Page 41 of Antidote

“He hates me.”

“Hotter.” He grins, and I roll my eyes. “Seriously, I don’t see the problem.”

“The problem is that I’ve been in love with him for years, and he can’t even stand to look at me.”

Jamie reaches across the table, grabs my hand, and keeps it in his. My breath hitches, and he says, “Look at me, not him. Act like you like me.”

“I do like you.” I grin.

“You know what I mean,” he replies, peering over at Hunter’s table. “From what I can see, he has no problem looking at you—like at all.”

“Great,” I mutter.

But deep down, it brings me a little thrill to know he’s pissed off. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll take it out on me later. And I sure as hell will be waiting for it.

It’s been hours since I started playing Call of Duty, and somehow these two fuckers are still giggling in Oliver’s room. I shoot a glance toward the hallway, even though, realistically, I can’t see them or the bedroom door. And, great, someone just killed me. Fucking hell, I was on level twenty too.

I lean my head back on the couch and close my eyes, debating how the hell to get James Murdock out of Ollie’s room. Also, what the fuck is Oliver doing hanging out with the Lion’s quarterback? Does he only go for jocks now? Dylan, James, me? How fucking predictable.

They seemed to be getting pretty cozy at the coffee shop. Ollie even sketched him, for fuck’s sake. That was something he only did with me. If it weren’t for them literally giggling like hyenas this entire time, I’d be worried about why they’re locked in his room. Then again, he could kiss or fuck Murdock in the blink of an eye and there’s nothing I could do about it except listen in.

Bullshit.

I’d stop it, just like I did with Dylan.

Thankfully, I already ordered Oliver’s favorite food, and when it gets here, Murdock will have no choice but to fucking beat it. At least, that’s my hope. I don’t know why I want him out so badly. It’s not like I’m going to spend time with Ollie. It’s not like I want him—I can never have him again, and I know that. So why does it feel like I want to keep him away from everyone else? I feel like one of those dumbass clingers who are like if I can’t have him, then no one else can. Yeah, that’s me right now. Fucking pathetic.

The doorbell rings, and I smile. I place the controller on the couch and open the door. A girl with dark hair and light brown eyes stands there with my food, and I give her a once-over. Ever since Malia accused me of my dick not working, I’ve felt the need to prove myself. Who better to do it with than a complete stranger? Yeah, this girl will do.

“Hey, sweetheart.” I smile at her, my teeth on full display. She immediately returns my smile and twirls her hair around her finger. Bingo. “How’s it going?”

“Better now.” She grins. “Aren’t you Hunter Hartman?”

I’m taken aback by her knowledge of who I am, but I shouldn’t be. I mean, I am the captain of the hockey team, and that shit matters around here. “Yep.” I grab the bag of food from her, and she hands me my receipt so I can tip her. So I do. One hundred dollars. “Here’s my number,” I say as I scribble it on the back of the receipt, then pause, looking at her expectantly. “Call me.”

“Leanne,” she murmurs, taking the receipt back. “That’s my name.”

“See you around, Leanne.” I grin, then wait for her to turn around and walk away before I close the door.

I lean against it, trying to catch my breath. I’m not nervous about giving her my number, though what if my dick really doesn’t work anymore? Do I want to embarrass myself? And who the fuck am I trying to prove shit to? Malia or myself? Fuck.

Scrubbing a hand down my face, I take another deep breath before putting the food on the table. I ordered Ollie’s favorites—chicken fried rice and shrimp Pad Thai—as well as my orange chicken and steamed rice. You know who I didn’t get shit for? James fucking Murdock.

“Stop it, Jamie!” Oliver cackles, and my spine stiffens. “I’m fucking ticklish there!”

Oh, hell no.

I speed walk to Oliver’s door, banging on it and hold my breath as I wait for him to open it. Sure enough, when he does, he’s wearing nothing but low-slung sweats—no shirt on—and a massive grin on his face. It drops as soon as he sees me, but that’s not what bothers me. No, it’s the miles of bare skin, muscles, and ink. He has a full sleeve with intricate designs for which I’m sure he’s responsible. I look down at the ring on his right hand—the one that matches my own—and my nostrils flare with the effort to not kill him. How can I hate and love looking at someone in equal measure?

“Yes?” Oliver asks me with a bored expression on his face. “Need something, or…?”

I smirk, but I don’t look at him. No, I train my gaze on Jamie instead. “I got you your favorite food.” Oliver clears his throat, and my eyes snap to his face. He looks confused.

“Why?”

“Because I figured it would be rude to get something for just myself?” Murdock’s expression is one of amusement, but he’s not going to be too amused when it’s time for him to leave. I’m not fucking stupid. He wants Oliver’s ass.

“Since when do you give a fuck about being rude to me?” Oliver’s eyes are still narrowed on my face, and I roll mine. Fuck, why is he making this so hard?

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