Page 22 of Under the Influence

Carson hands me a cookie, a stupid grin on his face.

“What?” I ask, shoving a bite into my mouth.

“Nothing, just glad you came over.”

I talk with my mouth full, pointing to the wall, “If you turn that TV on, I’ll stay.”

He jumps over the back of the couch, wrestling with the coffee table for the remote, quickly turning it on. He’s cute when he’s nervous.

“What do you want to watch?” He asks, offering me the remote.

“This is fine,” I nod to the TV, rounding the couch to sit.

He doesn’t say much, just gives me a questionable look and sets the remote back down. Yeah, sorry, I’m not some chick-flick lover. I’d watch baseball all day if I could.

I finally finish chewing my cookie and swallow it, “They need to put the closing pitcher in.” I observe, feeling his stare, realizing I said that out loud.

“He is definitely tired,” Carson adds.

“It’s too early in the season for him to be wearing down like this.”

Carson’s eyes rip from the TV as I chew another bite of my cookie. He’s looking at me like I’m some kind of alien. Fucking ET.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’ve never met a girl that liked baseball or knew the rules. It’s like seeing a Bigfoot.”

I shrug, “Call me Sasquatch, I guess.”

Walking over to the bar, I grab a paper towel and hand it to him. This guy was so concerned about getting me inside that he forgot that he was bleeding. The top of his white Nike sock is completely stained red.

"You must think I'm crazy," he says with a smirk.

I laugh, "You nearly killed yourself tripping over patio furniture to talk to me."

He pushes the paper towel into the top of his sock to soak up some of the blood, "What else am I supposed to do when someone as pretty as you lives next door?"

I smile. He's so bad at flirting it's actually adorable.

CHAPTER

NINE

NASH

I wake up Sunday morning with a pounding headache so bad that I’m afraid to even open my eyes because I’ll probably throw up.

I don’t mean to do this. It’s not like I pick up the whiskey bottle and think to myself, “Come on, Nash, let’s blackout.” I’m just really, really good at making terrible decisions.

I groan, rolling over into a warm body. What the…

Forcing my eyes open, I scan the contents of my bed. The blonde hair fanning everywhere, shit.

“Jovie, get up!” I demand, giving her a less than gentle nudge.

Of all people… The one person I can’t stand. I don’t even like to think about Jovie. It’s the best I can do to tolerate her.

“Ow,” she whines, rolling off my bed, dressed in one of my shirts.