Page 42 of These Wicked Games
In my mind he prefers me.
“Hey there.” I look behind me, and a man about my age smirks at me. He’s hot, not nearly as muscular as me, but it looks like he runs or swims. His olive skintone looks smooth and soft under the tank top he’s wearing, and his black hair is messily styled. His brown eyes sparkle with mischief. “Can I buy you a drink?” I lookaround at the table. It’s not that I care who knows I’m gay, but I don’t feel the need to tell anyone. I’ve kept it a secret from my father, and I promised Jessica if I came out I’d tell her beforehand. Still . . .
What’s one drink?
Ignoring the looks from Ryker and the women with him, I smile at the guy. He’s handsome, I’ll give him that. If a certain dickhead hadn’t destroyed me a week ago, I’d be more into this. “Two shots of tequila please.” I look at the guy next to me. “On me.”
“Mm.” He smiles, leaning in close to my ear. I shiver as his breath tickles my neck. Maybe this is what I need to get my mind right. Oli is determined to ignore me. It was a one time thing. This hatred between us has bottlenecked for years; we’d just needed to release the pressure. “Maybe later you can be on me—hey!” He gets shoved aside as Oli steps between us.
“Oh, sorry. Didn’t see you there.” He flags the bartender down. “Bulga. Three shots.” Our bartender looks between him and me before grabbing the expensive vodka and pouring him three shots. Who’s going to deny this man a thing? This close I can smell his aftershave. It’s spicy with a hint of musk that is doing ungodly things to my brain. Oli turns to the guy, who’s still glaring a hole in the side of Oli’s face. Unbothered, Oli glares back.
There’s this awkward moment where they’re just sizing each other up, and no offense to this guy, but there’s no way he’s winning. Finally his glare deflates, and his nervous eyes try to find some help in mine. I’ve had enough. “Can you stop being a fucking caveman?” He hasn’t talked to me at all since last week. He has some fucking nerve.
Oli peels his gaze away from the man to look at me. “He’s not interested,” he says to the guy. The man just rolls his eyes, holding his shot and taking it.
“Thanks for the drink.” He walks away, and yeah, okay, I look back, watching his ass as he storms off.
“You’re a dick.” I take my drink, bringing it to my lips and trying to ignore my heart hammering in my chest. The heat from having him this close is soaking into my skin. I want him to take me back to our hotel. I want a repeat. I want to keep playing whatever dangerous game this seems to be. I want Oli unleashed, uncensored, unrestrained.
“That what you’re into? Pretty? Delicate?” I hate him and the truth that springs to my lips.
“No.” I know what I really want, and I know who can give it to me.
Years ago, these thoughts were so far off the table I never thought they were possible. I feel like I’m living a dream eighteen-year-old me played on a loop. Back when we were friends. Back when he didn’t hate me.
What Oli doesn’t know is that this feeling isn’t new for me. I feel it now, just like I felt it when we were friends nearly a decade ago. We were close. I’ve always felt this pull to him. I was devastated after that drug test, and no matter how much he believes I did it, I would never do that to him. Oli needed that contract more than anything, and I’d never come between him and his dreams. There’s nothing I can do to convince him, though.
I tried to ask my father about it, and I asked the doctor. Everyone insisted that they were tested immediately. The thing is, maybe Oli was using. I know he was stressed about his mother, and maybehe slipped. I’m not sure. What I am sure of is that I had nothing to do with it, and I hate that he believes I did. It kills me, because Oli was everything to me. When I was with him, all the shit I dealt with from my father felt manageable. He made everything easier. But I’m not here for him. I’m here because they were the only team looking and I desperately needed to get out of there.
I’d be lying if I didn’t hope we could be friends again, though. I miss him deeply.
I always have.
He takes another shot and it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that. To plead again for the millionth time. It’s no use, though. Oli hates me, and a blow job will not change that.
“Hey, we’re going.” Grey comes up to the bar, squeezing Oli’s shoulder. “Slow down.”
“Come on. I found a dive about ten minutes from here,” Atlas says, looking between us. I feel like our teammates are waiting for us to explode in a hurricane of flying fists again. I won’t. I’m too tired, and don’t want to fight anymore.
What I want from Oli is less violent, but no less lethal.
“Alright,” Oli finally says. My fingers itch to grab his shirtsleeve and beg him to listen to me. I let it go, my hand dropping to my side as I watch Oli take one last shot and slide off the bar. I almost want to look for that man, but what’s even the point?
My thoughts belong to Oli.
thirteen
Andre
I’m ready to drop as soon as I make it inside my hotel room. I drank quite a bit, and regretfully I’m completely sober, but thankfully I’m alone. I have no idea where the three of them went or if Oli will even come back to our room tonight. Where did he stay last week? Most likely with Grey and Atlas. They seem to be the closest guys on the team.
My body’s exhausted but I know my mind won’t let me sleep right now, so I peel off my street clothes then slip on a pair of sweats. It’s colder here than it is back home.
Home.
A smile plays on my lips. Oregon is home now. I don’t have to deal with my father. Sometimes I forget this and then it’s like this peace washes over me. I got a new phone when I moved, andJessica will not allow anyone to give out my information. Having her know and have my back feels like a weight’s been lifted.
Even if Oli and I test her patience.
