Page 43 of Scoring Chances
“What are you guys doing here?”
“Libby and Izzy stayed with the kids since they’re both tired and can’t drink,” Kesley says.
“And Cassidy… is drinking with us,” Rina squeezes her shoulder.
I look at Cassidy. She can’t drink technically. But so far the bartender hasn’t asked for any IDs. And he’s already pouring the three extra shots.
Keelan stares at Rina. His eyes bouncing to the giant ring on her finger. She tucks her loose hair behind her ear with that same hand and then reaches for the three shots, handing them to the women.
“So, to what do we owe the pleasure of drinking?” Rina asks.
Fergie slaps me on the back. “To Hicks. And his last summer as a Heatwave player.”
“We don’t have to–”
“To Hicks!” Rina says, shoving her glass into the air. Everyone grabs one and we clink our glasses, small amounts of the liquor sloshing out of the tiny cups.
Everyone throws back the shots. I put mine to my lips but watch Cassidy. “You want a chaser there, Princess.”
Her eyebrows press together and she shakes her head, meeting my eyes as she throws it back.
I do the same and she watches me.
She does a great job of holding back her disgust. “Another round?”
The boys all cheer and Kesley walks up to the jukebox in the corner. “They have Earth, Wind & Fire!”
I shoot her glance. “What are you fifty? Let me pick something.”
She steps aside, rolling her eyes at me, and I pick something a little more recent with similar vibes.
Little Boo Thing by Paul Russell blasts from the speakers and everyone hoots and shuffles over to the dance floor. The other bar patrons join us too.
I watch as Rina and Kesley pull Cassidy reluctantly onto the dance floor with them.
“I’m gonna need more than one shot to do this,” Cassidy says
“Oh come on. How often do you get to go dancing at a beach bar?” Kesley says.
“I don’t go dancing at any bar,” she admits. But finally gives in and joins them swaying her hips and mimicking their moves.
She’s so fucking cute. It hurts.
The little shorts she’s wearing with her off-the-shoulder top and hair loose—she looks like a totally different girl.
And she’s not yours.
Shut up, conscience. I take another shot and join the group on the dance floor. One girl, who was eyeing me steps up and starts dancing on me.
“Hi,” she says, batting her lashes.
“Hi,” I say back with a smile.
“You look familiar,” she coos.
“And you look like trouble.”
She laughs and throws her hair back over her shoulder. And continues to dance on me.