Page 47 of These Wicked Games
“Our boy here is hungover.” Grey throws his arm around Atlas, rubbing his head. “We’re going down to the corner store to grab a sports drink and some painkillers.”
“And something greasy. With lots of cheese and hot sauce.”
Grey gives his shoulder a squeeze before looking at me. I’m waiting for either of them to comment on me leaving them last night, and not coming back to stay with them. After I watched Andre go back to the hotel, my mind partially went with him, and while I love drinking with my friends, I couldn’t ignore the pull to follow him back. I don’t know what came over me last night, but I hate how badly I already want to get him alone. “You want to come?”
I blink, focusing on Grey and not the line of thinking my brain wants to go down. “Sure.” I walk beside them. I’m not ready to go back yet anyway. I’m not ready to face this.
“So, did you and Andre finally make nice?” The hairs on the back of my neck rise. I need to calm down. “Didn’t stay with us last night.”
I hike my thumb at Atlas. “He snores way too loud.”
My friend’s glassy blue eyes widen on me. “Fuck you, no I don’t!”
“You do,” Grey confirms. So does Andre, but it didn’t bother me at all. In fact, I thought it was . . . cute. Fuck, I’m ill. That’s all. I’m just sick in the head. Andre sucked the common sense right out of me last night.
“Trying to get along, for the team,” I mumble.
“Well, good. I get why you hate him, but if it’s fucking with our game, you guys have got to find some common ground. You should have seen the media shitstorm Melanie had to wade through.”
I do feel bad about that. Despite how much I hate Andre, fighting with a teammate is never a good look. People gossip. The public latches on to any crumb to savor when drama is involved. It brings ratings, but I try my hardest not to make anyone else’s job more difficult. “What did she end up going with?”
“A lover’s quarrel.” Atlas snorts.
“The fuck did you say?” I growl.
“Whoa, easy. Just joking, Oli.” Atlas groans, cradling his head, tiredness etched in his features. “I can’t talk anymore. My brain has a heartbeat. Grey, take over.”
“He’s right. You guys need to put your past behind you.”
If only he knew how behind us we put it last night. Behind. In front. On Andre’s fucking knees. Shit, I need to think about something else. “You know it’s not that easy.”
“You sure he even did it?” I stop short at Atlas’s question.
“I thought you were supposed to be silent?”
“What!? I’m just saying. He seems like an okay dude.”
Yeah, I’d thought so too at one point. “I know he switched the labels. He took our cups.” The tiny black hearts all over his cup, then with my name on the label. “I know it was him.” Who else would have done it? The doctor? That’s stupid, and illegal on so many levels. What doesn’t make sense is why Andre did it?
I think part of me is starting to doubt, and it just brings more questions. I just want to know what happened that day. None of it makes sense to me.
“Maybe he’s changed. People do shitty things when they’re scared,” Grey tries to reason.
That’s the thing, though. Andre wasn’t scared, he didn’t give a shit. I’d thought that was weird. Had he always planned to switch our labels? My mother had called, though, and he couldn’t have known she was going to. That gave him the opportunity to do it. Maybe he would have just found some other excuse to take my cup. Now my brain hurts. “I want to stop talking about this.”
We reach the corner store, and the smell of breakfast sandwiches and incense turn my stomach. A short man sits behind the counter, his eyes widening a touch. Seeing three giant strangers has to be intimidating. “Uh, hello, gentlemen.”
“Oh, gentlemen. Fancy.” Atlas practically bounces up to the counter like a puppy. “Please give me the biggest, greasiest bacon,egg, and cheese breakfast sandwich you got. Do not skimp on the cheese. Extra hot sauce.”
The store seems to have a mixture of a lot of different things. Glass bongs sit in a glass case as I pass them. There’s food. I grab a bag of salt and vinegar chips for the car ride to the airport. Turning into an isle, I feel Grey follow behind me. “Nice hickey.”
My neck goes cold. “What?”
“Your neck is littered with hickeys, dude. You didn’t notice?” He smirks.
“Oh.” I rub my neck as if I can feel them. “I hooked up with a chick at The Charm Box.”
“Weird.”
