Page 17

Lola

“Where are the guys?” I slide the case of seltzers we brought into the fridge. Indy looks just as confused as I feel that we can’t find a single person who lives in this house.

Dalton puts his hand on the small of my back and I tense a little.

I spent the last year trying to hide those touches.

It feels a little weird being here with another guy.

Margo told me I was being stupid. If Byron wanted more we’d all know.

I refuse to be one of those girls who wait for their friend with benefits to fall in love with them.

Plus, I really like Dalton. Maybe I need a boring preppy guy in my life.

I honestly didn’t think that he would come. He was out last night and had to drive two hours back to school. They start practice on Monday. I wouldn’t have held it against him if he bailed on me tonight.

He showed up at my front door with my favorite hard seltzer—the one he bought me when we met this summer—in hand. We’ve just carried on from last night.

Like I told Oliver, the guys’ “Goodbye To Free Time” party is a can’t miss event. I feel like the smallest sardine in the can. It’s not worth even trying to fight for space but I do because nothing makes me happier than watching the stammering fool Aaron becomes in front of Charlotte.

“Are they even here?” Margo asks with a puckered face. By the look of it, that tequila shot was definitely not top-shelf.

The magnetic pull Byron has on me is still strong. Through the base of the pop music Indy added to the playlist and the dozens of conversations taking place, the moment Byron steps back into the house I can feel it. I just know he is here.

The boys weave through groups of people huddled throughout the main floor of their house. They only stop when they make it to the inner circle of our friend group. I watch each of them going down the line–it strangely feels like a funeral– ending with me and Dalton.

I try to introduce them to Dalton. With very blunt and candid words paired with a tone that we have coined, “If you’re not Lola or Aaron get ready to be punched,” he informs me, “We all know who Dalton is. He plays hockey at Hamilton University.”

With all my friends being on the basketball team I know that Hamilton is our biggest rival. Dalton seemed eager to come tonight. Didn’t say one disparaging thing about any of the guys. I thought they would be more mature than this.

Byron is the last of the guys to make it down the line. He comes in for a hug and I snuggle in a little deeper than probably appropriate. I’ve missed the smell of his spicy cologne. It always paired so well with the rum he loves to drink.

Before he steps away he places a chaste kiss on my cheek. His soft blue eyes darken to a shade I hope to never see again when they lock on Dalton.

With a slight tilt of his head he drags his eyes down Dalton then back up. It’s almost like he can’t believe he had the audacity to show up here.

“Dalton.” That’s it, just his name.

It feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room.

“I’m going to go grab a round of shots for everyone,” Byron says wryly as his eyes drag from Dalton to me. “Lola, want to help me carry them?”

“I’ll stay here and keep Dalton company,” Charlotte pipes up.

She pats Dalton on the shoulder a few times.

Her and Dalton hang in the same circle at Hamilton but they have never been particularly close.

I don’t think that’s why she is offering to keep him company.

She has always been on team Byron. She thinks he brings out the best in me.

“Ummm, sure, I guess.”

Byron opens the cabinet where they hide their good liquor. It’s only when his back is facing me that he starts his interrogation.

“How did you meet Dalton?”

My back rests against the countertop opposite Byron. I have a great view of his backside, which has only gotten better since the last time I had an unrestricted view of it.

“At a bar when I was home this summer. He was coaching a camp in the city.”

“Oh, cool.” The silence between us drowns out the rest of the party. I can’t hear the music or drunk girls retelling stories of their weeks. I hate this distant version of Byron. “Is he treating you well?”

“Other than the night we met, I have just bumped into him randomly. He seems like a good guy.”

Byron’s cutting limes for the tequila shots when it slips out of his hand, nearly slicing through the tip of his thumb.

At the same time, I’m asking, “Byron, are you okay?” He grunts out, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

I rush to his side and grab his hand. Examining it to make sure he didn’t knick himself.

Byron faces me and places the hand I’m not checking for injuries on my cheek. It’s the most intimate we have been since the night of the draft.

“I’m okay, Pips. I missed my finger.” He runs his thumb over my cheekbone, and I close my eyes.

I inhale deeply remembering how much I used to crave his touch.

How we would sneak away to Hamilton to get coffee.

