Page 18 of The Game

His keys stick as he wiggles them around and shoves the poorly fit door open, allowing me entry with a small nod forward. Nervous, I eye him but make my way inside the surprisingly tidy space. It is small, a quaint living room with light wood floors, a tiny kitchen, and in the back corner, a darkened doorway leading to his room. It even smells nice, like more of that leathery, musky masculine scent.

He shoves the door closed and slides the bolt into place, and I turn quickly, my heart skittering across my ribs. Tossing his bag aside, he shakes his head with a soft snort.

“If you think this is where I kill my victims, you’re sorely mistaken. I keep a clean household.”

“Clearly,” I say with a quirk of my brow, wandering further in, lured by so much space after spending all my time in a humid, stuffy dorm room with my German roommate. The scent of sauerkraut used to make me ill on any normal day, but now that she makes the shit in our room, it’s nauseating.

He tosses his mail to the kitchen counter and makes his way to the plush leather couch, sinking down to untie his sturdy boots. It’s all I can do to stand awkwardly to the side, fiddling with my own bag.

“You can get comfortable if you want,” he says, not looking at me as he unlaces his other boot. Taking the hint, I toe off my shoes by his front door, placing them neatly on the mat, before dropping my bag as well. He stands with his boots in his hand, heaving out a contented sigh as he brushes past me to set his boots on a small shoe rack.

“Bathroom’s in my room. If you wanna shower, I’ll be chivalrous and let you have first dibs on hot water.”

Shocked, I feel myself retreating into a shell, into that Alice who lived with her sick aunt and who was afraid of every bump in the night. Strange, how quickly my step-brothers were able to change that, how they were able to make me see my bravery while also making me feel safe and warm. Here and now, completely out of my element, I realize this is the first time I am willingly alone with a guy since I left.

My nerves begin to fray as Teddy frowns.

“Don’t think too far into this, Alice. I’m just being nice. I’ll order some breakfast, and you can crash here if you want.”

My heart lurches at this, and the thought is too tantalizing to pass up. I barely sleep when in my dorm, too scared to slip into nightmares and wake my roommate. Twisting my hands together, I at the very least have to admit to myself that this is nice, this feeling of having a friend who seems to suddenly care about me.

“Umm…sure, thank you.”

He nods curtly, skirting around me to the kitchen before he opens the fridge.

“No worries. Sometimes if one of the girls is having a hard night, I let them stay over. Beats being curled up behind a dumpster,” he grumbles, popping back up with a beer in hand. The sight makes my eyes water.

It’s Tristan’s favorite amber ale.

Clearing the lump of emotion in my throat, I focus instead on his words.

“You…you let other girls stay here?”

Prying the top off with a hiss, he leans against the sink and shrugs.

“Like I said, I don’t fuck ‘em. Not really looking for that right now, anyways.”

The way he trails off and stares across the kitchen to a blank calendar makes my heart lurch, and I realize I’ve never stopped to consider how he ended up in this position. The question is on the tip of my tongue, but I bite my lip and hold it back. I think I at least understand why he doesn’t want a relationship; love is dangerous in this world.

Love can kill you.

“How old are you?” I blurt, quirking my head to the side to study him. He said something about digging through dumpsters for food when he was eight. Maybe I can piece together his story without having to ask outright.

He takes a swig of his beer, lips pursed coyly, eyes dancing before he swallows.

“Twenty-seven. Too young for you?”

I make a noise of disgust and turn on my heel, stomping to his bedroom.

“Towels are in the cupboard, and there’s girly shit under the sink!” he calls to my retreating form, his chuckle good-natured.

Unnerved to be so vulnerable around even someone as seemingly kind as him, I softly close his bedroom door and flick on the light. A king size bed takes up most of the space, black sheets and comforter pulled taut across the mattress. There’s a small walk-in closet, and shoved in a corner is a long, narrow desk, three different monitors mounted to the wall, the keyboard undulating in different colors. The sight reminds me of Jonah Fordson’s set up in his guest house, only he has triple the amount of screens and seemingly half a dozen keyboards. Maybe Teddy is just really into gaming.

Into the bathroom I go. It is quaint, sparkling clean (thank God) and simply decorated. Under the sink I find miniature bottles of feminine shampoo, deodorant, unopened toothbrushes and small tubes of toothpaste, even tampons, pads, razors, and a packet of Midol. He wasn’t kidding, and something about it makes my heart swoon. I’ve definitely misjudged him.

I do my best to make the shower quick in order to save him hot water, but to luxuriate in solitude for once is something I can’t seem to rush. Showering in a stall with flip flops while a bunch of yammering freshmen complain of hangovers is really starting to piss me off, especially when some of their touted family members frequent the circus.

Begrudgingly, I exit, the metallic clinking of the shower rings a sound I’ve missed. Wrapping myself in a plush black towel, I snort to myself; this man seems to enjoy one fucking color, and I can’t tell if it’s because he’s a bachelor and is worried about matching, or if it’s because he really just likes it.

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