Natalie Howard is her father's biggest disappointment, and nothing will ever change that. She's come to terms with the fact that she's useful only for her face, but with a lifetime of dreams to one day open her own gallery, and get as far away from...
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"I am so glad we have that lecture together."
Henley and I are walking out of our shared English Lit lecture on Wednesday morning when the family group chat pings with a message from Rachel, asking if I have even tried on the bridesmaid dress that had only just been delivered this morning, while I was already out of the house.
She knows this fact, because I made it crystal clear that I had classes from ten in the morning until five in the afternoon, and yet the bridezilla in her dismisses anything that prevents perfection. It escapes my mind most days that she is getting married in less than a year, and her wedding preparations are in full swing.
This particular preparation will have to wait a little longer.
I've had three lectures today, all back-to-back within those seven hours, and having had skipped my one-hour break between twelve and one to try and find inspiration for my first art project ever, I'm starving. The only thing in my system is the smoothie I had this morning, and then a coffee and croissant that Henley bought for me on her way from Reiber Hall.
Luckily, the walk from the English building to Rosa's is less than ten minutes. We're discussing how fun it will be to make this a routine for this semester, at least, and I am so glad we all had the chance to deepen that initial bond during the party last week.
When I got back downstairs, and intelligently refused a tequila shot, my hopes of getting a few rounds of beer pong in went down the drain pretty quickly. There was some sort of intense competition going on between the basketball and football teams, and none of us were willing to break it up.
So instead, we moved some of the drinks (alcohol island was relatively empty by this point), and wiped up the counter for us to sit down. I kindly pushed someone out of the way to reach for the popcorn cabinet, and the three of us sat cross-legged, watching the scene like it was out of a freaking movie.
I mean, the players looked like they were.
But I don't think they appreciated the occasional digs and boos and popcorn landing pathetically by their feet when their shots were nowhere near close to going into the respective cups. Greyson actually caught one skilfully into his mouth, and I barely had time to appreciate it, because Noah picked up the one by his foot and lobbed it at my head.
It didn't hurt, but I felt it all the same when I narrowed my eyes at him.
My focus was mainly on Greyson, who was a true captain on and off the court. I didn't know if his authority attracted me more, or the way his tongue poked out just a little to concentrate as he lined up his shots. It was way more sexy and flustering than he was intending, but I buried it away with mouthfuls of popcorn and a sneaky shot of tequila that ended up being my final one for the night when it settled a little too quickly with the rest of my previous drinks.
