The Endgame (Full Version on Galatea)

Chapter Three

I didn't hesitate to bring the cup to my lips for a taste.

St. Claire explained the flavors and history behind each cocktail. The football team and he had been experimenting at parties since freshman year, and he confided that plain alcohol was terrible and they searched for nicer and funnier ways to get drunk.

It led them to develop their own cocktails.

I continued testing each one. When we reached St. Claire's invention, I was curious. What would it entail? Something sweet? Something fruity? Or perhaps something different—minty?

I choked when I tried it. It was strong and burned in the back of my throat.

He laughed at my reaction. The sound traveled down my spine like a caress.

"I wasn't specific when I told you about my mastery. I'm an expert at getting anyone drunk quickly, not at creating pleasant tastes," He chuckled. I glared at him, shaking my head. "If you're looking to forget about the entire existence of this planet, that's your drink." He pointed at his terrible concoction.

I tried not to be affected by his warm gaze and jokes. I needed to remain focused. I was here with him to be distracted, not to take my walls down and be charmed by him.

"Yeah. I'm not that desperate to forget," I mutter, returning to a softer cocktail. Not at the expense of my throat, thank you.

We were silent for a second as I drank a bit more. I wiggled my body into the cushions, getting comfortable.

Meanwhile, St. Claire studied me. "You don't normally come to parties."

I raised my brows. "How did you figure that out?" My tone was sarcastic.

He licked his lips before speaking. "Haven't seen you at any parties before."

I snorted. I didn't believe he would have noticed me if I had come to other parties, got naked, and danced on top of a table. He hadn't noticed me at school before; why would it be different at a party? I'd be surprised if he knew my name.

Tonight was an exception because I was popping out like a sore thumb. A girl sitting all by herself, crying, and looking miserable before midnight? I was ruining the entire vibe of the celebration.

"Not my scene," I confessed.

He leaned forward, seeming interested. "What do you like to do instead?"

Hate your guts...

I bit my tongue to stop myself from uttering the truth. An old habit I'd acquired while dating Jacob. Whenever I witnessed St. Claire doing horrible things, Jacob sensed my discomfort and stopped me.

He's not worth your anger, Hazel, Jacob would say.

St. Claire might not be worthy, but it didn't stop me from being pissed off. Tonight was the first and only time he hadn't done something to outrage me.

In fact, he was being nice and attentive.

That was the only reason I decided to answer his question in earnest.

"Snuggle in bed and read," I begin. "Watch Netflix. Hang out with my—" I halted and swallowed, feeling a stab in my chest. "Friend."

I'd considered Jacob one of my closest friends as well as my boyfriend. The loss of him meant losing my oldest friend. The thought was deflating.

I hoped St. Claire didn't pick up on my faltering, I dreaded the explanation. However, he did. His forehead creased in confusion. "Friend? Did you fight with your friend?"