Page 40 of Obsessed with the Player

15

Dan James

“You’ve been squirmingin your seat the whole morning, so don’t try to tell me again there’s nothing new to talk about,” Jonathan said as soon as we walked out of our Sunday catch-up session at the cafe. “So spill.”

I wanted to give him an annoyed look,somethingto mask the truth beneath it, but I could only look away into the street, too afraid that he would see the turmoil written on my forehead.

That he’d see ‘I’m fucking my nemesis’ in big, bold letters on my forehead and I would spill all of the feelings that had been trapped inside my chest for the past few weeks.

And I was so not letting it happen.

I pushed a loose rock away with my shoe, not acting conspicuous at all. “It’s nothing.”

Jonathan huffed. “Right.Nothing.” I heard him walk closer to me. “Do I need to call your brother for some emotional manipulation?”

My best friend knew damn well that I was weak against my brother's puppy eyes, being the protective older brother and all, but really, he didn't need him here.

Jonathan was the actual bulldozer in their relationship, which was how I knew that I was living in borrowed time.

I took a deep breath.

“I’m…seeing someone.”

“Oh?”

That was aloof. A very, ‘I’m-not-interested-but-I’m-very-interested’sound.

I sighed.

“Rather, I’msleepingwith someone.”

“And that’s not good?” Jonathan asked from behind me.

He was letting me have some modicum of privacy but I was pretty sure that he could have read me just as well without seeing my face than seeing it.

“It's not,” I said, biting my lip before continuing. “I should be doing this right, I should be figuring myself out and not getting tangled up on something with someone. I mean, I was trying to be single, not to get into a pseudo-relationship or anything.” I looked around at him. “Shouldn't you tell me to end it?”

Jon raised his brows. “Me? You're the one that got hell-bent on learning to be single, I have nothing to say about you having a fling.”

I’d ended up telling my best friend about my experiment a few weeks ago, cracking under the pressure of his questions, but right about now, I was regretting it.

I’d also had to tell my family about it, glossing over the details, of course, since they’d started to complain about me not showing up to our family dinners and had even gone as far as rescheduling them, but I just didn’t want to hear them trying to set me up anymore.

“But you should be supportive, you should be the voice of reason when I stray,” I said, exasperated.

Jon grinned. “Don't you have the best teacher around for this? I'm sure having a dirty fling is part of the experience.”

My jaw tightened.

“Didn’t he have anything to say about this?” he asked lightly.

“He’s being awfully lax in his lessons,” I said, not lying but not saying the full truth.

Jon shrugged. “Then just keep going with this if you like it, and if not, then ask the player how to get rid of them. I’m sure he’ll have many things to say about that, right?”

Right. He should.

But why did it feel so wrong to hear Jon say it out loud?

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