Tiny, I find out once I have a beer in hand, is a nickname because Tony Waklsinski is the shortest player on the team. And I guess in comparison with Adam, who’s at least five inches taller, I can sort of see it. I know how sensitive boys are about inches.

Maverick finds us and joins the circle. Today he’s wearing a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt left open to reveal his chiseled abs and tattoos. He lifts the bottle of Mad Dog in his hand. “Shot?”

The other girls pass, but I’m feeling adventurous, so I take it and tip it back, letting some of the sweet liquid slide down my throat. I grimace; it’s so sickly sweet that I chase it with beer, which doesn’t really help since I’m not a fan of it either.

“All right. Let’s not get my baby sister shitfaced.” Adam takes the bottle and takes a drink three times as big as mine as if he’s trying to drink it all so I won’t.

“Anyone seen Payne? He’s supposed to be bringing reinforcements.” Maverick reaches for the nearly empty bottle and gives it a shake.

“No clue,” Adam says. “Thought he was with you.”

When Taryn shows up with her friends, that feels like my cue to leave.

“Mingle?” I ask Dakota and Reagan.

We make a circle around the party and head inside to check out the drink selection. “This is not what I thought of when you guys said pool party.”

“It’s more bikini party unless you’re brave enough to get in the pool,” Reagan says.

“What’s wrong with the pool?”

“Going into the pool is the equivalent of posting an I’m here to get laid sign on your forehead,” Dakota says. “Which if you’re into that, it’s totally fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She holds up the vodka in invitation. “Drink?”

After we swap out our beer for vodka and tonic, we head back outside.

We sit on lounge chairs on the patio near a mister and watch the people in the pool. Some love matches (or rather, hookups) are being made while other people are being hilariously blown off.

Dakota drills me with twenty questions while we people watch. Now that we’ve spent a little time together, she holds nothing back, but somehow the way she pries is endearing.

“So, no boyfriend?” Reagan asks, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees.

“No,” I say with a scowl.

Dakota laughs. “Oooh, there’s a story.”

“Not a good one.”

Water drips onto my toes and I look up to see Maverick leaning over and shaking his head on us.

“Bad dog,” Dakota scolds him.

I’m laughing as I dodge him continuing to get us wet when my gaze falls to a guy approaching from behind him.