Page 77 of No Capes
It would be you and Fox. No one else. No drama, no facing Arielle or Damian Scott Jr. Just you and—I exhale. “Bring it on, Levine.”
Fox reaches for my hand, pulling me off the couch. “We’re matching today, Roberts. We both went for the ‘comfy’ look.” I examine his clothes, a white shirt and sweatpants. Hissweatpants don’t make him seem lazy, and his shirt makes him even longer and leaner.
He hands me a pool stick. With flair, he places a triangle on the billiard table, setting up our game. “Wanna go first?”
“Nah,” I say. “You need the advantage.”
“Shots fired.” Fox leans over the green felt to make his play. Two balls shoot into opposite corners. “Stripes.”
I line up my shot. Two of the solid-colored balls knock into the same pocket. I blow off the end of my pool stick.
Fox’s turn. He shoots and a striped ball knocks one of mine into a corner pocket. He rubs his neck. “Alright, time for me to try.” His shirt clings to his back as he leans against the table. I look away. Being with Fox right now is not good for me.
The room simmers with feelings I shouldn’t be having until Fox pulls me out of them. “Everything splash-tastic, Mads?
I can’t face him, so I stare at the pool table. “Just thinking about all the girls you’ve played pool with down here.”
“What girls?” he asks, like I should know what I’m implying isn’t true. “You’re the only girl I’ve liked enough to battle to the death in a game of pool.” His expression flickers between confusion and disbelief.
“I take it back then. Sorry.” I take my turn, my ball shooting into the opposite corner of the table from where I had intended it to—the price of being ashamed, yet relieved.
“Yeah, and you wish you could take back that play.” Triumph settles on his lips. “Allow me to show you how it’s done.”
Fox ends up winning that game of pool, but then I win the next one. We’re in the middle of the third game, our tie-breaker-to-end-all-tie-breakers-that-was-supposed-to-end-all-tie-breakers when he asks, “What about you? Is there a gentleman in your life, Madeline?”
“Why?” The lights in the room suddenly feel brighter, almost dangerously bright.
“You’re moving like something’s weighing you down. It could be everything from last night, but you asked me about my romantic life, so perhaps something’s going on in your own.” His voice continues softly, “Something you’d like to talk about?”
“You say that like you want to hear it.”
He eases closer. “As I am currently winning this tie-breaker-to-end all-tie-breakers, this can only be a fair fight if you give our game the attention it deserves. I just want to beat you fair and square, Maddy.”
There he is. That’s the Fox Levine I know.
“Fine.” I twist the pool stick in my hand, amazed that I’d agreed to tell him. “But if you screw this up, I will never talk to you again.”
Fox touches my shoulder, steering me to the couches. “You know I aim to misbehave. But I’ll do so responsibly, just this once.”
I sit carefully, and Fox perches on the couch next to me. Given his limited probing into D.S. yesterday, I’m not sure if Fox can handle hearing about Dark Static. Still, it would be nice to unload on someone, especially since Arielle and I will need to work with Dark Static soon. I also want to know what Fox thinks about the events of the last 24 hours.
“Um. Dark Static visited me last night,” I begin, slowly raising my gaze.
Fox’s brows rocket up his forehead. If he’d been sipping a glass of water, he would have choked, and I would have had to call an ambulance.
“Okay.” He coughs. “Drop another bomb on me, why don’t you?”
“Well…” And it pours out. All of it. I tell Fox almost everything. Everything, except about my powers, or Phil’s. When I finish, he dips his head, thinking.
“So now what?” he asks, homing in on the part that’s eating me.
My hands wring in my lap. “You know when you meet someone and there’s this instant connection and you just want to keep talking to them? It felt like that with him. A lot. Now, he’s gone, and I don’t want to like him anymore, but I need to understand. I hate feeling like this.”
Fox leans forward as tears coat my voice. His quiet gaze fixes on a wall across the room. He rests his chin on his fist, his elbow on his knee, and his thoughts must be miles, or planets, away. It’s not the reaction I hoped for, after spilling my guts out, but he hasn’t run upstairs or to Phil or to the police.
He asks, “Did you love him?”
The room goes profoundly still. Any movement could cause the wall between us to detonate once and for all.
