by Scott, Emma
She slung her arm around my shoulders. “Have a drink or two, get to know him. That’s it.”
“That’s it,” I said. “Two drinks, max. I’m on a budget and you know how I get when I drink too much.”
“I do,” Ruby said. “You get fun.”
I elbowed my friend then grabbed her arm. “What if Mark is there? With her?”
“All the more reason to hang with Connor.” She pursed her lips. “No offense, but Mark’s a little boy compared to Mr. Drake.”
I started to defend Mark but my cheeks warmed. “No comment.”
Ruby laughed. “Atta girl.”
We went outside to wait for the Uber. The September night was cool, and I pulled on a dark cardigan, while Ruby slipped on a jean jacket. I never wore jeans—after eighteen years of jeans on the farm, I’d vowed never to wear denim again.
“What’s Connor’s roommate’s name again?” Ruby asked. “Wesley?”
“Weston,” I said.
“What’s he like?”
“Econ major. Intelligent. But prickly.”
“How so?”
“Cynical. He compared feelings to tonsils.”
“Ouch.” Ruby laughed. “Is he hot?”
The unhesitant thought, he’s gorgeous, caught me off guard. “I guess so,” I said. “Tall. Blond. Blue eyes. He’s a track and field runner.”
“Track and field…” Ruby’s eyes widened. “Oh wait, Wes Turner? Oh my God, where’s my head? Of course. The Amherst Asshole.”
I stared. “The what?”
“You really have been on another planet, haven’t you? That’s Wes’s nickname on the track, on account of his sunny disposition,” she said with a laugh. “He’s a real dick to his opponents, apparently.”
“Oh,” I said. “That’s too bad. We had a nice talk.”
Except that Weston hadn’t been too friendly. Not at first.
But we warmed up to each other, eventually.
“He has a rep for being quite skilled in the bedroom department, too.” Ruby grinned. “This night just got a whole lot more interesting.”
I glanced at my friend under the streetlamp. She was beautiful, smart, and the boy-crazy act was only one manifestation of her bottomless well of self-confidence that I envied.
If Weston tried to mess with her like he did me, she’d snap right back. They might hit it off.
The thought was oddly unsettling.
The Uber took us down Pleasant Drive to the little town of Amherst. Yancy’s Saloon was only a block away from the Panache Blanc.
“I’m not staying out too late,” I told Ruby as we exited the car. “I have to work my double shift tomorrow.”
“Tell that to Connor when he takes you home tonight,” Ruby said.
“No one’s taking me home but you.”
Ruby did her best—which meant terrible—Jack Nicholson impersonation. “I tell you, buddy, I’d be the luckiest gal alive if that did it for me.”
We pushed through the swinging doors into a fog of beer and greasy pub food. Wood furnishings and warm yellow lights. Purple and white Amherst banners plastered on the walls. “Be Mine” by Ofenbach played over the sound system. I recognized it instantly. We didn’t get much alternative music back home, and I’d fallen in love with it at Amherst. Like denim, my mother’s oldies and Dad’s blues were things I left at the farm.
The music barely masked the crack of pool tables from the gaming area, where Ruby was now pointing. Connor Drake stood in a circle of friends, head thrown back in laughter.
“There he is,” Ruby said. “Let’s go say hi.”
“I want a drink first,” I said, steering her to the long bar.
“Let him buy,” Ruby said. “God knows he’s good for it.”
I stopped. “What do you mean?”
“I mean his dad owns like a zillion companies and his mom’s a senator.”
My nose wrinkled. “How…? Do you keep dossiers on every guy here?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” She laughed and nudged my arm. “No dear, I pay attention to my surroundings, not just the insides of textbooks.” She studied my frown. “Don’t tell me Connor being rich is disappointing to your delicate farm girl sensibilities?”
“No, it’s not that…”
It’s just one less thing we have in common. On the heels of that thought was the memory of Weston saying he was at Amherst on scholarship too.
