Tripp Read Online Free Page B

over my chest.
    “I’d have danced with you if you wanted to dance.”
    She flips her hair back and looks up at me out of those perfectly-lined eyes with sculpted lashes. The eyes inside are foggy and unfocused. She weaves a little, which tells me two things: she’s not quite sober, and this isn’t going to end well.
    “I thought you wanted to be with your friends. And you looked pretty cozy with those junior girls over there, pouring drinks and laughing. I didn’t want to interrupt you, and since Henry had the time for me…” she trails off. I have to clench my fists to keep myself from reaching back and grabbing the guy I know is hovering a few feet behind me, waiting to swoop in because he can’t get a girl without someone else warming her up first.
    “Lauren, I said I was sorry for showing up without you, and as for the girls, those are girlfriends of the other players. They showed up before you and joined us. I wasn’t flirting with anyone; I wanted a night to celebrate—and maybe I got carried away before you got here, but I’m here to dance with you now.”
    “I don’t want to dance with you now, Tripp, not when you’re like this. In fact, I’m not sure I want anything from you anymore. So, maybe you should go.”
    It’s a challenge; I can see it even through the haze of anger and beer. Lauren loves to have me become possessive over her—loves to watch me want her more than anyone else, loves to watch me squirm as I wonder what she’s going to do. And I always have before, because there’s something about her that I wanted at the beginning, something I can’t quite let go of.
    Right now, though, it’s easy enough to let go, because I’m done. I don’t want to fight with her, don’t want to fight for her. I just want to be done.
    “Forget it,” I say, turning my back on her to walk out, shouldering by Henry with enough force to send him stumbling backward. He says something, but I don’t acknowledge it. I keep moving until I’m out of the crowd and in the fresh air. It’s raining out, but I barely feel it as I sit down and pull out my phone, hitting DIAL on the number I know by heart.
    When she answers, relief pours over me and I latch onto it. God, it feels good knowing the person I’m talking to on the other end isn’t going to talk in riddles and sub text.
    “Rachel, I’m outside.”
    Even as I talk to her, I know this is part of the reason Lauren’s pissed at me tonight—it’s the same reason she’s always pissed at me. My best friend’s a girl, and she’s nothing like Lauren. Where Lauren is all girl—with her small physique and willingness to be taken care of—Rachel is the girl who can and does do anything she needs done herself. She’s the one that plays video games with me, and blows my avatar to smithereens before I’ve even registered what’s happened. She’s the one I watch Sunday football with, and have a secret handshake with because we made it up when we were ten and it’s been our good-luck charm before every game since.
    Lauren is the girl that gets mad at me and expects me to figure out why she’s mad. Rachel’s the girl that punches me in the face, calls me a prick, and tells me where she’ll be when I’ve decided to pull my head out of my ass.
    And Rachel’s the girl who’s leaving a party with me right now.
    She and Lauren are as polar opposite as two people can be—not just because Lauren’s all female while Rachel is a tomboy. Lauren is petite and fragile, where Rachel’s tall and lean, narrow in the hips, and strong in the shoulders; her legs go on for days. But the real difference comes in this: Lauren will always need someone to attend parties or hang out with, and Rachel will always be fine to show up alone. Rachel is the girl who can drive me home right now—because she doesn’t need anyone, and is comfortable showing up places alone.
    When she asks me what happened with Lauren, I tell her everything, scrubbing my hands over my face