This Is Falling (31 page)

“Yeeeeaaaawwwwww!” The scream was followed by
a whistle; a convertible Camaro, packed with five guys, slowed as
it passed us while we walked along the road. Paige was eating the
attention up, even going so far as to blow kisses while the car
drove by.

“If she keeps this up, they’ll make her their
queen,” I say to Cass while we step up to the lawn of the sorority
house.

“Are you kidding, she’s already their queen.
You could be, too, in that outfit,” she says, fanning herself. I
smile and put my head down, still not quite ready to believe that
I’m anything
hot.
I may be cute, and sure, with my boobs
flirting with the public in this bra, I was something to look at.
But I wasn’t quite ready to label myself
hot.

“Thanks, but I’ll settle for ruling Nate’s
world,” I say.

“Then let the reign begin,” she smiles and
spins me around, pushing me to a group of guys standing around a
large bonfire. Nate’s back is to me. He’s wearing a football
jersey, and the helmet is dangling in his hands.

“Rowe Stanton,” Tucker says a few feet away
from me. My heart skips a beat, and not the excited kind. More of
the nervous kind—of a girl who doesn’t want her boyfriend seeing
her talk to Tucker while she’s dressed like…well, like a sporty
hooker.

“Tucker. Hey…” I trail off.

“You look…” he doesn’t finish his statement
either, but his eyes can’t seem to make their way all the way up my
body to my face.

“Like a women’s baseball player from the
forties?” I try to steer clear of any compliments, but Tucker wants
none of that.

“Rowe, if that’s what the girls looked like
back in the women’s league days, then I’d run home right now and
build myself a time machine.”

Well damn. I have to admit, that made me feel
pretty nice. “Thanks,” I say, my smile tight and my face
blushing.

“So, where’s that boyfriend of yours? Not
sure I’m in the mood to get punched tonight,” he says, only half
kidding.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. We were sort of
working through some things. We weren’t really official yet, if
that makes sense,” I say, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach
having this conversation.

“I’m guessing you figured things out?” he
says.

“Yeah,” I laugh lightly. “Speaking of, I
should go tell him I’m here. He was waiting for me.”

“Right. Well, I’m going to head inside for a
refill,” he says, tipping over his empty red cup. “I’ll see you in
class? I hope you’re thinking about that art history thing.”

“I am. And you will. Have a good night,
Tucker,” I say, finally breathing right, now that we were
separating. Unfortunately, we didn’t part quickly enough.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I hate that guy,” Nate
says, walking a little past me and letting his gaze completely
follow Tucker into the house. Nate finally turns to face me when
Tucker’s totally out of sight. “So, what’d you end up pick—”

And now, I feel…
hot.

“You like it?” I say, spinning around once
slowly, but knowing fully well that it’s the four missing buttons
on the front of the shirt that have him stammering for words. When
he holds his hand up against his face and rubs his temple, his eyes
almost bulging from his head, I start to heat up significantly.

“You are going to get a lot of attention
tonight wearing that,” he says, a guilty smirk starting to spread
across his lips.

“Well, I was kind of hoping one certain
southern gentleman might notice me tonight,” I say, slinking up to
him so the only places he has to look are my eyes and the expensive
black bra.

“I think you’re pushing the limits of the
word
gentleman
,” Nate says, not even hiding his arousal,
pulling me in close to his body, dropping his helmet on the ground
so he can almost touch me places he shouldn’t in public.

“That’s exactly the reaction I was hoping
for,” I tease, stepping up on the tips of my toes to kiss him
lightly. “I hear I’m easy when I’m drunk,” I breathe against his
lips. Nate just tilts his head to the side and looks at me for a
few seconds, one eyebrow raised.

“You…ever
been
drunk?”

“Well, not
technically,
” I say, my
seductress side starting to fade, foolishness moving into its
place. “Okay, no. Not at all.” Hanging my head, I start to back
away from him, but he’s quick to pull me close again.

“It’s okay. I’m actually glad that I’m here
for this. It’s one of those
firsts
, you know? And frankly, I
wouldn’t trust you getting tipsy in an outfit like that around a
bunch of assholes like the kind taking up at this party,” he
says.

