Crossing The Line
Red Solo cups passed from hand to hand, filled with whatever people poured—beer, mixed sodas spiked heavily with vodka or rum, even that suspicious punch bowl that smelled sweet and dangerous.
Ethan had started slow, but the alcohol was hitting him stronger than usual. He barely ever drank, so each sip loosened his limbs and softened the sharp edges of his thoughts. The buzz felt good, warm and floaty, pushing back against the anxiety and the replay of the game. His cheeks burned, the world tilting just slightly in the firelight, making the laughter louder and the music deeper.
He moved through the crowd, cup in hand, the ground uneven under his sneakers. Teammates shouted greetings, pulling
Hot Chapters