“Anyway.” I squared my shoulders. “All the more reason I should buy my own drinks. If he’s wealthy, people probably assume he’ll pay for everything.”
“Maybe,” Ruby said. “But he’s not like wealthy, in that he drives a nice car and wears nice clothes. I mean he’s wealthy, like a thousand dollars could fall out of his pocket and he wouldn’t notice.”
Ruby would know. She wasn’t Drake-wealthy, but her Jamaican mother was a professional singer and her Dutch father was a high-powered lawyer in Boston. Ruby liked to say she’d won the “Hammond Scholarship.” Her parents paid for school, so she didn’t have to work while completing a degree in Italian.
She held up her hands at my dry look. “Just saying. But let me get the first round. To celebrate the momentous occasion of your first post-Mark outing.”
I shook my head, a wave of affection for my friend making me smile.
At the bar, Ruby ordered a 7-and-7 for herself and a pear cider for me. She held up her glass. “To keeping it casual and having fun.”
“Amen,” I said, clinking my glass to hers.
“And to possibly getting laid.”
“For you, yes. For me…too soon.”
Ruby narrowed her eyes and set her drink down. “On that note, can I ask you something? How was Mark in the bedroom department?”
I spilled some pear cider over my lips as I sputtered. “Ruby.”
“Because you were with him for two years and we never talked about it. Ever. Any fireworks…?”
“I… What does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything,” Ruby said. “You’re a junior in college now. You’re supposed to be living it up and sleeping around and having a good time, and you were missing all that.” She put her hand on my arm. “I’m not happy that Mark cheated on you—it’s a super shitty thing to do—but I am happy you’re free.”
“Free?” I pulled my arm away. “He broke my heart, Ruby. I loved him.”
“Did you?” She held up her hands again. “I’m honestly not trying to start shit. I just never got the sense that he set your blood on fire. Your words, not mine.”
I hunched my shoulders and faced forward over the bar. “Nobody’s perfect,” I said. “I’m not. Mark wasn’t either. But we had good conversations and he understood what I was trying to do with my degree.”
Ruby pursed her lips and took a sip from her drink. “I don’t like to see you hurt. But I can’t help but feel like this is an opportunity for you. You work so hard. You deserve some fireworks.”
I started to protest but Ruby’s words sunk in. I did work hard at my double-major. But I’d also worked hard on Mark and me. I told myself the electrifying romance phase couldn’t last forever, especially after two years. But we had fallen into a rut of banal conversations and routine sex; a rut that he had broken—spectacularly—with another girl.
I glanced over to the pool tables. Connor Drake stood with some friends, chalking his pool cue. A huge smile broke over his face as he greeted a newcomer with a hearty handclasp and hug, welcoming the friend into his circle.
Seems like a nice place to be.
“Go,” Ruby said. “Just walk over, say hello, flirt a little and see what happens. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said. “There’s just one problem.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m a terrible flirt.”
“That, my friend”—Ruby handed me my glass—“is what the alcohol is for.”
I shot her a look and downed the rest of the pint—more than over halfway full.
Ruby laughed as I
plonked the empty glass on the bar. “Hallelujah, girl.” She finished off hers and signaled to the bartender for another.
Pear cider isn’t the strongest drink in the world, but my slight weight and short height felt the effects immediately. The pleasant buzz gave me the confidence to walk over to the pool tables and step into an established clique of sporty guys and their girlfriends.
I knew, instinctively, that Connor wouldn’t act differently toward me in front of the girls or brush me off in front of his bros. And I was right. The second he saw me, he stopped mid-conversation, and his broad smile widened even further.
“Hey, Wes,” Connor called, keeping his eyes on mine as the words went sideways. “Look who’s here.”
I followed the tilt of his chin to the three dartboards mounted on the bar’s back wall. Weston turned around, the dart poised in his hand. His eyes widened slightly as he saw me.
So did mine.
Ruby leaned in. “The Amherst Asshole, in the flesh.”
I nodded. Ruby smiled.
“Not bad.”
