Page 27 of The Spice Play

We were four shots deep, and hell was beginning to break loose in the best ways.

Luke clutched a microphone in his hand, standing before a television screen with the words to a Taylor Swift song flashing up as the intro started. He jumped from foot to foot, psyching himself up, drawing in a small crowd of players and flames as I stood in front of him, arms crossed, entirely here for the show.

And then he started singing, and I knew without a doubt that Nico would be shoving his way across the bar any second.

Luke was horribly off-key and out of time, every word a half a second too late and a half an octave too low. The blue streaks in his hair flashed with every little bounce he did, showingoff just one of our team colors since he’d ditched his jersey and given it to a random flame.

He practically shouted the words down the microphone, and just as I opened my mouth to boo him spectacularly, my prediction came true.

Nico pushed past me, taking that single step up onto what was meant to pass as a stage. He took the mic off of Luke, his brow furrowed andangry, and lifted the microphone to his lips. “Luke Smith, you are the worst fucking singer I’ve ever heard in my goddamn life.”

Luke burst into a fit of laughter, and I followed close behind as Nico burst into song, perfectly in time and perfectly on pitch, putting that opera training to good use.

I was glad, at least, here among these idiots and without needing to worry about Matty, that I could findsomethingto find an ounce of joy in that didn't feel like a precariously positioned Jenga tower about to topple over. I could enjoy this. I could find happiness in the goofballs that were my teammates, and it could tide me over.

Chapter 13

Nelly

“Where’s your car?”

I leaned against the counter in the kitchen, watching Sebastian down the long expanse of the foyer as he shut the door behind him. He glanced at me warily while he dropped his bag on the floor and stood to his full height, hands in the pockets of his thigh-hugging jeans, a white shirt clinging to his muscular upper body.

“I left it at Smokey’s,” he sighed, crossing the foyer and heading straight toward the kitchen. Toward me.

“Are you drunk?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. I didn’t want to consider what he’d been up to at Smokey’s, didn’t want to entertain the thought that there was a chance he’d done exactly what he’d done to me that night, but with someone else.

“No,” he insisted. He stopped in the doorway, his hand wrapping around the frame. The intensity in his gaze zeroed in on me, drinking me in from top to bottom. I hadn’t bothered trying to look presentable for him at nearly midnight, not when I’d handled bedtime with Matty, notwhen I’d waited up for him. I’d hung out in my bike shorts and oversized shirt since Matty had fallen asleep, and I wasn’t about to change out of them now. “I was earlier. I just wasn’t going to consider driving home since I’m still a bit tipsy.”

I shifted uncomfortably, stretching my arms down and holding my wrist. “It’s late?—”

“I know.” His nostrils flared as he watched me, the tendons in his arm flexing while he squeezed the door frame. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be out for long.”

Words died on my tongue before they could form, and I found myself just reiterating my point instead. “You said you’d keep me in the loop about your schedule?—”

“I know,” he repeated. His lips formed a hard line before he spoke. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t even text me?—”

He took a step toward me, releasing the door frame. “I know,” he said again, but this time it was deeper, rougher, grittier. My spine stiffened. “I’m sorry.”

There were at least ten paces between his towering frame and mine, and fuck, that felt like too few and too many at the same time. I didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know how truthful he was being, and if he was actually tipsy or just fully drunk, didn’t know what his aim was here, didn’t know why he was moving in my direction. My heart rate spiked as he took another step, thumping away in the back of my throat. “Seb,” I said cautiously.

He froze. His eyes flicked between mine across the distance, trying to read something there, trying to pick up what I’d meant by that. But I wasn’t even sure myself, so if he came up with an answer, it couldn’t have been correct. “Yeah?”

I swallowed past the words that wanted to come out,and it was like something clicked, like I’d unlocked the door. “Why didn’t you call me?”

A flicker ofsomethingflashed across the hard lines of his face, and his jaw set. “If I’m being entirely honest, Nell, I didn’t want you to be angrier with me while I was drunk, and I wanted to handle this as sober as I could.”

“No, not… not tonight,” I clarified, the words feeling like sandpaper as they left my mouth. Though his answer was good to know moving forward, it wasn’t what I was looking for.

His lips pursed, and his gaze fell, that meaning clicking for him. Apparently, the floor was far more interesting to look at now. He hesitated before he spoke, the space between his throat and his chin moving, chewing words I wanted to hear. “I never said I would.”

I never said I would.Those words made no sense, and I found myself reeling backward enough to push the counter harder into my lower back. “You took my number.”

“I did.”

“Were you just…”No, no, no, no, this is so much worse, this is ten million times worse.My stomach dropped as the realization hit me. “Fuck, you were just being polite.”

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