“What aren’t you telling me?”
Adalyn takes a sip of her drink and then sets it back down on the bar. She holds her glass with both hands and stares at the liquid as she speaks. “I haven’t found anywhere for us to live.” She swallows hard. “But my sister offered me space in her basement for the rest of the semester.” Apology is written all over her face as she turns to me. “If there was more room, I would say you could stay with me, Emma, but the room is already the size of a closet and if it wasn’t free, I would turn her down so we could find a place together but . . . it’s free.”
My hearts falls to the sticky floor of the bar. Great. Adalyn has a place to live and honestly, I can’t even be mad at her. If I had the same opportunity, I would be saying yes before I could even blink in surprise from the offer.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m going to help you find a place though, I promise.”
“It’s okay.” I sigh and lean back in my chair. “You don’t need to apologize, Adalyn. That’s one hell of an opportunity. You can save so much money until we graduate. I would be mad at you if you didn’t take it.”
“But what are you going to do?” Adalyn asks.
“I’ll figure something out.” I take a sip of my Old Fashioned. Whenever I drink with my friends back home, I have one drink, often because I’m too concerned with making sure none of them accidentally trip and fall into the bonfire. When I’m with my college friends, I drink. And tonight, I plan on drinking, and drinking a lot.
Logan nudges me with his shoulder. “The offer still stands to room with me.”
“And shack up in your bunk with you?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time we shared.” This time he wiggles his eyebrows and a blush creeps over my cheeks.
No, it wouldn’t be the first time. Ohhh, Emma and Logan sitting in a tree, right? No. Well, sort of, but no.
We went out for drinks after our first year semester finals and ended up getting wasted, a little too wasted. Since his place is walking distance from the bars, we crashed in his bed, the top bunk. We made out for quite some time, fondled each other but then passed out due to intoxication. I woke up that morning with his flaccid penis in my hand and his bottom lip stuck to my nipple.
Not my best night, or best morning for that matter. After an extremely awkward morning, we came to the conclusion such copious amounts of liquid should never be consumed together because we didn’t want to ruin the friendship we had. We’ve made out on different occasions after that—what can I say? He’s a great kisser—but never took it any further. Nothing is quite like waking up with a limp penis in hand to ruin any romantic vibes. This past year though, strictly platonic, just the way I like it with my Logan.
Turning toward Logan, I say, “As much fun as it was sharing a tiny bed with you on top of crusty sheets—”
“They were not fucking crusty. Retract that statement. I don’t want people thinking I’m some jizzing asshole who never changes his sheets. Fuck me if I don’t use fabric softener. I think it’s a waste of money.”
A laugh pops out of me. He can be so damn sensitive sometimes. “Anyway, you have one bathroom between all six of you. It would never work.”
“We can fit you in the shower schedule. How do you feel about midnight showers?”
“Not favorable.” I laugh and take another sip of my drink, welcoming the burn of the alcohol down the back of my throat.
“Hey, Emma,” Adalyn whispers, leaning forward and looking over my shoulder.
“What?” I mimic her approach.
She nods behind me. “That guy over there keeps staring at you.”
Lifting up, both Logan and I say at the same time, “What guy?”
“Don’t look . . . ugh,” Adalyn groans when we both turn to see who she’s talking about.
Sitting in the corner of the bar, a short glass of what I know is whiskey in front of him, his shoulders slouched, but his gaze fixed on me, is the one and only hometown heartbreaker from where I grew up: Tucker Jameson.
When we make eye contact, his head tilts to the side and he smirks. Right there, that look—a slight smolder in his eyes, the broad set of his shoulders, muscles in his chest no man his age should have, and the scruff that lines his strong jaw—that is the look that broke many hearts.
Two years older than me, he was in a tumultuous relationship with one of my best friends, Sadie. For years they were on again, off again, pushing each other’s buttons until it all fell apart. It caused a ripple in our little inner circle as we were forced to choose sides. I was never a fan of their relationship, knowing the kind of strain it put on both of them, but once it was over, I focused my attention on my best friend. It took time and patience, but she needed to move on with her life.
I can still see the hollow look in Sadie’s eyes after she lost the baby, after she dropped out of Cornell University to be a mom. Life as she knew it was flipped upside down and then taken away from her. Smilly, our other best friend, had to pick up the pieces and luckily, we didn’t have to glue her back together, Andrew, her boyfriend, did that.
I grew up in a small town, a town where everyone knew everyone. There were ninety-five kids in my graduating class, so small is an understatement. But with a small town, comes strong bonds. To this day, four years after we went our separate ways from high school, we still get together during the summer and hang out, party, reminisce on all the good times, and create some new ones too. But this last year, Tucker was MIA and now that he’s only a few feet away, I can’t help but think about what he’s been doing all these months. Has he recovered from his relationship with Sadie?
Guilt consumes me as the back of my neck starts to flame from my neglect. Should I have offered more support to Tucker?
“Do you know him?” Logan asks, whispering next to my ear.
I nod. “I do.” I pick up my glass and hop off my bar stool. “I grew up with him.”
“Damn,” Adalyn says from behind me. “I wish I grew up with him. Hell, I wish he would grow inside me right now.”
“Self-respect, Adalyn,” Logan chastises. “Christ.”
“Be back.” With drink in hand, I walk over to Tucker who turns on his stool, one arm still resting on the bar, the other gripping the back of his chair. He watches me walk toward him, and I realize it’s the way he’s always watched women walk toward him: with unbridled attention. It would be intimidating if I didn’t know the boy Tucker once was.
“Never would I have imagined seeing your tiny ass in a place like this. I thought college girls like yourself hung out downtown,” he says in greeting, that smirk turning into a full smile now. He runs his hand through the side of his already unruly hair, giving him some amazing sex appeal. It’s really unfair how some men can grow hotter and hotter by the minute.