Page 31 of Finding Him
“Enlighten me—do all Americans throw up in their guests' bushes the first they’re invited over, or is this just something you’ve come up with yourself?” He looks way too amused for a guy watching someone else vomit. Ugh. What a weirdo.
“Shut up,” I groan, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Go away.”
He doesn't go away. Instead, he shuts the door behind him and steps closer to me, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a slightly crumpled tissue. “Here. Take this.”
“Is it used?” I ask, eyeing it suspiciously. Mostly, I’m just unsure what to make of the gesture.
He’s being kind. Don’t overthink it.
Yeah, right.
“Jaysus, no. Why would it be used?” he rolls his eyes. “Just wipe your face, Mol. You look like you’ve been drug through a hedge backwards.”
I take the tissue from him, cleaning my face while the spinning in my head slowly levels off. I’m glad I vomited, in a way. If I hadn’t, I probably would’ve spiraled into a full blown panic attack/meltdown mix, and that would’ve been a much worse thing for Niall to walk in on.
No need to let the captain know I’m broken before we even get to play a game on the field together.
“What’d that prick Murphy say to you?” Niall asks, his half-smile setting like the sun and his voice losing its playful edge. “I seen you two in the hall.”
“Nothing. He was just being... a guy, I guess.”
Niall’s nose scrunches up, reminding me in an odd way of a bunny rabbit, the way it twitches in distress. “He’s a gutter-rat. If he said something overtly nasty to you, I’ll—”
“He didn't,” I interrupt, looking at my feet. I’m flushed by both the cute-nose-thing and his seemingly willingness to defend me on instinct. Also, did he just use the word overtly in a sentence? Correctly? “I just... I don't like him very much. Plus he was talking to my chest more than he was to me.”
Niall glances at me—my face, to be clear—then looks past me towards the dark expanse of his front lawn. “He won’t bother you again. I’ll make sure of it.”
Hot.
Did I just think that? I guess it’s better than having said it aloud, but still. I’m deciding to chalk this sudden attraction to him as being alcohol driven, and remind myself over and over in my head that he’s both my teammate and my friend’s brother.
But I would still like to acknowledge he’s acting a little hot, which is totally unfair to me.
We stand here in silence for a while, the muffled thump of the music behind us beating in time with my heart.
Boom-boom-boom.
“So,” he says finally. “You having fun?”
“Maybe a bit. Before all the puking and what not.”
He smiles at me, the corners of his mouth pulling up as if someone’s holding a string attached to them and he just can’t help it. Then I start thinking about puppets, and him being controlled by little puppet strings and have to stifle a giggle. “Need a lift home? You’re white as a sheet.”
The words take a second to register through my puppet daydream. “It’s your party, Niall. You can’t leave.”
He shrugs. “Wouldn’t mind getting out of here. Crowds aren’t really my thing.”
“Yeah, right, Mr. Team Captain.”
“Don’t let the title fool you. Doesn’t mean I like being the center of attention.” He shrugs, that smile still held up. “I’ve had enough of these eejits for one night. Besides, the guest of honor gets to decide when the party’s over. And I’ve a mind to see you get back in one piece.”
So, I relent. What else am I meant to do, really?
I get into his car, letting him start it up before speaking again. Maybe it’s me not wanting another silent ride like the one here, or maybe the beer makes me chatty. Probably a bit of both. I’m learning lots about myself and the effects of alcohol on my psyche.
“It's cool that your parents let you have this party and everything. Where are they?”
“My ma's out with some friends of hers,” Niall mutters, focusing on reversing out of the driveway. The streetlights flicker across his face as we pull onto the road. “Probably having more fun than we are.”
