“Speaking of ping-pong, champ. I’ll take a rematch,” Rhys says but Tate just hands him his paddle.
“I don’t need to kick your ass twice,” he says and Rhys shrugs and takes the racket, leading Jasmyn toward the table with him. Tate is still staring at me and I’m fighting the urge to blush.
“Well, enjoy your night,” I say nonchalantly and turn, grab my sister by the hand and walk out of the kitchen, Caroline doesn’t follow. She stays with Tate, which annoys me but whatever. It’s her life.
For the next half hour, Daisy and I chat with friends in the living room and I almost forget Tate’s even here. But then I go to get a second beer and he’s still standing by the keg and still shirtless. And now he’s holding a bottle of Malibu coconut rum, pouring it into shot glasses lined up on the island. Caroline is still right there beside him. I reluctantly walk over and she laughs like she’s drunk, and she probably is. “Tate is pouring shots!”
“I see that,” I reply coolly.
Caroline blinks. “Oh…right. We’re not supposed to like him.”
Tate chuckles smugly at that. I glare at him for a second and turn back to Caroline. “You can like him. There’s no accounting for taste. But I’m vetoing him.”
“Vetoing me?” Tate says, evidently confused. “What does that mean, exactly?”
“House rules,” I explain and lean on the counter waiting for him to stop pouring his shots so I can get to the keg without accidentally brushing up against him. “When we all moved in together we put a veto rule into effect. We can hook up with whoever we want but if the other roommates don’t like a guy, then he’s not allowed in the apartment. Hookup must happen at their place.”
“We’re not like that,” Caroline tells me, her tipsy expression growing serious. “God, you’re dramatic tonight.”
“Caroline’s right. We’re not,” Tate agrees. “But if we were, that would be a stupid rule. I’ve already been in your apartment.”
He hands Caroline a shot and then one to a buddy of his, some blond guy from the hockey team, and then he hands me one. I shake my head.
“Can’t handle the strong stuff, huh? Clearly you don’t have Clyde’s genes.”
Ouch. Low blow. “I can handle my booze just fine. But unlike you, I have to work tomorrow. People will actually want to buy our products, unlike your subpar apples.”
“More drinking. Less bickering,” Caroline demands.
“I agree. This is way too much drama for me,” the blond guy says.
“Cooper wait!” Tate calls but Cooper keeps walking.
Caroline leans forward to clink her shot glass with Tate before she puts it to her lips and tips it back. He does the same but doesn’t do a little shimmy afterward from the harsh taste of it like Caroline does. Tate smiles at her reaction and I grab the remaining shot glass.
“I’m going to need this if you two are going to flirt,” I mutter and down the shot in one big swallow. I force myself not to react as it burns its way down to my stomach and slam the shot glass on the counter.
“I’m not flirting,” Caroline replies.
“Neither am I,” Tate says and turns to me, leaning on his side of the island to bring our faces closer together. “Trust me, you’d know if I was.”
“Gross,” I reply and grab the bottle of rum, pouring new shots into their now empty glasses and filling a new one for me.
“Guess there is a little Clyde in you after all,” he remarks and my hand not holding the bottle balls into a fist.
“The only way I’m like Clyde is that I also think you, like your grandpa, need a punch to the face,” I shoot back.
He grabs the first full shot glass. “So you admit Clyde hit George first.”
Caroline grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me away. “I’m over this drama. Let’s go Maggie. If I don’t get you out of here you two are either going to fight or fuck, and I don’t want to see either.”
My jaw drops. The last thing I see as she hauls me out of the kitchen onto the back porch is Tate looking equally as startled by the comment. Once out of earshot on the porch she lets me go. “How drunk do you have to be to suggest I would have sex with that reprobate?”
She laughs and flips her blonde head back dramatically. “Oh come on. You two are seriously throwing out the strongest hate vibes I’ve ever witnessed.”
“Yeah,” I agree as she jumps up to sit on the railing of the porch and reaches for the bottle of rum I’m still holding. “Hate vibes. Not sex vibes.”
