Page 19 of Study Games

I groaned and wanted to bury my head in my hands. “This is all sorts of fucked up,” I muttered. “I’ll spray your motherfucking Cheerios,” I yelled back, and the common room fell blessedly silent.

“Get your head out of your ass, Max.” Crush glared at someone I couldn’t see. He looked up at the stairs via the barrister I peered at him through, but made no move to come up. “What’s up?”

There were a hundred ways to call this one but I didn’t have the energy for more bullshittery. “Drunk girl in my bed. Not mine. Help me get her home.”

“Fuck me.” He started up the stairs.

“That’s what I said.” I stepped aside when he made it to my attic and let him in.

His gaze flicked to the grayed out canvases, and back to the female lump in my bed. “In a mood?”

“Always. Thought I’d paint cotton candy next for giggles.”

“You should. Then hang it in Jase’s room.”

“This is his handiwork?” Maybe I could just paint his room, period. Something bright, pink and lary. Then spray it, as per the suggestion from earlier. Fuck it, he’d probably like that.

“Yeah. All right. Fuck. Do you know her?” Crush ran his hand over his hair, pushing it back from his forehead.

I glared at him, offering him a silent rebuke for the assholic words that fell thoughtlessly from my mentor and friend’s mouth.

He snorted. “That’s fair.”

“Can we put her in one of their rooms?” Even as I said it, I felt like an asshole for spitting the comment out and passing her around like a party favor.

“Nah. Poor form, and fuck knows what they’d do to her. Not her fault she picked a shit day for a drinking match.”

“What happened?” I frowned.

The boys were raucous, and often crass, but rarely nasty or destructive. At least, not without a purpose or a well earned grudge match.

“They got their asses handed to them at training today. New coach, mid season change. I …might have had a little advance warning. I’d say she’s a baby sister or an ex of the new coach. This sure as fuck wont’ end well.” He sneaked a quiet look my way.

“Never does.” I reach for my back pocket for a smoke and come up empty. Fucking Waverly. I promised her I’d quit and it’s eating me already. I bare my teeth and focus on the problem at hand. Or in this case, my mattress. “Not your fault. If they can’t deal with change, then they need to be able to adjust to life. Fuck, what happens if the line up of next week’s game gets moved around?” Christ, what was happening to me? I sounded like I actually knew what I was talking about. “Man, I’ve lived here too long.”

“Nah, you’ve been listening.”

I huffed my derision. “What, become a fucking leader like you? There is no chance, my friend.”

Crush surveyed me with the quiet passion that made him infamous with the opposing team before he lived up to his namesake. “You fit in better than you think.”

“Not with this shit.'” I gestured to the body on my bed. Damnit, I bet she wore jellybean perfume or some shit. That ain’t coming out anytime soon.

“This is poor, even for them. Alright. Give me some better light.” He frowned, looking around at the gloomy shadows that danced off the walls as he moved. “How the hell do you paint in this?”

“I close my eyes and flick paint at the wall,” I deadpan. “Let me get my bag.” I hoisted my satchel across my chest and flicked everything back into it, snapping on the bright studio lights I actually used to paint as I went.

Crush winced. “Christ almighty, my eyeballs will never fucking recover.”

“You’re the one who stares at ice all day. Aren’t you used to shit looking blue?”

“That’s not how this works.” He peeled back layers of quilts and exposed the girl on my bed, pulling her skirt discretely over her thighs.

I turned away, seething internally. Until now, I’d gotten my happiness off taunting Waverly but if the boys wanted an all out war, I’d bring that shit to the yard. That rep of mine was there for a damn fine reason and while I had no problem inking myself up, it wasn’t my skin that would be honored with the next dick pic. Hell, I’d even add some lemons in.

I fished out all my graphics and grabbed the phone that was heavier than it should have been. I flipped it over to discover that the case wasn't mine. The tiny bee that decorated the back, drawn in a crude and familiar hand gave me a solid clue who it did belong to. I tilted my head to one side, weighing my options.

“Come on, man. She’s a dead weight.” Crush lifted the girl over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift.

---