His handsomeness was equally as potent as Connor’s, yet cut from a completely different cloth. Where Connor was broad and built, Weston was tall and lean-muscled. Connor wore a white shirt that hugged his shoulders, and his dark hair was shorter and spiked. Weston wore black and his gold hair fell over his eyes in the front. Still looking at me, he tossed it out of the way with a jerk of his head.
Connor strode up to us. “Hey, you made it.”
“We did,” I said. “This is my roommate, Ruby. Ruby Hammond, this is Connor Drake.”
It felt strange introducing them since Ruby was more acquainted with Connor’s reputation than I was. Connor greeted her with a friendly smile, then turned immediately back to me.
“Your next drink’s on me, I insist.” He looked back over his shoulder. “Wes, get over here and say hi. Let’s get a game going.”
Weston turned back to his dartboard and lanced the little arrow straight at the bullseye, then moved to join us.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hey.”
“This is my roommate, Ruby.”
His blue-green gaze flickered to her and back. “Hey.”
“A pleasure,” Ruby said with a smirk.
“Until we get some shots into him, my good buddy Wes doesn’t speak unless spoken to,” Connor said with a laugh.
He introduced us to a bunch of his friends, all of them baseball or basketball players. Ruby knew a few of them and was immediately absorbed into a circle of talk.
“Let’s rack ‘em up,” Connor said to Weston. “Decker, you in?”
A dark-haired guy leaning against the wall raised his beer bottle in salute.
Connor turned to me. “Do you play?”
“I’ve played a few times,” I said, with a smile I hoped was flirtatious. I sipped the last of my ale and traded him my pint glass for his pool cue. “Can I break?”
Connor raised his brows. “Be my guest.”
I bent over the table, slid the cue back and forth over my hand, then took my shot. The crack reverberated through the tavern as the cue ball smashed into the triangle of balls, scattering them across the green felt. Two striped balls sunk in the corner and side pockets.
Connor pointed at me and deadpanned, “She’s on my team.”
Decker whistled low in his teeth. “A ringer.”
“Got that right.” Connor turned to me, moved close. His voice was low and deep, and his cologne—clean, masculine, and expensive—wafted over me, making my nerve endings tingle. Somehow, he made the entire bar disappear until it was just he and I.
“You’ve played a few times, huh?”
“I’m from a small town in Nebraska,” I said. “My dad used to take my brother and me into town every weekend to shoot pool.”
“So you’re a shark,” Connor said. “I like it. Unexpected. Makes me want to find out more about you.”
It was probably a cheesy line to someone less inebriated, but I was tipsy from chugging two pints. Having Connor Drake’s full attention was another kind of buzz. He was beautiful up close, with large green eyes under heavy, dark brows, and a broad mouth that looked like it might be as good at kissing as it was at smiling.
“There’s a lot to know about me,” I said, screwing chalk onto the end of my cue.
“Is that so?” Connor’s smile softened. He raised his hand, and for a second I thought he was going to touch my face, but he hesitated. “You have an eyelash stuck to your cheek.”
I brushed my face where he was indicating, my skin warm under my fingers. That he’d wanted to touch me but didn’t, was more of a turn-on than if he had touched me.
“Thanks,” I said.
“No problem,” he said, and then his mega-watt smile was back, and I was basking in it. “Autumn Caldwell from Nebraska,” he said, “let’s shoot some pool.”
Weston
I watched Autumn bend her petite frame over the pool table and break like a pro. Connor moved close to her and they shared a few quiet words. It looked as if he was going to touch her cheek but didn’t. A classic Connor Drake move. Matt Decker, the only other guy in all of Amherst I considered a friend, noticed too.
He leaned in to me, using his pool cue as a mic, and spoke in a low voice, like a golf commentator.
“Connor’s got all the right moves tonight, don’t you think, Wes?”
“Indeed he does, Matt,” I whispered back. “He’s on fire. The signature Drake-Fake-Eyelash-Take. Perfectly executed. Let’s go to the instant replay.”
“Flawless, Wes. What technique. And the red-headed judge awards a perfect ten.”
