First and Tension (Summersweet Island 4)

“It is.” Carson shrugs. “My friend Jason is friends with Billy, who was Quinn’s college roommate, and Quinn threw this party for Billy. I honestly didn’t even think he’d be here and thought he just let his friend use his place. I figured at most we’d be able to sneak up into his bedroom so you could hump his pillow. Surprise! I brought you to your biggest crush’s house!”

“I’m not allowed to fraternize with professional football players!” I argue, looking worriedly around the room, waiting for someone to jump out and yell at me for breaking the rules.

“You are no longer a professional cheerleader. That rule does not apply to you anymore, Drunky McDrunkerson. Which is precisely why I brought you here as my plus-one tonight.” He sighs. “I should have cut off your tequila three shots ago.”

“It’s a dumb rule anyway,” I mutter, still staring over at the sliding glass door where the beautiful and exquisite specimen that is Quinn Bagley exited. “Seriously, making us sign a waiver that says we will not engage with football players in any fashion. We can’t follow them on social media, we have to block them if they follow us, and we’re not even allowed to say hello to them if we’re all at the same charity event together. It’s horseshit; that’s what it is.”

“Look at that, a silver lining to getting fired and sent back to prison tomorrow. You can make out with Quinn Bagley before you go, and I can win the award as best wingman in the history of the world.” Carson smiles.

“I’m not going to make out with Quinn Bagley, and stop calling Summersweet a prison,” I scold him, pulling my phone back out and trying to call Wren one more time, because she is seriously not going to believe whose house I’m at right now.

Wait… whose house am I at again? Oh my God, tequila, you suck!

“I dare you.”

“Son of a bitch!” I glare at Carson as I hold my phone to my ear and the call starts going through to Wren, hoping she’ll finally pick up and talk me out of doing something really, really stupid. “You know I can’t turn down a dare!”

Carson just continues to smile at me while waving his champagne flute in the bartender’s direction for a refill, and I listen to my call ring a few times, wishing there was some damn bread or something carby nearby to sober me up. I don’t know if all the tequila I drank is just now hitting my system, or if simply being a few feet away from the majesty of Quinn Bagley made me drunker, but this room is suddenly tilting like I’m on the Titanic when it started going down. The only thing that saves me from toppling over onto the floor is the ringing of my call cutting off and the most beautiful voice in the world in my ear.

“Hey, Em, how’s—”

“Wrennyyy! I love you so much!”

I’m so excited to finally hear my best friend’s voice that it takes me a second to realize I’ve used my outside voice when I notice that, once again, all eyes in the room are on me. Waving everyone away with my hand, I turn my back to the room and try not to start crying again, now that I have my person on the phone and everything is going to be okay.

“I quit my job, because it was dumb and because I missed you!”

Carson moves into my line of sight and raises his eyebrow at my little white lie, while I press the phone closer to my ear to try to hear Wren’s voice over a bunch of noise on her end of the call.

“I can barely hear you! I’m at the football game!” Wren shouts through the phone over what I can now tell is the noise of fans back home on Summersweet, cheering at a Friday night football game.

“I said I quit, bitch!” I tell her again, this time without so much ear-piercing screaming and with a whole bunch more giggling, while Carson continues to stare at me all judgy-like.

He doesn’t get it, because he didn’t grow up with us, but if Sip and Bitch taught me anything, it’s that giving any kind of news, good or bad, is always better when all parties are drunk. And since Wren is at a football game, probably happily snuggling and making out with her hot boyfriend and definitely not drunk, she doesn’t need to worry about all the stupid, little, boring details, like me getting fired. I can tell her the truth when we’re both drunk, and it will not make any sense to either of us, like nature intended.

“Oh no… how much tequila have you had? Is there bread near you? Eat some bread. Fucking carb up! Are you alone? You better not be alone or—”