“There is a fine line between love and hate and an even finer one between hate and lust,” Caroline explains. “Trust me on this. Best sex I’ve ever had was with that jerk Matt this summer.”
“Matt? You slept with Matt? The guy from your high school who told your boyfriend to break up with you right before prom your senior year?” I say because I know this sordid story all too well. Caroline will never get over going to prom alone, heartbroken.
“The one and only. I still hate him by the way, but the sex…” She started to fan herself and then takes a swig directly from the bottle of rum. I gently put a hand on it and pull it from her lips.
“Easy there slugger. We’ve just had the apartment cleaned. I don’t want you puking all over it later.”
“You two up for some beer pong?” Tate’s voice calls out and I turn and see him setting it up on the ping-pong table with cups, his eyes on Caroline and me. “I’m undefeated in this too, so you’ll lose but it’ll give you something to do other than huddle in the corner talking about me.”
“You’re an egomaniac,” I reply but find myself nodding. “I’ll play if for no other reason than to wipe that stupid smirk off your face.”
I snatch the bottle from Caroline as she’s about to drink from it again and hand it to some random guy standing nearby. “I need you to be able to see the cups, sunshine.”
Caroline pouts but lets me drag her to the table. Tate tosses me a ping-pong ball. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”
We’re about to start our third game when Caroline announces she needs a potty break. I groan and as she disappears into the crowd, Weston, Tate’s teammate at beer pong and ice hockey apparently, announces, “Not here for the next game that’s a forfeit.”
“She’ll be back!” I argue but he’s already walking away. “She’s just peeing! If she gets back and you aren’t here we win!”
Weston either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care because he disappears out of sight into the living room. Tate is grinning at me from across the table. “Weston is right. Caroline bailed first. That’s a forfeit and we win.”
We’re tied one game each so this is a very serious matter. I shake my head. “No. I refuse to agree to that.”
“I refuse to care what you agree to,” Tate replies, still grinning.
A girl walks over and rests half a butt cheek on the corner of the table, staring up at Tate like a puppy looking at an owner who has a treat. “I’d love to play you next Tate.”
Tate smiles at her. “I’d love to play with you too, but first Firecracker needs to admit defeat.”
I roll my eyes and subtly grab the corner of the table because it makes me a little dizzy. I’m well past tipsy. “You’re delusional. I didn’t lose. We tied and even that is questionable because you cheated a little.”
Tate’s eyebrows both shoot up. “Excuse me? I never cheat.”
“You’re an Adler. It’s in your DNA,” I shoot back, and I realize instantly that drunken quip is actually a much bigger insult than I intended. George is apparently a womanizer after all. Rumor is years ago when Tate and I were kids, George cheated on his wife with a cashier from a hardware store in Montpelier. She showed up in town and caused a big scene or something. The details are sketchy for me, but I know that’s why Clyde always says he’s a womanizer and he’s said it wasn’t the first time. Now, even through the beer goggles I’m wearing, I can see the hurt that flickers across Tate’s face.
“I’m going to go find Carolin
e,” I announce and march off into the still overly crowded living room. Just like always with these type of nights, the games have stopped and people are dancing instead as music blares out of Bluetooth speakers. I find the downstairs bathroom and there’s a line. Caroline isn’t in it. I wait, and the girl who comes out of the bathroom isn’t her either. It’s getting really hot in here and I need some air, so I decide to weave my way to the back porch. Maybe air will help me sober up. Our first farmer’s market is tomorrow, and I’ll be struggling, I know it.
There’s a bunch of people circling the ping-pong table out there where our beer pong set up used to be, but it’s already been removed. I can’t see exactly what they’re doing instead, so I stumble closer. There’s an empty wine bottle in the middle of the table and a tall guy leans over and gives it a spin and I watch and fight the urge to roll my eyes. Are they playing spin the bottle? Am I so drunk that I stumbled back into ninth grade?
I watch as the bottle slows and points to a blonde girl who smiles brightly at the guy who spun it as he walks around the table and kisses her. It’s a crazy deep, full-on kiss, not the pecks I got in junior high when we played this in Jasmyn’s basement at her thirteenth birthday party. Finally the couple break apart and she leans over the table to spin the bottle.
