Page 40 of Antidote

I take a sip of said drink and moan, enjoying the little crunch of the peppermint. “I do.” Shrugging, I shake my cup a little to make sure I keep drinking the frozen bits instead of having it melt. “It’s my favorite.”

Grabbing the little bag in front of us, I take out my slice of lemon cake. “See?” Jamie points at me. “Psycho.”

Yeah, I do have to admit it’s odd for me to eat lemon cake and drink peppermint, but oh well. I don’t really care what people think. “So, Jamie.” I smirk. “Big, bad, quarterback turned Art major. Who would’ve thought?”

“Literally everyone.” He laughs, pulling out his sketchbook. He shows me a sketch of me. “Like it?”

I gaze intently at it, trying to pick it apart. But the truth is that it’s as if someone took a picture of my face and pasted it onto his paper. He’s really good. “It would be creepy if you weren’t this good at it.” I chuckle. “And, damn, look at that shading.”

I’m pretty sure I have heart eyes as I stare at myself, because damn. He made me look pretty. Not to mention, no one has ever drawn me. I’m always the one drawing people. It’s nice for a change. It makes me feel kind of special.

“Yeah, I practice my shading a lot,” he replies as he stares at the page, running his fingers over my face on the paper. “I used to suck at it.”

“I doubt that.” I take a small bite of my lemon cake and chew it, the tart taste bursting on my tastebuds. “Are you here on a full ride?”

“For football,” he affirms.

“That’s cool.” I nod. “I’m not cool enough for a scholarship. I’ve pretty much sucked at everything but this my entire life.”

“I doubt that, Ollie.” Just then, the little bell rings at the door, and he looks that way, his brows furrowing in confusion. He then looks back at me. “Oh, yay, hockey players.”

Jolting in my seat, I glance back at where they’re standing in front of the counter, placing their orders. And, of course, because luck is not on my side, Hunter turns around and meets my gaze. Unlike me, there’s no surprise on his face, and he narrows his eyes at me. I can tell he’s angry by the way the green flares, looking even brighter than usual.

Why would he be mad, though?

Before I can process what’s happening or think too hard about it, I twist back around. Please, please, let him stay away from me. The last thing I want right now is to have to explain shit to Jamie.

“Do you hate hockey players?” I ask Jamie nonchalantly.

“Oh, yeah.” He grins, then takes another sip of his coffee. “They’re assholes.”

I choke on a laugh. I mean, he’s not wrong. Just look at Hunter. “Isn’t that a little hypocritical? Aren’t football players also assholes?”

“Not me.”

“Of course not,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.

I bend down to grab my sketchbook and pencil out of my backpack. I know—I can feel it in my bones—that Hunter is going to come this way any second, and I want to make him jealous. So what do I do? I start sketching Jamie.

“Are you for real?” Jamie asks. “I can’t even drink a coffee in peace?”

However, there’s a little smile peeking through, as if he loves that I’m doing this. So I continue, mainly drawing lines right now. Within two minutes, though, there’s a shape to his face. It’s beginning to resemble him—if only slightly. “You can drink your coffee while I do this just fine.”

My pencil strokes the paper, and I begin to shade Jamie’s eyes and lightly run my thumb over it. But then—someone hits me upside the head. And I could bet my life that that someone is Hunter.

“Fucking emo brat,” Hunter mutters, quickly walking away from us, leaving with his friends.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to calm down my heartbeat. It’s thundering in my ears, and my hands shake slightly as I place my pencil down. Why does every interaction with him always stress me out?

When I open my eyes again, Jamie’s are narrowed on my face. “Who is that?” he asks softly, glancing at Hunter sitting down across the room. “He looks familiar.”

“No one.” I clear my throat, my voice hoarse.

“Wait a damn second—you said you made him up!” Jamie slaps his hand on the table and laughs. “You little liar.”

“Listen—” Jamie shoves me playfully again—he has a thing for that—and I cringe. “He’s my stepbrother.”

His eyes widen. “That’s hot.”

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