“Obviously.” I winked at her, pushing my chair back and returning to the counter to refill my plate. “But it’ll be more fun with you there. Last year, we went to put in face time and support a good cause.” It was always nice to see Boyd alumni and to meet players from the league, as well as coaches, managers, and other people in the industry.

“And to get drunk on premium liquor at the fancy open bar?”

“Who, me?” I scoffed, slathering butter onto a waffle and drenching it in syrup. “Never.”

Bailey raised an eyebrow. She knew me too well. Pre-Bailey me spent every weekend—and many weekdays—getting obliterated. My liver was probably thankful I’d met her. And my lungs. My stats were better for it too. I rallied pretty well before, but it was amazing the difference not being perpetually hungover made.

“Ward may have had to drag my drunk ass out of the Uber.” I gave her a sheepish smile. “I won’t do that this year.”

Bailey looked at me over the top of her glass of orange juice, fighting back a grin. “I hope not. I don’t think I could get you up the front steps. You’d end up sleeping in the yard.”

“Don’t worry, I want to be sober for what happens after the gala.” I pulled out my chair and eased back into it, keeping my focus on her. Dammit. I shouldn’t have let my mind wander back in the direction the conversation was heading.

“What’s that?” She leaned over the table expectantly, one elbow on the table, and rested her chin in her hand.

“Dressy sex.”

Her brow furrowed slightly. “What’s dressy sex?”

“What it sounds like. Sex after we’re all dressed up,” I said, waggling my eyebrows. “I get to rip off your clothes and mess up your perfect hair and makeup.”

“You have quite the brain.”

“That’s not where those ideas come from.”

She laughed. “I know.”

* * *

BAILEY

All week, I worked to complete the scholarship application, and by the time Saturday morning rolled around, every form was filled out, essays were complete, and letters of reference obtained. Perfect or not, I had to pull the trigger and submit it at some point rather than edit it for the umpteenth time.

As a reward for completing it, I allowed myself to deviate from budget a little. After all, if I’d splurged on a dress for my disastrous birthday dinner with Luke, I could justify buying something for the gala.

Before hitting the shops, Siobhan and I stopped by Starbucks for a requisite caffeine and sugar fix.

“It’s freezing outside,” Shiv said, nodding to my drink—an iced caramel macchiato—once the barista slid it across the counter. “How can you drink something cold right now?”