“You get off on watching, Maggie?” Tate’s voice is way too close to my ear and I jump and turn around. He’s right behind me.
“I’ve just never seen adults play such a stupid childhood game before,” I tell him. “They must be really drunk.”
“Or just really smart,” Tate replies. “I mean what better time to play the game than after we actually learn how to kiss.”
Of course he sees it that way. I ignore him and watch as the blonde girl walks over to a short-haired brunette girl because the bottle landed on her, and the two girls kiss. Again, there’s little restraint. I’m about to go back inside to find Caroline when someone calls out. “Hey Tate! You and your girl wanna play?”
My eyes lock with Tate’s and he looks as horrified as I feel at the mistake. “I’m not his girl!”
“I’ll play,” Tate says and pushes past me to join them. “Maggie isn’t into anything remotely interesting, so she’ll sit this out.”
Some people snicker and I feel my blood starting to boil. “Actually, I’ll play.”
Did I really just say that?
Everyone is staring and smiling except Tate, who is staring with his mouth hanging open, so yeah, I guess I really did say that. So I walk over and wedge myself in between two guys. There’s now eleven of us playing which is simply ridiculous to me. Eleven college kids who don’t have anything better to do than play a childhood game. Each time the bottle spins I feel a flutter of confusion in my belly because half of me is terrified it will land on me and half of me is terrified it won’t. All I need is a smaller bra size and some braces and it really is junior high again.
After the third spin it still hasn’t landed on me but it has landed on Tate. It’s a short girl with waist-length blonde hair. She’s smiling shyly as she walks slowly around the table and puts a hand on Tate’s shoulder as she rocks up on the tip toes to plant one on him. He circles her waist and leans down but his eyes are on me—liked locked with mine and it’s absolutely awkward and yet…exhilarating. Their lips meet and his green eyes finally break their battle with mine because they slide closed and suddenly, I don’t want to play this game anymore. I don’t know why because I’ve watched all the other people kiss, but watching Tate feels wrong. Luckily it’s over quick.
Tate smiles at the girl and as she skips back to her place he sips from a beer bottle in his hand and then leans across the table and spins the bottle so hard it blurs. I watch, kind of wishing it would spin right off the table and shatter so we can all stop playing this stupid game. But it doesn’t. It stops. On me.
“Shit,” I whisper.
Tate doesn’t move. He stares at me from his position across the table.
“Are you gonna do this so we can keep going or what?” someone asks.
“Just keep playing,” I say and wave my hand like I’m shooing away an annoying mosquito. “We can skip this round.”
“So you’re forfeiting?” Tate asks and laughs. “That’s two forfeits in one night. Forget Firecracker. I’m gonna call you Little Miss Quitter from now on.”
“I am not quitting,” I say firmly and then shrug. “You landed on me so if you don’t follow through, you’re the quitter, not me.”
Oh shit. He’s walking toward me.
He wouldn’t. I mean he hates me as much as I hate him. Probably more now that I’m blackmailing him. He’s not going to actually kiss me.
He’s standing right in front of me now.
He’s probably waiting for me to panic. My face starts to flush so badly I think I might break into a sweat. He’s gonna lean in and expect me to jump back and then he’ll claim he’s won again and…
He leans in and I don’t move. He will not win. His lips are an inch from mine. I can feel his breath on my cheek as his head slowly tilts to the right. I feel a hand on my hip so I put one on his shoulder, not to be outdone. He hovers there. I try to read his expression but he’s too close. He’s a blur.
“You’re not backing down,” Tate murmurs, and I can’t tell if he’s disappointed or impressed.
“I don’t back down,” I whisper.
“Neither do I.”
And then…Tate Adler’s lips are on mine.
They’re light and soft and warm and… I refuse to pull away first. He’s not going to win. So I press my lips into his and open my mouth just the slightest.
He slides his arm around my lower back so I slide mine around his neck.