“But
you’re
at this party,” I
tease.

“Yes. But Tucker the Fucker’s here, too.”

“Nate! Stop that,” I say, pushing him
lightly. I’m slightly serious, but I’m also careful not to make
Nate jealous, because I know how that feels—I had the same feelings
when he was talking about Sadie, and I would never want to do that
to him. “I’m sorry that’s how you had to meet him. He’s actually a
nice guy.”

“Yeah, probably,” he says, grabbing my hand
in his and pulling me up the front steps into the house. “But that
doesn’t mean he has good intentions when he looks at you.
Especially in
that
.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m a man, too, Rowe. And my
intentions? They’re nowhere near good right now. They’re not even
in the same language as the word
good.”

“Oh yeah? What are they, Mister Preeter?” The
sexy coed once again taking over my brain and body, I take a large
stride and step in front of his path, stopping him in a room full
of people. Nate pushes his forehead to mine and walks us backward a
few steps, his arm around my body, keeping me close.

“Come on. Let’s go get you drunk, and we’ll
find out.”

Being with Nate made everything easier. I
dared more, and every day I felt more and more like the person I
was supposed to be—the person before everything was stolen from me.
Months ago, I never would have imagined me sitting here at a table
with a dozen drunken college kids, screaming out obscenities and
daring the girl before me to drink more, but here I am.

When it’s my turn to play, Nate stands close,
caging me in between his body and the table in front of me, his
breath hot against my neck. He’s been this way all
night—possessive. And I think if this were normal, I’d fight it a
little. But I know he’s just making sure everyone’s clear whom I
belong to. And I like belonging to him.

“Okay, here’s how it works. You take this
ball,” he says, handing me a small orange Ping-Pong ball. “All you
need to do is get it in that cup on the other end. Do that, and
that guy down there will have to drink the beer.”

“Got it. I think I can do that. It’s what?
Like, three yards away?” I hold the ball up and squint one eye,
lining up my shot. “What happens if I miss?”

“He gets to toss to your cup. And if he makes
his shot, you drink,” Nate says, his hands sliding to my hips until
he lets go and steps back, giving me enough room to throw. “Come
on, baby! You got this!”

Seems silly to have someone cheer for you in
a game like this, but everyone else is yelling, too. I make the
mistake of looking down, and when I do, I realize just
how
much
beer there is in front of me. All I can really compare it
to is a Coke can, and it’s bigger than a coke can. And
that’s…what…twelve ounces? This is maybe sixteen…maybe more. I
swallow once, and take in a deep breath, raising my arm and lining
up my shot. I feel like playing the bounce might be the best way to
go, so I take a few practice swings with my arm, and then finally I
let one go—and rim it off the edge of the table, about two feet
wide of the cup.

Well, shit.

Turning to Nate, I shrug, and when I turn
back, the guy on the other end is rolling up his sleeves, readying
himself for his shot. Everyone behind him is yelling “Cash! Cash!
Cash! Cash!” When they do, I realize I recognize him. He’s on the
team with Nate. He’s a pitcher, which means he’s probably pretty
good at aiming for things. And two seconds later, my hunch is
confirmed by the small orange ball that’s taunting me from the
bubbles in the center of my cup.

“Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!” It feels like
it takes me minutes to get up the courage to pick up the cup and
bring it to my lips, but when I finally do and tip it back—feeling
the sharp tang of whatever cheap beer filled it—I down it fast.

“Woooooo!” I say, lifting the open collar of
my shirt up to my mouth, wiping it clean, my insides burning a
little from instant alcoholic fullness. “Okay, I wanna rematch.
You! Yeah—you’re not getting off that easy. Let me see you do that
again!” I was feeling brave…and probably a little drunk. No, I was
feeling a lot drunk. But who cares. My boyfriend was hot, and I was
in college, and nothing else mattered. This. Was. Awesome!

Nate

I knew better. But she looked so damned cute
when she asked for another cup of beer. And she seemed like she was
holding it together well. I was careful to make sure she was pacing
herself, drinking water in between. But then we started playing a
game. Fucking drinking games.

Rowe might be good at hitting a ball with a
racket, but she was shit at throwing a Ping-Pong ball into a cup.
And by the end of the night, I was just happy she hadn’t ripped the
bra from her body and gone skinny-dipping in the pool.

