Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
“Can we play?” I nodded at the beer pong table.
“Fuck yeah! Let’s gooooo!” he shouted as we turned around. I waved at Mason and the other guy.
“Lyla’s on my team.” That was Mason, who was still checking me out.
He wore a gray hockey t-shirt that seemed to be sculpted over his muscles and black joggers. He grinned when our eyes met again. I returned it with a small, polite smile so he wouldn’t get the wrong idea. Just because Lachlan was doing whatever he was doing didn’t mean I’d do the same. My God, thinking of him pissed me off all over again. I needed to stop. He wasn’t mine. We shared some moments that probably meant more to me than they did to him. I probably only felt this way because I hadn’t even glanced at a guy in two years. Maybe if I hadn’t been closed off and at home sulking all the time, my moments with Lachlan would have meant nothing. I knew I was lying to myself. It wasn’t just that Lach was hot or that he paid attention to me. It was the way he made me feel that set him apart. I sighed heavily. Fuck him. I was over it. I looked at Mason again. He was cute in that laid-back, California surfer dude kind of way, with blond hair that reached his shoulders, glimmering blue eyes, and a sun-kissed complexion.
“Fuck no. She’s on my team,” Prescott said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
“Come on.” Mason rolled his eyes. “Dustin and Lyla never come out and party, so we need to even out the playing field.”
“Bro.” Prescott shot him a look. “Lyla’s the best player in this entire fucking party. I’d bet money on that.”
“Yeah, right.” Mason scoffed and shot me an apologetic look. “No offense, Lyla.”
“None taken.” I smothered a smirk. “I love being the underdog.”
“Whatever.” Prescott groaned. “Lyles, you can be on Mason’s team if you want.”
“I mean if he needs me to pull all the weight.” I shrugged and walked over to where he stood.
Mason laughed loudly. “Oh, she’s cocky.”
Prescott told us to wait for a second and ran off. When he returned, he was holding cans of beer. Maybe it was the alcohol already in my system, but I felt like I would cry then. I didn’t deserve him and Marissa. They were, by far, the most thoughtful people on the planet. Pres filled the cups, and the game kicked off. Mason wasn’t wrong. I hadn’t played in quite a while, but it was like riding a bike. I missed two shots, and the rest were buckets. Mason, on the other hand, wasn’t as good as he thought he was. We won three consecutive games before Prescott and Dustin threw in the towel.
CHAPTER 10
LYLA
“Don’t be a sore loser, Prescott Sanders.” I bumped my hip against his side as I helped him pick up the cups and toss them.
“You are so not the underdog,” Mason said with a comical look of disbelief.
He’d had the same look on his face every time I made a shot, so basically, the entire time we played. I’d been having so much fun that I forgot about everyone else at the party, but now that it was over, my thoughts drifted back to Lachlan. I wondered what he was doing but quickly followed it up with who the fuck cares? Seriously, Lyla, who fucking cares what he’s doing or who he’s doing it with?
“I’m going to take a break,” I said to Pres.
“Are you going to spend the rest of the night alone, leaning against the fence?” He shot me a stern look. “Do I need to remind you of your binding contract?”
“That’s a no to both,” I said as I walked away. “I just need a short break.”
“She won’t be alone,” Mason said behind me. “I’ll hang out with her for a little.”
Prescott said something in response that I couldn’t hear, to which Mason scoffed loudly.
“How did you get so good at beer pong?” Mason asked. I glanced up as he reached me.
“Practice.” I slowed my steps to watch a group of people playing Stack Cup.
It was another game I enjoyed and was good at. It was beer pong on steroids, but I knew my limits and couldn’t even consider playing that tonight. Between the tequila sunrise Marissa made for us at home for the pre-game, the shots of tequila we’d taken here, and the beer (which hadn’t been much, but still), I’d gone from a little tipsy, to tipsy, to drunk. I wasn’t slurring my words drunk, but drunk enough that I felt a smile on my face and probably needed a lot of water to get back to tipsy. We stopped walking when we reached the wooden fence, just a few steps away from the Stack Cup people.