Is that…his tongue? Yep, his tongue most definitely just slid against my bottom lip. That rat bastard. If he thinks that’s going to make me run, he’s got another think coming. I am not going to let him win. I slide my tongue out too and then, our tongues touch. It’s like I stuck it in a socket. Electricity shoots through me right down to my toes and up again to start a fire in my belly. Well, slightly lower than my belly. Oh shit.
He’s going to stop this insanity now, right? But he doesn’t break the kiss. He doesn’t jump back. He doesn’t quit first. He pushes back against my tongue and slides his into my mouth and…I am fully and completely making out with Tate Adler in front of half the damn school and the most horrible thing about it is that I’m liking it. A lot. Tate Adler is making my toes curl and my panties damp.
I jump back at the very same second Tate does. I don’t wait to see his reaction or let him see mine I just turn and storm back into the house, ignoring whoever it is who yells out after me. “Hey! It’s your turn to spin!”
Back in the kitchen I see Daisy standing by the beer pong. “Hey! Where were you?”
“I was just outside.” Getting completely turned on by my mortal enemy. “Getting some air.”
Daisy’s eyes slide over my shoulder and narrow as a frown starts to curve her lips downward. “What are you doing here?”
I don’t dare turn around. If I look at Tate I will turn crimson…and maybe kiss him again. No. I will definitely not. I think. I just can’t turn around.
“Your sister owes me a tiebreaker game of beer pong,” I hear him say.
Daisy shakes her head. “Nope. Not gonna happen. I’m calling it an official tie.”
“No! No ties!” Tate barks. “She doesn’t play, she forfeits and I win.”
Daisy stares at him then me and shakes her head. “You two are going to be a mess tomorrow. Remember tomorrow? First farmer’s market of the fall season?”
“Right. Shoot. Okay. Let’s go!” I sound overly enthusiastic suddenly and I know it. I take a couple steps too quickly and end up grabbing the wall because it keeps the floor under my feet from tilting too much. I can’t help but steal a glance at Tate who just smirks his smirkiest smirk of all smirking time. “If you don’t wanna play another game of pong, we can go back out onto the porch a
nd play more of the game out there. If you want to. I think you want to.”
“Are you trying to make me puke?” I ask and my voice might be ice-cold but my face is red-hot.
“No more games for this Pong Princess.” Daisy sighs heavily and she doesn’t even know what game he’s talking about, thankfully. She would blow her top if she did. “Let’s go. Jasmyn already took Caroline home.”
“You’re forfeiting, Firecracker,” Tate calls out.
“I’m better than you, the end,” I call back as Daisy tugs me toward the front door. “If I wasn’t you wouldn’t be sharing your booth with me.”
“Let’s see if you can even make it there tomorrow,” Tate calls back and somewhere in the back of my brain I wonder if this was his plan all along. To get me drunk so I’m too hungover to show up tomorrow.
“I’ll be there with bells on, Tater Tot,” I call out and someone we’re passing snickers at the nickname I just invented.
Once we make it to the sidewalk out front and start down the street I turn to Daisy. “I don’t care if you have to throw a bucket of ice water on me tomorrow morning, you make sure I get my ass up and get to the market. Got it?”
Daisy laughs. “Whatever you say.”
The only good thing that might come from this drunken night is maybe I won’t remember kissing Tate when I wake up in the morning. And I don’t care if it feels like I’ve been smacked across the forehead with a two-by-four tomorrow, I will be at that farmer’s market.
6
Maggie
It feels like I have been smacked in the forehead with a two-by-four. Or maybe ten of them. Ugh. I was so jealous when I hauled my hungover butt out of bed at seven this morning and Caroline and Jasmyn were still tucked snug in their beds, sleeping off their hangovers. So jealous.
And now, as if this pounding headache, foggy brain, and dry mouth aren’t enough of a problem, I’ve got Clyde staring at me with his hard, mean, bloodshot eyes and for the millionth time I wonder what it’s like to have a grandfather who isn’t a bitter, hateful little man. The kind you see on TV shows and movies that wraps you in gentle hugs and pinches your cheek and has cute nicknames for you. I’ll never know. My mom’s dad died when I was one and all we’ve got is Clyde.
Blindsided: A Moo U Hockey Romance Page 6
