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I hear Paulina sniff, and a moment of silence passes before Iz grabs one of the shot glasses and hoists it in the air.

“NO RAGRETS!” they shout, quoting a meme we have stuck to our fridge.

“NO RAGRETS!” we all roar like only sports-obsessed jocks can.

I grab a shot glass for myself and tip the burning liquid into my mouth.

2

Hope

Turns out Jane was right; one shot didn’t hurt us, but I’m starting to think the fourth might be doing some damage.

I’m lying on my stomach on the couch, watching Iz and Paulina dance around in the pink glow of our string lights while Jane sits beside me with my feet in her lap. She’s scarfing down what has to be her millionth piece of pizza.

Piece of pizza is such a funny phrase.

“Piecccce a’ pizza!” I slur before laughing to myself.

“Whas’ at?” Jane says around a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese.

“I said pieccccce a’ piiiizza!”

A full-on laugh attack takes over, and Jane calls me crazy before slapping me on the ass.

“Owww!” I yelp, but it only makes me laugh even more. I wait for the hysterics to stop and then realize the room is spinning. “Wow, I am officially drunk.”

“No shit.” Jane slaps my butt again. “Look at the whiskey.”

I work very hard to get my eyes to focus on the whiskey bottle on the table in front of me. “Oh. No whiskey.”

After the first toast, everybody started wanting to make toasts of their own, and now I can’t feel my toes.

“Are you drunk?” I ask Jane.

“Mhmmm.” She grunts as she finishes off her final bite of pizza crust. “I’m not being very responsible. CJ is gonna be pissssssed.”

I laugh as I imagine CJ—AKA Coach Jamal, AKA our gnome CJ Junior’s namesake—yelling at our sorry hungover asses tomorrow. It really isn’t funny; I should be trying to hydrate and get to bed immediately to avoid his wrath, but the whiskey has turned the whole world slow and sticky.

“Not to mention Becca,” Jane adds. “She’ll probably beat us all with her stick in the locker room before Coach can even get to us.”

Jane laughs to herself, but I don’t join in. I forgot I’d be seeing Becca tomorrow.

How the fuck did I forget about Becca?

“Need more whiskey,” I mumble as I push myself up to a seat.

I grab the bottle even though it’s empty and hold it upside down to wait for the final dregs clinging to the glass to trickle into my mouth. I spent the entire day so focused on handling post-breakup feelings about Ethan that I forgot all about handling Becca feelings.

Becca Moore is a force to be reckoned with, both on the lacrosse field and in my thoughts and dreams. This will be her second year as team captain.

Her second year of ordering us around on the field.

Her second year of shouting commands in that smokey, throaty voice of hers.

Her second year of standing on the sidelines to oversee our warm-up drills with her arms crossed in that specific way that makes her tits look inhumanly perfect.

How one person got blessed with thick, flaming red hair, adorable freckles, the kind of brown eyes guys with guitars write songs about, and the C-cups of the century is beyond me.