Page 104 of Plaything

A strainer in the sink was the first thing that caught my eye, and I knew Niko must have washed all the seasoning off of the salad before reasoning it. Niko had never attended any culinary school, nor did he boast about his talent for creating meals. He simply cooked, and we enjoyed. I’d always assumed his knowledge came from his parents. His father was from Spain, and his mother was from Italy, so the man was surrounded by flavorful, authentic food his whole life.

Regardless of how he acquired the skill, we were all grateful to benefit from it.

I grabbed two plates, scooping a generous amount into each before handing one to her. “Thank you for cooking,” Niko smiled at her, no hint of playfulness in his tone. He must not have tasted the noodles before washing them off... If he did, he was a better liar than me.

“You’re welcome,” she smiled. “If it’s disgusting, Wyatt asked for food poisoning, so thank him,” she joked. At least, I hoped it was a joke.

We gathered in the dining room and began eating. As we’d planned, Niko saved dinner, which was delicious.

Odette seemed uncomfortable. Not in her expression or our conversation. Her body language was twisted, and she kept putting her knees to her chest, then back down again. None of us cared how she sat, but I knew she usually thought similar positions were unladylike. She’d sat the same way for a month: with a straight back, feet flat on the ground, elbows off the table.

My friends didn’t seem to notice her fidgeting; they rarely noticed the details that I found obvious, and it was frustrating at times. Did she hurt herself in the woods? Was the salad not sitting right?

“Why engineering?” Wyatt asked her, continuing their conversation.

She was prepared for this question, I could see the speech prepared in her eyes. “I don’t like working with other people. I know I’m not cut out for anything where I’d be customer-facing. That, and I think I’m pretty good with numbers.”

“You are.” Niko complimented.

“Why teaching?” she retorted, directing the question to all of us. She didn’t like talking about herself and was an expert at deterring conversations from her.

“Fun fact, I’ve got a photographic memory,” Niko bragged. I’d always been jealous that his mind came with its very own cheat code. “So anything with equations has always been simple for me.”

“I broke my leg in high school,” Dominic started. “My fibula stuck out from my skin, and instead of panicking, I was fascinated with how the orthopedic surgeons put me back together.”

Odette cringed, obviously not keen on talking about Dominic’s bone sticking through his skin.

I quickly changed the subject. “I’ve always been good at reading people, so psychology was an obvious decision.”

“And I’m just a bookworm,” Wyatt concluded.

She thought about our answers as her gaze lingered on Dominic.

Don’t ask, I thought. If I were Dominic, I would have lied; I wouldn’t have told her about the broken leg, knowing how it broke.

Unless. I eyed Dominic, looking for any sign that he wanted to share any part of his childhood with her. The man didn’t talk about himself, especially about things that were long in the past. If he’d wanted to tell her, it made perfect sense that he set her up for the following question.

My gaze shifted back to Odette just before she questioned him. “How’d you break your leg?” She took the bait. She’d asked the question so casually, as someone as unsuspecting would.

Shooting a glance to Niko, he returned the same calculating one. The three of us were the only ones he’d ever told, and even then, he told us what really happened that day five years later when he was blackout drunk.

She shifted in her chair again, stretching her torso before wrapping her arm around her middle. She looked dreadfully uncomfortable, and it was bothering the hell out of me.

Alarms went off in my mind as I realized what was happening. Odette had lived with us for a month, and I was ashamed I didn’t see this coming sooner. Not only was she on her period, she’d just been missing for four hours, and now Dominic wanted to share the tales of his fucked childhood? No... tonight was not the night.

I cleared my throat before saying the first thing that came to mind—my second biggest vice. “Would you like some Midol?”

...

Everyone was in silent shock over my outburst. My friends gave me perplexed looks that had ‘what the fuck is wrong with you’ written on their expressions. Odette seemed offended (rightfully so) with her lips parted, looking at me like I’d grown two heads.

No one thought I was a jackass more than I did. My intentions were good, but the execution was a flaming train wreck. Think before you fucking speak! It was a lesson I should have learned long ago, but unfortunately, my mouth was the one thing that was faster than my mind.

“Dude?” Niko whispered with obvious disdain in his tone.

“I know,” I shot back through my teeth. I didn’t need to be told how strange, intrusive, rude, and slightly misogynistic that was—I was fully aware.

If I was as lucky as Wyatt, she’d just hit me a few times with a designer purse.

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