Decker chuckled, while I averted my eyes and took a long pull off my beer.
I talked to her first.
Pathetic. She wasn’t a territory. I hadn’t planted my flag in her.
Judging by the way things are going with her and Connor, you aren’t going to plant anything in her anytime soon.
The crude thought was a flimsy cover for the truth: I hadn’t stopped thinking about Autumn Caldwell all week. I liked talking to her, and if I’d been better at it, I’d be the one sharing a pool stick with her. Standing over her while she looked up at me with those incredible hazel eyes. Instead, I’d mentally surrendered her to Connor without a fight.
“Wes,” Connor said. “You and Decker done whispering sweet nothings to each other?” He swung a casual arm around Autumn’s delicate shoulders. “My secret weapon and I are going to clean your clocks.”
“We’ll see, Drake.” Decker turned to me. “You in?”
The last fucking thing I wanted was to play pool with Autumn and Connor. But my competitive streak, born on the streets of southside Boston and honed on the track, revved up like it did before a race.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
Matt Decker was a decent pool player, and I could always hold my own against Connor. But Autumn turned out to be a true phenom. Every ball she or Connor sunk was another opportunity for him to high-five her, give her a hug, or say something that made her smile.
Soon enough, they were down to the eight ball, while Matt and I had three left on the green. I lined up my shot, while at the other end of the table, Connor stood close to Autumn. Closer than I thought necessary for a non-date, date. I forced my gaze to the table, but just as I took my shot, Autumn laughed. My stick scraped felt and glanced off the side of the cue ball, sending the ball into the side pocket.
“Duuuude,” Decker groaned.
“Damn, Wes,” Connor said. “I haven’t seen you scratch like that since summer camp, eighth-grade.”
“Fuck off,” I muttered under my breath, and pulled another of our balls onto the table.
“It was my fault,” Autumn said. “My dad taught us to keep quiet while an opponent is taking a shot.” She smiled beautifully at me. Genuinely. “Forgive me?
Yes. Anything. Always.
Jesus fucking Christ, this girl had me wrapped around her goddamn pinky.
“I
t’s fine,” I muttered like an idiot and took a long pull off my beer.
“You two have known each other since eighth grade?” Autumn asked.
“Since middle school,” Connor said, studying the table.
“Oh that’s right. You told me in the library. And now you’re in college together. That’s sweet.”
“Hear that, Turner?” Connor bent over the table, his eyes intent on his shot. “The first and last time someone’s going to use the word sweet to describe you. Including your own mother.”
“Your mother called me sweet last night, Drake.”
“Boom.” Decker gave me a no-look fist bump.
“That hurts, my friend,” Connor said, taking aim over his stick. “Hurts so bad I might miss this shot…”
His stick lanced out, hit the ball with a crack that sent the eight ball streaking into a corner pocket. Game over.
He held out his hands, grinning triumphantly. “Or maybe not.”
Decker mumbled a curse. I didn’t give a shit about losing the game, except that now I had to watch Connor celebrate the victory with Autumn.
His palm slapped hers in a high five, and with another Signature Drake Move, he held onto her hand and pulled her in for a bear hug. There was nothing sexual about it—he put her down immediately and backed off—except I knew he was getting in as many platonic, friendly touches as possible.
I wouldn’t touch you so quickly, I thought. I’d wait. Draw it out. Build up the moment so that when it happens—when each of us feels the other’s skin for the first time—it’ll be something sublime. Something earned.
I took another long pull off my beer as if I could drown the frustration and mystery that was my infatuation with this girl. One library conversation, one round of pool, a few smiles and now she was lodged in my psyche and wouldn’t let go. Except that I felt like I knew more of her than that; a strange recognition or déjà vu that didn’t fucking make any sense.
Fuck this shit.
I slammed my empty bottle onto the bar, fished some money out of my pocket, and gave it to Decker for more alcohol.
“This round’s on me, for the scratch. Go.”
He smirked. “Sir, yes, sir.”