I mean to. “I’m fine.”
But even as I say it, the words feel hollow. My glass wobbles in my hand. Ryan’s thumb is still on my leg from earlier, and my stomach twists. I shouldn’t have let him touch me—shouldn’t be here—but I’m too stubborn to care.
Troy leans forward, tone sharper now. “Cora. Set the glass down and give me your keys.”
I blink, confused. “What?”
“You’re all wobbly. You’re drunk. We should take you home.”
I laugh, but it’s high-pitched and shaky. “No! I’m fine. Really.”
Leo groans. “Here we go.”
Ryan frowns, suddenly realizing he’s been outmatched by a bunch of college hockey players. “Uh… I think I should get her home—”
“No,” Troy cuts him off flatly, “you’re not driving her anywhere.”
I grip Ryan’s arm instinctively, trying to argue, trying to prove I can handle this. But my legs are unsteady and my head spins.
“Fine,” I mumble, giving in to the inevitable and placing my keys on their table. “Whatever.”
Lane doesn’t move, just watches, silent and lethal in his quiet judgment. I feel my stomach drop.
Leo stands and grabs my other arm. “Alright, princess, let’s escort you home before you do something stupid. Matty, you got the keys?”
Matty looks at the table and then back to the group. “Lane, can you take her? We’ve all had more than one drink.” He tosses his own keys and it’s like Lane’s fingers snatch them in slow motion.
I stumble between them, Ryan trailing helplessly behind and muttering, “I can get her home…”
“You can’t,” Noah says sharply, eyes never leaving mine. “But we can.” It’s enough to make me concede.
As we file out of the bar, the banter dies off. Lane keeps his gaze on me the whole time, silent and, simmering. And I hate that even in this moment—humiliated, dizzy, caught in my own stubborn defiance—I can’t stop thinking about him.
Next thing I know, I’m being buckled in the passenger seat as Lane slides into the driver side of Matty's car. Alarm bells echo through my rib cage. I don’t want Lane to take me back home.
Being in the car with him? Even for a few minutes?
Part of me fills with rage and the other worries that I can’t be trusted.
Leo’s voice is gentle when he says, “Okay, now you’re going to have to be stealthy. Don’t let your dad catch the new guy, okay?” He talks to me like he’s coaxing a child, and I listen, because he's right.