Page 11 of These Wicked Games
“Didn’t I kick your ass enough for one night?”
“You mean the tickle fight we had on the ice tonight?”
I stand. “I meant when I punched you so hard you went down like a toddler trying on skates for the first time. Would you like a play by play?”
“Kuli,” Grey warns.
“I don’t need one. It’s very vivid in my mind how fucking weak you are, Oli. No need for a refresher.” My eyes fix on the bump of his nose, and his own eyes narrow on me as I smirk. There’s so much satisfaction in knowing he has to look at his ugly mug every day and see the damage I did to it.
“Jesus,” Grey mutters, standing up and getting out of the booth. “Hey,” he says to Andre. “Just trying to enjoy a night out. Alright? We’re fine. Everything’s cool, okay?” Andre seems to loosen his shoulders a bit, backing away a step. I feel rage, though. I can’t see past it. It’s like a devilish shadow swirling in my brain and cutting off the parts that see sense and reason.
Andre puts his hands up. “Fine.”
I can’t help myself, I can’t. I’m so tired of this backstabbing arrogant prick. He has everything I should have had. Everything he has was handed to him, or he fucking stole it from me. “Good idea,” I say. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint your father any more than you already do.”
His back tenses, and he turns to me. “Goddammit, Oli,” Grey hisses.
Andre storms back, lunging for me. He strikes first and I block it, still wedged into this booth. I grab him by the shoulders, tryingto move him a little, and he swings. I block, using my body weight to trip him up and slam him on top of the table, only faintly hearing the commotion around us—it’s as if I’m underwater and everything’s muffled. I swing on him, connecting with his jaw. Andre kicks me in the stomach, knocking the air out of me long enough to get off the table, and I spear him down, getting on top of him and punching wildly. Andre dodges one, elbowing me in the jaw. It knocks me back, stunned for a moment, allowing him to punch me in the stomach and knock the wind out of me. I block a couple of hits, and he takes even more. I see nothing but the man on top of me, punching. His fingers go around my throat.
Then he’s yanked off. I think I’m free until I feel someone wrench me upwards, twisting my arms behind my back. Metal cuffs go around my wrists. Breathing heavily, I look to Grey, who’s looking so unimpressed. And to Atlas—is that fucker filming? “Easy, big guy.” I hear the officer behind me as he walks me out of the bar.
I spot Vanessa on the way out. “Call the Otters’ stadium. I’ll pay for any damage.” She relaxes a bit, nodding. “I’m sorry.” I’m shoved outside. Red and blue lights up the area around us, but instead of putting me in a car the officer leans me against one. I look up to see Andre being dragged outside. He’s resisting a bit, but then deflates as the other officer props him up against his car.
Our eyes meet and I know the rage in his eyes matches my own. A metallic tang fills my mouth. I spit blood onto the ground, my eyes not leaving his. “Okay, fellas,” my officer says. “Are we pressing charges?”
I watch Andre, waiting for him to say something, until finally he shakes his head. “What’s a couple of fists between friends?” He gives me a bloody smile. “For old time’s sake, huh Ol?”
“Fuck you.”
His officer sighs. “How about we leave the violence on the ice, okay, guys?”
“We don’t really want to arrest either of you. I think both of you could just be adults and go your separate ways, yeah?” I wait again, but I’m not sure why I’m waiting on him to go first.
Andre shakes his head, but when his eyes level on mine again most of the fight is gone, replaced with something else. Is that fear? “Rather not get arrested,” Andre says softly.
“Fine.”
I feel my cuffs unlatch. When the metal’s gone I rub my wrists. The adrenaline starts to wane, finally, and my side throbs. That fucker got me good. “Right, well, be on your way.”
“Opposite directions.” The other officer chuckles.
Grey and Atlas come out of the bar, and Andre’s hazel eyes lift to mine. I almost think I see hurt in them . . . No, that’s dumb. I didn’t hurt him; he destroyed me. He pulls his eyes from mine and finally walks away. “You are one stupid asshole.” Grey shakes his head. “I gave Vanessa my agent’s number. Told her we’d pay for any repairs needed.”
While I appreciate that, I need to go back in and apologize. “You guys wait here.”
“No more fights!” Atlas yells after me. I raise my middle finger as I walk toward the bar.
Stepping inside, it’s quieter now, and I wince at the damage. Glass is littered everywhere. I gently grab the broom and dustpanout of Vanessa’s hands. “Let me.” She concedes before turning and coming back with paper towels and wiping down our table. “I’m sorry.”
“Men.” She shakes her head. “Can’t help yourselves.”
“Andre’s a dick.”
She sighs. “Andre is not a dick, you just hate him for whatever dumb reason you have.” I have plenty reason, but I’m too tired to defend myself. She wipes down the table. No one outside of my friends would believe it because they see what he wants them to see. What I used to see. Charisma wraps around Andre, his cocky attitude making him likable, but at the end of the day he’s still a dick who almost took everything from me. I think about my mother, how she looked in her last weeks.
No, he did take everything from me.
“He’s an arrogant prick.”
