𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒉 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒓 | conrad fisher

10. the game

"Hey," I reply.

"I like your crown."

"Thanks." I smile. "I like your... shirt."

He wears a plain black t-shirt, so I don't know why I say it. Still, he smiles with his perfectly white teeth and lets out a little chuckle. I take another gulp of my beer and wait for him as he fills up his own. But before we leave, I pump it a couple times and refill mine.

"I've been thinking about you ever since we talked at the club." He continues walking around the yard. I follow suit, strolling along beside him.

"Have you?" I ask. He nods. "And what exactly do you think about?"

He smiles. By the look he's giving me, I can tell he's definitely had more to drink than I have. Which in typical Astrid logic, only means one thing: I have to catch up to him. So I chug the disgusting liquid, and the bitter taste of it lingers in my mouth.

"Just you." He shrugs.

His response didn't require any effort, but I couldn't care less. I take a seat on a planter near the pool. As he starts to sit down, I ask, "Do you mind getting me another drink?"

"Yeah, sure."

He's more than eager to get me another drink, excited to get me just as drunk as he is. And I knew this right when I met him, but from talking to him again tonight, it's confirmed that I will never, ever be friends with Dylan. I've also learned that, no, we won't be acquaintances, either.

I watch him as he pours my beer and returns to my side, handing me the cup. I gulp it down until there's only about half of it left. I'm definitely starting to feel the effects of the alcohol.

"So, where you from?" He asks.

"New York," I lie. Just because he doesn't care where I'm from. All he cares about is where I'm going to take him after I finish this beer. "Near Brooklyn."

"Oh, cool." He nods. "Lot of taxis over there?"

I laugh. "Yeah. So many. Have you ever been?"

"I haven't," he replies, his eyes on my lips.

"Well, contrary to popular belief," I begin, ready to spit out as much bull about New York as I can— just for fun. "Cabs are not just yellow. In New York, there are actually a lot of different colors. Blue, red, green, purple. It's pretty cool to see when you're walking down the street. It's like watching a moving rainbow."

"Really?" He asks. I nod. "Did you drive down or did you fly?"

"Flew," I say.

"Cool."

God, I hate that word.

I chug the rest of my beer and set the cup down beside me. Then I turn my body so I'm fully facing him. His free hand finds my waist, and his thumb begins to gently rub the skin between my skirt and top.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have really nice eyes?" He asks, his hand slowly moving upward, merely an inch or two.

"Yeah," I reply, smiling. "But I do like hearing it."

He bites back a smile, and he looks good. I mean, this boy looks like he just strolled out of an Abercrombie & Fitch lookbook. "You have pretty eyes, Astrid."