Chapter 27

We ate dinner, ordered drinks, watched the game, leaned across the table when we talked so we could hear each other over the surrounding din. After halftime, the crowd thinned out a bit, but when the game was over and large groups of people started to leave, our ears rang so badly that we still shouted to be heard. By his third Lynchburg Lemonade, Dan’s hands were on my thighs beneath the table, and a thin blush colored his cheeks every time I made him laugh. We only left when a very tired waiter came by our table and told us everyone else was going home. “Unless you want to stay the night,” he added, joking, as I helped Dan from the booth.

Outside, the night air was brisk on my heated face, and I imagined I could feel snow in my bones. Or maybe it was the alcohol, I don’t know. My car was the only one in the parking lot, and Dan stumbled behind me, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of my pants as he searched for my car keys. “I can drive,” he told me, his breath hot in my ear.