Page 65 of Save the Game

“Fuck you,” Cruz says, and Bryce shrugs. I lift my beer in silent greeting.

“Luke,” Theo says, eyes performing a lazy crawl from my feet to my face. He’s not a bad looking guy, with his dark blonde hair, straight nose, and jaw lightly peppered with scruff. In fact, he’s exactly the kind of guy I might have once approached for a quick fuck, if he didn’t have a permanent sneer that served as an immediate turnoff. I raise my eyebrows at him, and he smiles. “Having fun?”

“Not really,” I admit, and his smile grows wider.

“Well, my room is upstairs if you’ve got the urge to liven things up,” he says, throwing out the offer as casually as if he just invited me to coffee. Beside me, Bryce’s arm is so tense it feels like granite.

“He’s not interested,” he snaps, before I can say anything. Theo shrugs, indifferently, and his friend snickers. Around us, several more people peel off from the group, escaping back into the house.

“Whatever, man, calm down. I’ve already got something lined up for later anyway,” Theo tells us, looking over his shoulder and fiddling with his pocket. His friend smirks again. I stand up, looking at Bryce.

“Want to head out?” I ask, and he nods, throwing back the rest of his beer. I’m desperate to get back to the car and hear what the deal is with this Theo guy. Whatever it is, it must be bad enough that his fellow football teammates—who are usually loyal to a fault—don’t like him.

“So soon?” Theo asks.

“I’ve got someplace else to be,” I tell him, thinking about that last unanswered text Max sent me.

“Oh, right. I heard you’ve been enjoying my sloppy seconds.” Theo smirks as Cruz outright laughs at this, the pair sharing a look that speaks volumes. It takes my brain a second to register the words.

“What the hell does that mean?” I ask, confused.

“Maybe I heard wrong,” he shrugs again. “Word was you were dicking down SCU’s little hockey star.” He raises his beer in a salute. “Good for you.”

I stare at him, aware that Bryce is still beside me and that we’re still in a crowded backyard, but uncaring of anybody but Theo. This guy—this slimy, douchebag of a guy—would never have a chance with Max. Sloppy seconds, he’d said, when I know for a fact Max hasn’t so much as looked at another guy in over a year. My skin buzzes, and I think Bryce might be saying something but I can’t hear him over the blood rushing in my ears. Sloppy seconds.

“You heard right, if you heard that I’m seeing Max Kuemper,” I tell him, trying to think over the alarm bells firing in my head. He snaps his fingers, grinning.

“That’s his name!” He laughs, but only Cruz joins in. “Like I said, good for you. He was fun, but not quite enough fight in him for me. I prefer a little more excitement, if you catch my drift.”

“No,” I answer, just as Bryce says: “What the hell, Theo.”

“Let’s go, Luke, we’re leaving.” Bryce puts a hand on my shoulder but I shake him off. I barely even recognize my own voice when I speak directly to Theo—low and calm. Bryce looks at me, sharply, as though he doesn’t recognize it either.

“What do you mean, not quite enough fight in him?”

Theo shrugs again. The movement grates on my nerves—I want to dislocate his fucking shoulders and wipe that smirk off his face. “I mean, where’s the fun when they just lay there, right? If that’s your thing, cool, but I need a little more than that. I want a little struggle with the begging. Rough, you know?”

“Theo, seriously, shut the fuck up,” Bryce snaps. “What’s your problem?”

My skin feels too tight and my scalp prickles with discomfort. My chest feels like it’s on fire, and I have to remind myself to breathe as the pounding in my head intensifies, and my heart rate kicks up. Theo’s fingers are brushing his pocket again, so casually I bet he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. Every nerve in my body feels electrified, but my mind is oddly calm as I look at that hand; I wonder if I’d find a roofie in his pocket if I searched him.

I want a little struggle with the begging. I want a little struggle with the begging.

“When was this? Sorry, it’s just that Max never mentioned you.” My voice still sounds wrong. Distantly, as though I’m separate from my own body, I feel Bryce’s hand wrap around my bicep.

“Jesus, I don’t know. Last year sometime. It’s not like I keep a record of everybody I’ve ever fucked,” Theo says, and Cruz laughs again. “Wasn’t exactly memorable.”

“No,” I say softly, letting my beer bottle fall to the grass with a soft thump, “so unmemorable that you couldn’t even be bothered to remember his name, in fact.”

The burning feeling in my chest increases, and I realize suddenly that I’m shaking. Bryce, who’s still holding my arm, pitches his voice low enough that the others can’t hear him and tells me that it’s time for us to go. I shake my head. Rage—blind, barely controlled rage—crashes through me like waves. When I try to take a step forward, Bryce holds me back.

Theo’s watching me, unconcerned and still with that smirk on his face. His lips move over the rim of his beer bottle, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. I can’t hear anything except Max’s scared voice in my head, asking me to stop seconds before he had a panic attack; Max’s voice, heavy with shame as he told me that he doesn’t like to be held down.

“You’re a fucking rapist.”

My voice cracks across the space between us like a whip, and Bryce’s hand tightens to the point of pain on my arm. I don’t look at him. I don’t look at anyone except Theo who’s still fucking leering at me, like the accusation is funny. Next to him, Cruz is no longer smiling, eyes bouncing around between Theo, Bryce and I. He looks afraid.

“He never said no,” Theo says, and shrugs. Again. I take another step forward and this time Bryce lets me. His hand is no longer on my arm, but I know he’s still behind me.

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