Page 36 of Antidote

I haven’t told Oliver about the party yet, and I don’t think I will. Maybe if he comes out of his room to find a crowd, he will finally get the hint and go somewhere else. Leave me in peace. I doubt it, though. Knowing him, he’d probably join the beer-pong crowd and destroy everyone. He’s always been so fucking good at it—unlike me.

“You good?” Connor asks me. “The net is that way, you know.” He points slightly to the right just as my puck bounces off the boards and rebounds back to me.

With a tight smile, I roll my eyes. “Never better.” I pass the puck back to him. “My head’s just somewhere else.”

“Oh?” Connor smirks. “It wouldn’t happen to be about a cutesie blonde you’ve been fucking around with?”

“Yeah.” I lie. “Except it’s gone a little too far.” Not a lie.

“How?” Connor shoots the puck toward the net, and our goalie, Grayson, evades it and lets it in. Connor doesn’t like that, narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips. “I thought you were fine.”

“Yeah, until she started discussing getting married and having babies,” I reply dryly. “I’m trying to get picked up by the NHL, bro. I’m not ready to settle down.”

“I feel that.” Connor laughs, “Girls get too clingy when they’re almost done with college.”

Malia is a senior, too, and apparently ready to settle down. It wouldn’t be this concerning if I were in the same mindset, but as it stands, settling down with her threatens to give me hives. “I think I’m gonna break things off with her.”

“For real?” Grayson interrupts, his eyes widening. “Haven’t you been with her like forever?”

“A year.” I shoot a puck, and he catches it in his glove. Fucker. “So what? It’s not working out.”

He whistles, “Heartless.” And Connor joins him in laughter.

We’ve been playing together for years now, and these guys have become an extension of myself. At least Connor has. He’s my pair—my other half. We’re both defensemen for the Riverdale Lions, and we’ve been playing together since our first year. Grayson, on the other hand, takes a while to warm up to people. We’ve known each other since freshman year as well, except he’s a little more shy until you get to know him—like he has a wall of ice built in to keep everyone out. He’s barely just defrosted this year, and now he’s the biggest jokester of the group.

“Can we stop laughing about my love life and shoot this shit?” I almost growl, but that makes them laugh louder.

Grayson sniffs loudly, like he’s in tears over this, “What love life, bro? That shit is pathetic.”

“Alright.” I shake my head. “I’m done.”

I skate away, taking off my helmet and shaking out my hair—which is sticking to the back of my neck with sweat. Thankfully, the locker room is nearby, and I make it out in record time.

As soon as I’ve showered and changed, I head to class. It’s one of those days where I don’t want to do anything except go back to bed and cry, but that means I would have to run into him at some point before I can go back into my room, and that causes the thought to die a quick death.

So much for grieving in peace.

It’s been one hour since the party started.

One hour, and Oliver is flirting up a storm with one of the forwards on my team, Dylan. We don’t usually play in the same line, so we don’t interact that much, but goddamn it, it’s the fucking principle. Why would he fuck with my brother? Is he trying to piss me off? Because he sure as hell is accomplishing it.

I look away from them, focusing on Malia as she straddles my lap on my small sectional couch, but it’s impossible not to think about them. They may be playing beer pong together, but it’s evident in their body language that they can’t wait for the game to be over. Dylan had better not try something stupid with Ollie because my patience is wearing thin today, and the last thing I need is for it to snap. It would be a shame to ruin his fucking face. Then again, if I do, Ollie won’t look at him anymore.

Under the Influence by Chris Brown plays in the small apartment, vibrating the walls. Malia lowers herself onto my jean-clad cock and rubs her cotton-covered pussy over it shamelessly, and I frown. Doesn’t she know we’re in public? What the hell is she doing? But when I look up and Dylan is cupping Oliver’s face, I suddenly don’t give a fuck about what Malia is doing. And when Oliver grabs Dylan’s hand and walks toward the back hallway with him, looking over his shoulder at me—fucking taunting me—I see red.

I grab Malia by her hips and hoist her off me, placing her on the cushions next to me. I’m sure she’s confused, hurt, pissed, or a combination of them all, but I genuinely don’t care enough to stick around and find out. I’m on a mission right now—to find out what the hell my brother is up to. And why the hell he’s taking Dylan to his room?

Don’t be stupid, you know why.

No. I refuse to believe he would stoop that low.

But is it stooping low if I’ve shown him time and time again that I’m done with him? That I want nothing at all to do with him? I guess only a masochist would stick around and keep trying, and while Ollie doesn’t give up easily, I highly doubt he likes the pain I put him through.

Before I know it, I’m headed toward the hallway, except someone wraps a tiny hand around my bicep, clawing at my skin with her nails. Fuck, not now. Malia pulls me toward her, and I go willingly, turning to face her. But she quickly approaches me, grabbing my face and pressing her lips to mine. I grimace, pushing her away softly, but her nails dig into me. What the fuck is she doing?

I finally manage to pry her off, and she frowns at me. I’m sure I have one to match hers, and I shake my head. “What the fuck is your problem?” I ask her.

“My problem?” Malia scoffs. “I don’t see how getting laid is a problem.”

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