7. Everett

Everett (Line Without a Hook by Ricky Montgomery)

Some people lose sleep over exams. Others over money, some over Saturday's game.

Me? I'm losing sleep because Amelia Hart wore my shirt.

Seated at my desk, my fingers absentmindedly brushing against my lips, I stare into space.

She looked like she'd been swallowed by that shirt...

Yet somehow...

She still looked so beautiful.

Sigh.

I don't know if I'm just too good at hiding it... or Hart's simply too blind to notice, but I've liked her since high school.

Back then, we'd barely exchange a word and she'd disappear the second school ended and I'd only ever see her again back in Westside through my window.

Now? 

She's around me every day, calling me an asshole every five business minutes.

A chuckle slips out. 

Somehow... I've gotten used to it.

The deal ends in two days. I frown.

After Saturday... Are we really going back to pretending we don't know each other? To walking past each other in the hallways without exchanging a word?

I scrub a hand over my face before pushing myself off the chair and making my way to the bed.

You're not going anywhere, Hart. I'll make sure of it.

***

I don't know when sleep eventually claimed me last night, but somehow, I'm awake before my alarm goes off, as always.

Friday passes by much like every other day.

Classes and practice.

Coach doesn’t yell today since we have a game tomorrow... He simply showers us with words of encouragement.

The only difference today since Monday is... I barely see Hart.

We don't share a single lecture today.

As soon as practice ends and the boys and I get back to the house, I pull out my phone and call her.

She picks up on the second ring.

"Where you at, Hart?"

"I'm home. Went to get dressed."

A smile finds its way onto my face.

"I know I'm still your maid, sir," she continues. "I'm almost done here. I'll be on my way soon."

If only you knew that I'm not quite myself when you're not within reach, Hart.

"Hurry up," I tell her. "Or should I come get you?"

"Nah. I'm good, Master." She snorts.

Master.

A smirk tugs at my lips.

"Well then, Maid, hurry up or we’re going to be late for the party."

I pause for a second.

"And you're not a maid tonight... You're my date."

Everywhere falls silent for a while and I hold my breath.

Then I hear a tiny snicker and the line goes dead.

I stare at my phone for a moment before shaking my head with a smile.

"You called her your date?"

Harper's voice comes from behind me.

I turn.

The three idiots are staring at me.

"You changed your mind about Georgina's party?" Cole asks.

Spencer whistles, "You're taking Maid? Dude... you do know Georgina likes you, right? Tonight's about to be interesting."

"Even better." Leaving their hollering behind, I head upstairs.

The first thing I do after stepping into my room is walk over to my wardrobe and slide the doors open.

Black. Grey. White. Blue.

My eyes sweep across the rows of shirts for something but nothing is looking date worthy.

Yes, I know—I'm supposed to be dressing up for a party and not for Hart.

I reach for a black shirt then put it back.

I stand there for almost two minutes before letting out a frustrated sigh.

"This is pathetic."

Eventually, I settle on a fitted black shirt and dark jeans. Simple yet good enough.

As I button my sleeves, my phone vibrates.

Hart.

A grin immediately creeps onto my face.

Hart: I'm on my way already.

Me: About time.

Hart: You’re too bossy.

I chuckle.

Me: Always.

No reply.

She's probably rolling her eyes.

A knock sounds on my door and I put my phone aside.

"Come in."

Harper pokes his head inside and blinks rapidly.  "Bro."

"What?"

"You're smiling."

My face immediately straightens. "I wasn't."

"You were."

Whatever.

He folds his arms. "You like Amelia."

My mouth twitches. "I like peace and quiet."

"Liar. Then why have you changed shirts three times?"

I glance at the pile of shirts lying on the floor. Shit.

A grin spreads across Harper’s face.

"Get out."

"Yeah... you've got it bad, bro.” He bursts into laughter. "I'm telling the boys!"

"Harper."

The idiot disappears into the hallway, still laughing.

Asshole.

Barely ten minutes later, the front door opens.

"I'm here!" Hart calls.

Without thinking, my feet are already moving. I make my way downstairs and halfway down...

I stop.

Damn.

She isn't dressed extravagantly. Just a simple blue dress that falls neatly above her knees, a small purse hanging from one shoulder, and her hair left down around her face.

She’s not wearing a heavy makeup, neither does she have flashy jewelry on.

Just... Hart.

And somehow... She still looks beautiful.

She notices me staring and frowns.

"What?"

I blink. "Hm?"

"Why are you staring?"

"I was checking if you actually knew how to dress."

Her mouth falls open.

"I should go back home." She retorts. 

"Well, you look... acceptable."

She narrows her eyes, dropping her bag on the chair. "You almost sounded nice."

I smile. How I’ve missed her since morning. 

The boys each step out of their room one after the other. 

"Ohhhh, you look edible, Maid."

I frown at Spencer. He's dressed like he's been waiting all week for an excuse to cause trouble, and honestly, the outfit delivers.

Cole strolls out next, effortlessly put together in a rolled-sleeve button-down, looking like the party should be grateful he showed up.

Harper follows, crisp white shirt, silver chain, the only one who clearly put actual thought into his outfit.

Hart beams. "Thanks, Gardener. You look horrible!"

We all laugh.

I clear my throat, “let’s go.”

If coach finds out we’re out partying a day before our game, we’re all dead. 

Soon, we’re all packed into the truck and and the moment I start the engine, Drake’s God’s Plan blasts through the speakers.

I tell her I only party—I only love my bed and my mama—I’m sorry!

Of course, Spencer’s voice is the loudest at the part. We all laugh.

Although I notice Hart’s a bit tense beside me...

I smile silently. 

A while later, we arrive at the *sorority house.

Everyone hops down from the vehicle and before I know it, the boys have disappeared into the house. 

I glance at Hart... she’s looking around, taking in her surroundings, probably trying to figure out where the hell we are and why the hell we’re here. I close the space between us and silently slip my fingers through hers.

She jerks slightly, then looks down at our entwined fingers... then up at me. 

“Stay close.” I mutter, looking straight ahead. 

I give her hand a gentle tug and lead her toward the house.

We pass a group of students clustered around the entrance. Red cups, loud laughter, a speaker rattling the porch steps.

The laughter dips the moment they see us.

I feel it before I hear it. The stares. The whispers. Phones tilting up just enough to pretend they aren't pointed at us.

Then, close to the steps, a girl's voice cuts through the music.

"Wait. It's that girl from the ethics lecture. Is she really Griffin's girlfriend?"

Hart's fingers twitch in mine.

"Relax," I murmur, eyes ahead. "You're famous."

She makes a strangled sound. I tighten my grip and keep walking, face bored, pulse not.

Four years of keeping this quiet, and the whole school just did the work for me.

Let them look.