Memory Lane

Chapter Eleven

"We dance round in a ring and suppose, but the secret sits in the middle and knows." - Robert Frost

Memory Lane: Chapter Eleven

Some things in this town are simply routine, like going to The Oven Bird the afternoon after a Saturday night out. Since neither Allen nor I drank, we are both feeling particularly well rested and ready for the day today. Quinn and Kendall, on the other hand, are both wearing sunglasses inside and sweatpants paired with baggy sweatshirts.

We all had a good time at the party. Since Allen was on door duty, we had to stay until everyone else had left. Quinn and Kendall passed the time by playing a few too many drinking games, which they insisted I be included in with a bottle of water. Every now and then, between playing Kings or Beer Pong, I caught myself glancing to the door in hopes of catching familiar gray eyes. And, every time I did I had to mentally slap myself for looking.

"I thought I told you to never let me drink again," Quinn mutters, reaching for her water sitting on the small shelf that extends the entire pool-table area.

"In my defense, I did try to get you to stop. Then you warned me that your uncle taught you Jiu jitsu right after he got back from a short trip to Japan," I snicker.

Quinn waves a dismissive hand at me, groaning as Allen hits the cue-ball to break as he begins his game with Sandy-Hair-Steven, the sound ricocheting through our ears. Steven lets out a low whistle, tossing his hand through his hair when the pool balls scatter all around the table, pocketing the solid maroon ball.

Allen stands up straight with a pleased grin, wandering around the table to hit in his next shot. He lines it up, staring at his target from just above the black rim of his glasses. He takes his shot, completely missing even hitting another ball, and ends his turn in a scratch.

"All that time studying equations and angles, and you still can't play pool," Steven smirks, patting Allen on the back.

"At least I can throw a curveball."

Steven sends him an irritated look that has Allen laughing.

"I play shortstop. There's hardly any need for me to throw a curveball." Steven says as he lines up his pool shot.

"Hardly any need for you to hit one too, then?"

Steven instantly straightens up and whacks Allen in the leg with the cue-stick. "I batted over .300 last season."

Allen just snickers, choosing not to respond and instead direct his attention to Kendall. He retreats to the highchair next to her, whose head is buried in her arms as she half-lays on the table. He leans down and gently rubs her back, murmuring something to her that I'm sure is undoubtedly sweet from the way she peeks her head out from under her arm with a small smile.

Steven hits his shot, sinking the purple striped ball with a satisfying clunk into the left corner pocket. He stands up straight with a small smirk and then glances at me, sea-green eyes twinkling with confidence.

He leans a hip against the table, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that makes it seem like he's trying to push his biceps out. There's really no need. Steven is tall with a great, athletic physique and stunning facial features. The light dusting of freckles on his nose, his sea green eyes, and sandy hair all assist his good looks. He's attractive and he knows it, if his smirk and smooth tongue are any indicator.

"You like baseball, Laura Laurier?"

The few times I've spoken to Steven, he's made it his job to call me by my full name. I know it's meant to be a fun, endearing way of becoming friends, but only one other person in my life used to call me by my full name. And now that person is gone forever.