Page 79 of The Switched-Up Playbook
“Happy birthday!” they shout and cheer, attracting the attention of a group of partygoers.
I flush as Baker and Taylor throw their arms around me, celebrating me like I shot a winning goal instead of just…existing.
“Guys, you didn’t have to,” I protest, trying to duck away.
“Oh, c’mon Hart, like we’d miss a chance to party,” Baker throws in. He wears a colorful scarf that looks like he might have stolen it from his grandma.
A few of my teammates glance around nervously as we make our way to the entrance, but they all shuffle along into the club. We occupy a booth where Nate climbs onto the table to raise a toast.
“To AlexanderThe Great. May he live long, shoot plenty of goals, and get laid tonight!”
The guys holler and whistle as we clink our glasses. I hope no one in this club knows who I am, because I can feel my cheeks glowing under all this attention.
Thankfully, once everyone has a few drinks in them, they all turn toward dancing. I let myself get dragged along.
The deafening music drones out every thought, and I love it. The atmosphere, the easy way in which people connect, bumping together with more or less intent, it all comes together, allowing me to relax.
Every now and then, there’s someone’s hands on my back, my shoulders or even my hips. But although I’m swaying along, enjoying the attention, it never feels right. There’s no drop in my stomach, no excited spark. I end up turning them all down, gravitating closer to my teammates to prevent more come-ons.
Tonight, I want to celebrate with them, not fall into someone’s bed.
Eventually, I find myself at the edge of the dance floor—sweaty, tipsy, and waiting for the bartender to turn my way. Someone leans against me. Expecting Nate, I reach around their waist with one arm before I turn to look.
A stranger smiles at me, and I hurriedly pull my arm back. “Oh, uh...hi?”
“Care for a drink?” The guy holds out a glass, smiling in a way that makes his intentions very obvious. He’s good looking, with wavy brown hair and dark eyes.
My gaze drops to his defined chest and then along an amazing set of abs. However, they’re framed by the ugliest shirt I’ve ever seen. Mismatched colors and random patterns clash on the unbuttoned fabric. Staring at them makes me dizzy, so I look back up.
He does his best to give me a sultry smile, cocking his hips to nudge into my side.
I bite my tongue, undecided. But again there’s no spark, no heat. I want to let loose, enjoy myself—but I don’t want him.
“I’m all set.” Raising my drink, I give the guy a polite smile. His face falls, but he lifts his own glass in return before wandering off to try his luck elsewhere.
The vibes are just off tonight.
I take a sip, humming when I notice my best friend studying me.
“What?”
“Not your type?” Nate asks, tilting his head and then jerking his chin after the other guy.
My eyes follow the gesture, but the guy has already vanished in the crowd, so I just shrug.
“I’m not here to hook up,” I say eventually. Even if it might help get Nicko out of my head, I’m not ready to replace my fantasies yet.
“It looks like Baker might be though,” I point, hoping to distract Nate. Our teammate is dancing with another guy, though he’s laughing too hard for it to be serious. I pretend I don’t notice Nate’s look and make my way back to our booth.
***
It’s well past midnight when our group slowly disperses. The rest piles into Nate’s car, and he takes us back to the dorms.
Even after a shower I can still feel a faint buzz of alcohol, but I’m not wasted. I haven’t been this relaxed since Christmas.
Pulling out my phone to set tomorrow’s alarm, I grimace when I look down at a black screen. I root through my bag, feeling around for my charger, but come up empty. I groan when I don’t spot it on my desk either.
“Hey, can I borrow your charger?” I call over my shoulder, already on my way over to Nate’s desk.
