A lump formed in my throat. It had been a long time since anyone had said they were proud of me, if it had ever happened at all.
“Thanks, Max.” I cleared my throat. “Want another?”
“I think I’m going to order some food. Maybe just a water and a menu for now.”
“You got it.” I grabbed a menu and poured his water. When I turned to deliver them, I had to blink to make sure I was seeing clearly.
Sophia slid into a chair near Max and plopped her head into the arms she had crossed atop the bar.
Max and I shared a look as I set the items in front of him.
“Well, this is a surprise,” I said to Sophia.
Her only response was to lift her head slightly and thump it back down onto her arms, a motion she repeated a few more times before stopping.
“Rough day?” I rested my own arms on the bar so I could lean closer to her. “Did the meeting not go well?”
She raised her head and looked at me, her expression showing exhaustion. “I messed everything up.”
“Why? We went over your arguments, and they were all good ones.”
“I underestimated Aamee. She had a counterargument for everything.”
“So I guess I won’t be helping you move back into the house this weekend?”
She shook her head miserably. “No. But you can help me launch a winning campaign for president.”
I bolted upright. “You challenged her?” A smile overtook my face. My Sophia had balls of steel. “Good for you.”
She massaged her forehead with her hand. “The only reason I’m doing it is to piss Aamee off. That’s not a good reason to want to be sorority president, but it was the only thing left for me to do.”
“The fact that you feel that way already shows you’re better equipped to have the job than she is.”
“That’s not saying much. A trained seal is better equipped than her.”
“But you’re the only one with the guts to do anything about it,” I argued.
She shook her head and looked depressed as hell. “I’d take it back in a second if my pride would allow it. I don’t have guts.” She sighed heavily. “Would you make sure that goes on my headstone when the stress of this gives me a fatal ulcer? Sophia Mason: Gutless Sorority President.”
I smirked. “See! You’re already giving yourself credit for the win.”
She didn’t return my enthusiasm. “You can add delusional to my headstone. And stop encouraging me. It’s not conducive to sustaining my pity party.”
“Oh, come on. If your big brother won’t encourage you, who will?”
She narrowed her eyes at me.
“I didn’t realize this was your sister,” Max interjected, his face brightening.
“She’s not,” I explained. “It’s an inside joke.”
“If jokes weren’t funny, this one would be epic,” Sophia muttered.
Max looked confused but didn’t ask for clarification.
“You want a drink?” I asked her before a realization dawned on me. “Wait, are you even old enough to drink?” Some fake big brother I was. My question did get a smile from her, though, so I guess my ignorance was worth it.
“Yeah, I turned twenty-one in April.”
“Okay. So what’ll it be?” Rafferty’s policy required me to card anyone who looked under thirty, but I wasn’t going to add insult to injury by making it seem as if I didn’t trust her.
“Guess you can’t do a shot with me, huh?” she asked me.
Shaking my head, I said, “Sorry. No can do.” If it had been closer to closing, I could’ve gotten away with it, but if my boss, Sean, saw me hitting the sauce this early in my shift, he’d send me packing.
Sophia looked disappointed, but when she turned her attention to Max, she looked more hopeful. “What about you?”
It took Max a second to realize she’d been talking to him. “Me?”
“Yeah. I don’t like to drink alone.”
Max held up a hand, and it was clear he was going to decline, but then Sophia added a drawn-out “Please.”
He looked at her pouting face for another moment before grumbling, “Ah, what the hell? What are we having?”
“I’m not picky. Whatever you want. It’s on me.” She opened a small purse and pulled out a credit card, which she handed to me. “Keep it open.”
I nodded as I took the card from her and waited for Max to choose a drink.
“You got Sambuca back there?” he asked.
“Chilled and ready to go.”
Sophia clapped her hands. “Yes! Sambuca party.” She wiggled around in her seat, doing some kind of uncoordinated chair dance.
Max chuckled, clearly charmed by her antics. As I moved away to pour their shots, I heard Max ask, “So what is all this about a sorority?”
S O P H I A
The first shot had been a great idea. The second one might have even been as well. But there was no doubt I’d be regretting the third and fourth tomorrow, even with the amount of water Drew kept forcing me to drink.
I had also eaten about half of Max’s fries, so hopefully the grease would soak up some of the alcohol. Did grease do that? My hazy brain wasn’t sure.
“Listen,” Max said. “I’ve never met this Aamee person, but if you will excuse my language, she sounds like a real asshat.”
“Yes,” I replied, relieved that he saw it my way. “She is. She so is.”
“It’s obvious you’re the better choice,” my other new friend Bill added. He’d come in as Max and I were throwing back shot number two and had joined us from there. Then Dave had wandered in at some point after that.
I loved these guys. They were supportive as hell, and I was in desperate need of that.
“Is it obvious?” I asked. “I’m really not sure. It feels like anyone would be a better choice, but are they? It’s not like Aamee is slaughtering virgin pledges or anything.”
“More water,” Drew said, pushing my glass toward me. “Lots more water.”
I rolled my eyes but did as he asked. I’d had so much liquid, it felt like my stomach was about to drown. “Can stomachs drown?” I asked.
“And food,” he added. “Want anything in particular?”
“Justice with a side of revenge.”
“That’s the spirit,” Bill said, sounding proud.
“To eat, Sophia,” said Drew. “What do you want to eat?”
“The entrails of those who wrong me,” I said to a chorus of laughter from my new friends. “But a cheesesteak will do for now.”
“Coming right up.” Drew left to put my order in, and I slumped back on my barstool.
“What kinds of things do you have to do to become president?” Dave asked.
That was a damn good question. “I have no idea. I’ll have to do some research and maybe ask around.” I could ask my mom, but…no. Bad plan. Bad, bad plan.
“How would your mother know?” Bill asked.
Oh, so I’d said that bit aloud. “She was the president of my sorority when she went here.”
“Then why would it be a bad plan to ask her?”