Cameron Cole has a plan.
After yet another relationship ends because of certain shortcomings-literally-Cameron decides it's time to swear off dating and focus her energy into her junior year at the University of Charlotte. There's an internship up...
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The music inside The Stables is damn loud.
Not in a party way—more in a my head already hurts and these speakers are pushing me toward a murder kind of way. The place is packed, air thick with sweat and leftover adrenaline, everyone buzzed on cheap drinks and post-game euphoria. Banners hung crooked along the beams, and the bartenders looked like they regretted ever getting out of bed.
I was posted up against one of the support beams near the back, nursing my second drink and faking a smile every time someone passed and screamed, "What a game!" like I wasn't already twenty minutes past done.
All I wanted was to go home with Wes. Shower with Wes. And curl up in bed with Wes.
But it seemed like getting any form of communication from him right now was like getting water from a stone.
Scar was somewhere near the bar, arguing with the bartender about whether the team should be getting a tab tonight, while Clay leaned against the beam beside me, flipping his empty cup in one hand.
"No word yet?" he asked, not looking at me.
I shook my head and sighed out, bending at one side and resting my head against Clay's arm. Comfy bicep pillows.
I didn't even try to hide how many times I'd checked my phone. I'd lost count anyway. Every buzz that turned out to be someone else's text made my stomach twist just a little tighter.
"He's probably still stuck in post-game interviews," Clay said casually, but I could hear the slight edge in it—the part of him that didn't love how this looked, "The cameras sure do love him."
"But I love him more." I grumble against his arm.
I leaned into his side a little, and he shifted without hesitation, angling his arm so I could rest my head on it. It was like leaning against a wall that moved with you. Comfortable. Familiar. Safe.
"I ever tell you you've got a big ass head?" he said, smile in his voice.
"Only every time I do this."
"Well, it's still true."
I smiled, eyes falling shut for just a second. The music was quieter now, low and slow, like even the playlist was ready to call it a night.
Clay stayed still, solid beside me.
"You know he loves you," he said after a pause, "He's probably givin' one word answers to get back to you as quick as possible."
"I hope so." I said, even though the interviews had ended hours ago.
We stay like that for a little more, watching as body after body begins to slide out of the exit doors. The bartenders are beginning to bottle up bottles and other waiters are clearing empty tables. Someone's passed out near a plant and I think the playlist is looping.