Where we didn’t have to consistently look over our shoulders.

When I can’t hold my breath any longer, I exhale, those memories going with it.

I peel his hand off my cheek and let go of the one I’m holding. When I open my eyes, Byron’s are still locked on mine.

“Just be careful, Lo.”

Nobody will ever be able to hurt me the way he did. I don’t say it out loud, I’m not looking for a flight.

“I will be.”

He hands me a tray with a few shots, limes, and salt, and he takes the one that carries most of the drinks.

A laugh bubbles out of me when I can’t hold it back any longer.

“You guys actually use these?”

One night, when Jasper’s was closing and the boys were drunk, they stole two serving trays from the bar.

That night, only the core of our friend group went back to the hockey house for after-hours, and they couldn’t stop talking about how they took these trays.

You would have thought they were part of the cast of Ocean’s Eleven.

The tension between us remains in the kitchen.

Byron waits until we all have a shot in our hand before holding his up. We all follow suit.

“To the best year of our lives.”

We all clink our glasses before taking the shot.

Sunday morning, I‘m awakened to a leg slung over my waist and a large body wrapped around my back.

“Did you sleep okay?” The voice is more profound than the one I’m used to having in my bed.

“Just be careful, Lo.”

Byron’s words have been playing on loop in my head.

I turn to face the warm body I’m tucked into, warm hazel eyes and a sleepy smile greet me.

“Other than someone kicking me, I slept pretty well.” I reach out and run my fingers over his eyebrows that went a little haywire while we were sleeping.

We didn’t sleep together, by the way. I mean, we slept in the same bed; but nothing happened other than some kissing and a little heavy petting.

I’m not a prude, and I don’t care who you sleep with.

I just like to know who I’m getting into bed with.

I want to make sure I’m not inviting people into my life that are going to hurt me.

Dalton was the perfect gentleman, by the way.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“I know you and the boys are on rival hockey teams, but you’ll be okay to hangout with them, right? My friends mean the world to me, and this,” I point from my chest to his, “won’t work if you can’t.”

His fingertips drag up my arm. Tracing whimsical patterns on my skin.

“Byron and I have a little more history than I do with the rest of the guys. We both are from New York and played for rival teams. It was a little contentious at some points, playing in city championships against each other, but I have no hard feelings.”

He drops my hand, placing his thumb and pointer finger under my chin, and raises it until I’m looking him in his eyes.

“I can put aside some childish rivalry if it means I get to see you again.”

I try not to smile. This is what it feels like being in a mature relationship. I can’t play games anymore.

“Thank you.”

And then he kisses me. It has potential, it just needs a little work.

He fully has me when he asks about the stack of books I have on my nightstand. He seems genuinely interested in learning why each one made the trip from Philly to Westvale. Then he orders my current read, Long Shot by Kennedy Ryan, stating we can have our own book club. I just swoon.

Dalton left shortly after we got up. He starts practice tomorrow, too.

He had to meet with his coach to go over some goals they have for the season with the other seniors.

It’s a Hamilton tradition to make sure they are all on the same page.

Dalton hinted that the beginning of his freshman year was a disaster because of the game planning.

Now, they have this meeting yearly, so nobody is blindsided.

I was able to make him one of my world-famous cappuccinos, and get a goodbye kiss. So, my Sunday is off to a very good start. It gets even better when my phone starts ringing, and I realize it’s a call from Ivy.

You ever have a friend that pops up whenever you need them. That’s Ivy. It’s like we have this kind of telepathy that pulls on each other’s souls.

My heart grows bigger, knowing that she is taking time away from a daunting vet school curriculum to call me.

“Hey, V!” I’m greeted by a bare-faced Ivy, the New York City skyline behind her. I can’t wait to get to the city to see her and Jalen’s apartment. It’s insane what a lottery pick in the draft can get you.

“Lola, I miss you,” her voice drags. She sounds a lot more tired than she looks. “Distract me from studying. I can’t read another page.”

God I’m happy that I’m not on that track anymore.

“Well, I had an interesting weekend.”

I give her the cliff note version of the last two days. She is just as shocked as I was about Dalton’s long history with both Byron and Jalen.

“Damn, I miss college.” She chuckles. “Did Byron seem upset?”