She still looked hot as hell, but I was going
to have to convince her to bust that outfit out another time,
because there was no way she was doing anything other than passing
out or throwing up tonight. Probably both.

“Nate, your girl can’t hold her liquor,”
Paige says, walking over to me with a very Jell-O-like Rowe slumped
around her shoulder. “I love this girl. But if she throws up on me,
I’m dropping her.”

“I got it,” I say, reaching in quickly and
pulling Rowe up in my arms, keeping her body close to mine.

“Snuuuuuuuggle,” Rowe slurs, rubbing her face
against my chest like a cat.

“I got ya,” I say, gearing my muscles up for
the long walk home. I pass Ty and Cass while I walk through the
front porch. “Hey, I’ve gotta take her home and get her to bed.
We’ll be in our room, that okay?”

“Yeah, whatever. Just don’t let her puke on
my bed,” Ty says, waving me off.

“Right, because it’d be a shame for something
to happen to your princess sheets,” I laugh over my shoulder.

“Malibu Barbie, douchebag. Don’t disrespect!”
he says, fluffing the ruffles of his tutu.

“I still can’t believe you wore that
thing—over boxer briefs. Pink ones. You know, that’s going to give
me nightmares,” I say, doing my best to avoid looking straight at
my brother’s junk since the tutu is all fluffed up in the front of
his lap.

“You hold all the power, right there in that
pretty little drunk package you’re taking home. You convince
her…and
this one,
” he says, pointing to Cass, “to give me
back my Cookie, and I’ll put pants on. Until then, this is your
view pal.”

“What’s…
Cookie
?” Cass asks, her brows
tilted while she looks at Ty with suspicion.

“Yeah, yeah. Nice try, sister. But I know
you’re in on this,” Ty says, making me chuckle, which stirs Rowe in
my arms.

“Cookie is his itty, witty teddy bear, and
big ole Tysie wysie can’t sleep without him,” she slurs, her lips
pouting in the most fucking adorable way ever.

“Yeah, you go ahead and play this out, Rowe.
We’ll see who’s laughing about Cookie at the end,” Ty says as we
walk away, and I can tell by his tone that he’s a little
embarrassed. I almost feel bad, too. But then I remember all the
times he punched me and told me not to fussy fuss, and my smile
comes right back to my face.

“You little evil genius. I
love
you
for this,” I say, kissing her head as her eyes fight to stay
open.

“That’s the only reason you love me?” she
asks, her lids finally closing completely as she pulls in tightly
against my chest.

“Sweetheart, your pranking skills are merely
the tip of the iceberg,” I say, kissing her head and swinging her
up in my arms for a better grip.

She dozes off for most of the walk home, but
the elevator ride somehow registers with her, and by the time we
make it to our floor, I have to rush her to the bathrooms. “Just a
few more feet, hang on,” I say, rushing into the women’s restroom,
hoping like hell no one is in there. Thankfully, the floor seems
empty for the night, so I rush her down to the big handicapped
stall at the end and get her to the toilet right in time for pretty
much everything she drank tonight to come rushing out.

“Ooooooh god, this…this is awful,” she says,
laying her face on the rim of the toilet.

“I know. That’s another first…maybe I should
have warned you. Your first time getting drunk is usually followed
by your first post-drinking vomit-fest,” I laugh, looking under the
stall door to make sure the bathroom is still empty. “Hang on, I’ll
get some wet towels. And you should probably not put your face on
that…I doubt it’s clean.”

“Yeah…but I sorta don’t care,” she says, her
voice barely able to project.

I pull the paper towel dispenser open and
grab a good handful from the metal before pushing it closed again.
I run them all under cold water and carry them, sopping wet, back
to Rowe, who has somehow slid down to completely lie on the
small-tiled floor.

“That’s one of those firsts I don’t care to
repeat,” she mumbles.

“Yeah, I know. I said that too. But then, I
did it again,” I admit, as I lift her up into my lap and smooth her
hair away from her face. She’s covered in a light sweat, and I can
tell she has the chills by the tiny bumps all over her arms and
neck. “Here, let me see your face.”