“Casanova,” I mutter under my breath, but the curl to my best friend’s lips tells me I didn’t say it soft enough. “And I slapped him for vague-booking.”
“Oh, yes. I bet Tess broke the speed of light with how fast she sent us the screenshot of that beauty.” He barks out a laugh.
“Beauty?” I screech.
“Yes…beauty.” He pours out the next round of shots and holds my glass out for me to take. “Anyone with eyes can see lover boy realizes he made a mistake.”
“So I’m just supposed to forgive him because he buys me a few gifts?” I bite into the lime with way more aggression than it deserves.
JT snorts then groans as tequila shoots out of his nose. “No. Besides, you would never be swayed by trinkets. What I’m saying is—think of all the things he has done since he pulled his head out of his ass.”
All of my attention falls to my now empty shot glass, and I spin it in slow circles. Long fingers enter my field of vision as he counts off each of Mason’s romantic gestures.
“He risked his life showing up at King’s—”
“Dramatic, and he doesn’t know the Royals’ reputation.”
“Fine.” He huffs at my sarcastic retort. “He risked his life asking Em to help him.” He arches a brow and cocks his head as if to say I dare you to tell me that’s not true.
I concede with a nod, because Em sure does have one hell of a fierce protective side.
“Then there’s the first shirt he had made that was so perfect you slept in it.” Dammit! Why do I tell him everything? “And the vague-book one? Yeah, that was a damn good one too. How much you wanna bet the back has his name and number on it too?”
I’m sure it does. The caveman—
I sputter into a coughing fit at the nickname slipping into my subconscious.
“My personal fave, though…” He slips a hand under my left, running a thumb back and forth over the aquamarine birthstone I wear for him on my forefinger before dragging it over the amethyst band on the middle then stopping on my naked ring finger. “He didn’t just get one of these for him. No…he remembered some offhanded conversation he overheard you having with CK and made sure to include him too.”
I scowl at the finger now tapping the bare thumb on my right hand. Cool liquid splashes above JT’s touch, and I lift my narrow-eyed stare to see overflowing shot glasses weaving under our noses as Ian attempts to break the tension. I grab one and down it just to shut up my inner cheerleader, who’s agreeing with JT about taking Mason back.
Hours pass as we continue to down shots—me out-drinking all the guys because, one, my mission is to get drunk, and two, they all have some form of practice tomorrow and I don’t.
Done with the heavy stuff for the night, we settle into the most entertaining game of Would You Rather I have ever played in my life. Before I know it, it’s closing in on two in the morning.
I stumble a little getting up, my brain just the right amount of fuzzy, and I giggle in the way only a happy drunk can.
“PF.” Is it just me, or did JT drag out the Pffff in my name to eight hundred syllables?
“Achievement unlocked!” I shout, throwing my arms up in the air and doing a happy wiggle dance to celebrate my buzz.
The door to the dorm opens during my performance, but we’re too busy ribbing each other to pay it much attention.
“Impressive showing, love.” Harry compliments how well I hold my liquor.
“Seriously, PF, you pack it away like a champ, especially for someone under five feet.” Ian hooks an arm around my neck, pulling me into a hug.
“I’m over five feet.” I push off him and stumble back into JT, who tucks me against his side for safety.
“Please.” JT snorts. He’s right, damn four eleven. Couldn’t give me one more inch, huh God?
“Hey!” I bend my head back and feign displeasure. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“Always.” He kisses the top of my head. “Time for bed.” He pushes me in the direction of his room.
“Buzzkill.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’ll thank me tomorrow.”
“Damn. If I knew you guys were having a party, I would have stayed here and saved some money.” A deep, deep voice cuts through our laughter.
I peek around JT’s arm and see another muscular, tall, hot guy.
Geez, is it like a requirement to be good-looking to live in this dorm? Because dayum. It may be the tequila talking, but I’m inclined to agree with my inner cheerleader.
“Oh heeeeeeyyyy, you must be the ballplayer,” I say with a drunken wave.
The brunette cutie gives me a flirtatious smile, and if I wasn’t so hung up on Mason, I might return it with interest. Instead, all I can offer is the grin of a happy drunk.
“Yup, I’m Spencer. And who might you be, gorgeous?”
“Nope.” JT pushes for me to continue toward his bedroom. “Time for bed, PF. Say good night.”
“Good night boys,” I singsong.
When I step inside JT’s room, he leaves me to change into my pajamas. I strip off my tank and reach for the t-shirt I wear to bed, but when I pull it out of the bag, I almost drop it when I realize it’s Mason’s football shirt.
Son of a bitch.
I must have grabbed it on instinct. There’s no way I can wear this to bed.
Twisting the fabric in my hands, I open the door. “J.”
He whips around at his shortened name, all the earlier apprehension returning full force. “PF?”
I pinch the shirt between my fingers and hold it out in front of me like it’s a sweaty gym sock. “I need a shirt to sleep in.”
His shoulders drop away from his ears as he eyes the gray cotton, all perceived threats assessed and dismissed. “Because, what? That’s a
