At Thomas’ home.

I’m ashamed to admit that I almost backed down. Almost. Minutes before I left my house, my mind was assaulted by several bad scenarios that made me scared of going to Thomas’ house that night.

The guys were friendly enough, but what if they found me annoying now? What if I wasn’t able to keep a conversation going? We were so different that I couldn’t think of any topics that we might have in common. What if I just sat there awkwardly all night, and in turn made them all feel awkward?

But like I said, I almost backed down. I didn’t. What pushed me to go was that I had promised already, and the fact that I would have to explain myself if I suddenly told them I wasn’t going. Not only would that paint me as a flaker in the eyes of the guys, but I was sure the girls would question me, too, and be disappointed that I wasn’t able to do something so simple. That last thought scared me twice as much as the first.

Weirdly enough, Isabelle saw me getting ready to leave, but didn’t ask where I was going. Perhaps she heard me talk to mom about it? Or was she still mad from that morning? Well, I was thankful that I didn’t have to explain myself to her. She didn’t explain herself to me when she was going out.

In spite of my brief wishes to bail out, I still made it to Thomas’ house five minutes earlier than we agreed. I rang the doorbell anyway, and my heart almost jumped to my throat when it wasn’t Thomas who answered.

A woman with long, curly auburn hair stood in front of me. She had brown eyes, like Thomas, and her face was beginning to show the first signs of wrinkles. Maybe somewhere between 45 and 50 years old? She was dressed in an elegant, if ostentatious, golden dress and wore plenty of jewelry.

“Hello,” she greeted amicably. “How can I help you, young man?”

My voice caught in my throat. I wasn’t prepared for this. OF COURSE HIS MOTHER WAS HOME. Why wouldn’t she? At least I was assuming it was his mother, considering how similar they looked.

Don’t think about the stripper thing. Don’t think about the stripper thing.

When I didn’t answer, the lady tilted her head a bit and narrowed her eyes.

“Mom! Is that Oliver at the door?” came Thomas’ voice from further inside.

The lady smiled. “Given your silence, I’m assuming you’re the friend Thomas has been telling us about.”

I woke up. “A-Ah. I’m s-so sorry. Y-Yes, I’m Oliver. Um…”

“It’s fine, dear. I’m Thomas’s mother, Dahlia Pierce. Just call me Mrs. Pierce.”

“Y-Yes. A p-pleasure, Mrs. Pierce.”

Thomas’ mom smiled encouragingly. “I’d love to stay and talk, but you caught me just as I was leaving to meet my husband. We’re having dinner out tonight. Make yourself at home!”

“T-Thank you! We’ll be careful.”

“That’s a relief to hear,” she chuckled. “You must come some other day, when my husband and I are home. Thomas talks so much about you.”

I blinked. He did?

“Well, have fun boys. Thomas, I’m leaving!” she called back inside.

“Have fun, mom! Eat something nice!”

Mrs. Pierce nodded to me one last time before she went to her car and drove out. Well, that almost gave me a heart attack.

Hesitantly, I stepped into the house, looking around for Thomas. He came out of the kitchen, smirking at me.

“I sent my mom to open the door. What that too mean?” he asked. He knew exactly what he had done, huh?

“It took me by surprise,” I admitted with a weak, embarrassed smile. “And speaking of, what do you tell your parents about me?”

“Hm? I told them about that time you saved my ass at the tournament, and that we’ve been hanging out. Told them that you were really reserved, too. Sorry. Should I not have?”

Surprisingly, I found myself smiling. “It’s fine. You get along with your parents?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He laughed. “We talk a lot, and I don’t hide much from them. Much. They know Lyla broke up with me, but I didn’t tell them why.”

“That’s cool. No wonder they trust you with the house.”

“Exactly. There are idiots who laugh at me for being close to my parents, but I’m not the one who has to sneak around to go out.” He nodded to himself, arms crossed. “And you? Get along well with your mom?”

“...She’s mostly at work, and while it’s never been a bad relationship, I… sort of ignored her for a few years. We’re trying to fix things now, though.”

“That’s good to hear,” he said, smiling genuinely. “Well, Kevin and Ben should be here soon. Want to have a drink?”

“...I don’t really like beer, Thomas.”

“I noticed, which is why I got you something.”

Curious, I followed him to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and took out a six-pack of transparent glass bottles, 350ml each. The liquid inside was transparent as well, and the bottles had pictures of fruits and ice cubes.

“Lime cocktails, pineapple cocktails, blueberry cocktails… These are sweet, and you might like them more. Drink carefully, though, or you’ll be drunk before you know it.”

“I suppose it can’t hurt to try?” I said carefully. It did sound better than beer, but… Well, I needed to be aware and, like he said, drink carefully.

He opened one of the bottles for me and a beer for himself. We walked out to the backyard and sat down at the glass table by the pool. I couldn’t help but remember that this was the same table where I first sat with Sarah, Grace and Mila. I drank like two or three beers that night, and though I could feel myself getting drunk, it didn’t make me more talkative. Looking back, good thing it didn’t, or I may have started relying on it.

Carefully, I tried the lime cocktail. It was… sweet, and a little sour, and cold. The aftertaste of **** was barely noticeable.

“So? How is it?” Thomas asked me.

I nodded. “I think it’s good?”

“Remember, drink slowly. Down it in one go like soda or juice and you’re asking to pass out on my couch,” he warned with a laugh.

Noted.