Free A Kiss Like This by Sara Ney

opinion?”
    “No.”
    “That damp shirt looks hot. I’m sorry, but he’s gonna lay those big angry eyes on you and not know where to look. I almost feel bad for the poor guy.” She giggles. “He’s so awkward.”
    “Shut up, Molly,” I whine, taking yet another sip of beer. At this rate, I need all the courage—liquid or not—that I can get.
    “Whoa, Nelly, bring it down a notch,” Molly lectures. “Pace yourself.” She looks up and across the room, her eyes going wide. “On second thought, drink up.”
    My thoughts exactly.

CHAPTER 9
    Caleb
    “Pace yourself, bro, or we’re going to be dragging your Yeti-sized ass up the stairs before bar time,” Stephan Randolph, one of my teammates, complains, giving me a disgruntled sidelong glance. “What’s your problem tonight, anyway?
    “There’s a girl here he’s trying to avoid,” Blaze responds helpfully into his vodka glass, nudging me with his elbow. He lifts his free hand and points across the room. “See? She’s in the tight blue shirt.”
    I slap his hand and scowl. “Put your fucking hand down.”
    Stephan raises one drunken eyebrow and squints over in Abby’s direction. “Whoa, she’s pretty damn cute. What’s her name?”
    “None of your damn business.”
    “Huh. That’s a weird name. Terrible, in fact.” Stephan sways slightly, slapping me on the back and laughing directly into my ear. “I take it you haven’t introduced her to Showtime Junior yet?”
    Flexing my free hand, I stuff it in the pocket of my jeans so I don’t accidentally put my fist through the shitdick’s face.
    Blaze notices and steps in. “Whoa, Steve-O, watch it. Showtime here isn’t amused.”
    I glance over to where Abby stands surrounded by her friends, so pretty and seemingly unfazed by all the bullshit surrounding her. See, here’s the thing: sometimes being in the spotlight—even on a smaller scale, like on a college campus—is exhausting. Guys pretend to be our friends. Some want to drink with us on those rare occasions we throw a rager. Strangers invite us to their parties, begging us to come to increase their social status. Girls stalk us in various ways, vying for our attention, just to say they dated us. Or flirted with us. Or screwed us. Or blew us.
    Take your damn pick.
    I glance around the room and notice my teammates getting pawed, hung on, petted, and groped.
    Granted, not many guys in their twenties actually mind getting their cocks grabbed, but… still.
    Lay off mine.
    I watch a few girls hang on members of the baseball team while others flirt outlandishly with my teammates, all of them overzealously competing for attention.
    It’s actually painful to watch.
    Abby, on the other hand, looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here, which is… refreshing. Encouraging. Definitely different .
    I guzzle the rest of what’s left in my beer bottle and nod above the crowd toward the freshman rookie managing the door. He instantly disappears outside but is back in record time with another bottle for me in a short few, top twisted off and ready to go.
    I tip it back and chug.
    Someone snickers. “Hey, Showtime, you think if you drink enough of those you’ll grow some balls and go over there?”
    Not likely.

~ Abby ~
    “This is getting ridiculous,” the voice mutters beside me. I can barely hear her because the music is so loud, but Jenna is loud enough I recognize the tone when she’s complaining. “What is he doing just standing there?”
    My slight buzz has me craning my neck to look around the room. “What are you bitching about?” I curse. My eyes widen and I clamp a hand over my potty mouth, apologizing through my fingers. “Sorry. It’s the three beers talking. Absolutely no one should be letting me drink.”
    Jenna rolls her eyes. “Keep it up, trucker mouth, and you’ll be useless by the end of the night. Sheesh. Get it together.” She’s teasing, but it sobers me up and I straighten my posture, mindful not to stick my damp