Page 11 of End Game
“I mean, here. In Linton. At the cabin.”
“You just liked the way that girl fondled you,” I chuckle.
“I did. Not gonna lie. But I also like just being with normal people for a change.”
“Maybe you’re just drunk as hell.”
Maybe not, too. There’s a feeling up here that I can’t quite put my finger on. It reminds me of being home, back in Tennessee, a place I haven’t visited in a long damn time. The quiet, the way the night actually gets so dark the stars look like little silver lights in the sky, the way the people shake your hand and ask you how you are and then actually wait for your response. They’re all things I’d almost forgotten about. I’d stopped expecting themand now that I’ve witnessed them after all these years, I realize how much I like them.
“Do you ever miss just being a normal person?” Finn asks, as if he’s reading my mind.
“I’ve always been exceptional, so I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He acts like he didn’t hear me. “I’m not saying I don’t enjoy an easy lay, because God knows I do. But do you remember a point when it wasn’t just laid out there for you because you’re on the starting line-up for the Legends? You know, when you had to actually work for it?”
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a swallow that burns all the way down. “The ones smart enough to make you work for it are smart enough to stay the hell away.”
“If I ever settle down, I want to be sure she’s with me because she wants a life with me. Not because the first ten choices didn’t.”
Finn moans on, blubbering in his drunken stupor while my mind twists with a few things it’s been toying with lately. Like, how I am nearing thirty and have an excessively large bank account, but little else to show for myself.
When I was drafted, I thought the contract and endorsements and money were everything. I didn’t see the shady side of things, the parts that are downright disturbing. Despite my college coach’s advice to “find balance,” I didn’t and now I live this life I’ve started to feel is very lopsided, and I have no idea how to find the happy medium of fame and normalcy.
Finn laughs as I pull the car next to Poppy’s. Turning off the headlights, I spy a candle flickering on the screened-in porch. My pulse quickens as I wonder if Layla’s out there.
“All of this is the alcohol talking,” Finn chuckles. “I kinda wax poetic when I drink whiskey.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s a fucking truth serum for you.”
“I need a serum that will magically plant me in my bed,” he groans.
“Can you walk? You’re a big motherfucker to carry in by myself.”
“I’d pay to see that,” he says, struggling to sit up. “Can I do it without puking? That’s the real question.”
Climbing out of the car, I make my way around the front and help him out of his seat. He makes it to the house okay, but stops at the front door to vomit in the hedges.
“You are one nasty motherfucker,” I laugh, opening the door as he walks in. “How much did you drink?”
“Too much.” He grips the handrail leading upstairs and wobbles his way to the landing. “Did you pay Mach?”
“Nope. You’ll need to settle that tomorrow.”
“I don’t even want to know what that looks like.” He stumbles into his room at the end of the hall and falls face-first into the blankets. He’s snoring before his dangling feet stop moving.
Turning to go, I stop in my tracks at the sight before me. Layla is standing just inches away. Her straight hair hangs loose over her narrow shoulders, her body’s curves on full display in the clingy white one-piece shorts and tee-shirt thing she has on.
“I can smell the liquor from here,” she says, waving her hand back and forth in front of her face as she peers around the corner at Finn. “He’s in one piece. I’ll call Machlan and let him know.”
A niggle of jealousy fires away. “You know Machlan?”
“Of course.” She pulls the door closed and then stands with her hands on her hips. “Crave is our favorite place. They have great hamburgers and sometimes, if Peck is in a good mood, the best steaks you’ve ever had.”
“I make a good steak. How do you like it?”
“Well done.” She walks by me, the scent of pineapples trailing behind her. She doesn’t look over her shoulder to see if Ifollow, and while I’m sure I seem like a lost puppy, I do, indeed follow.
“Well done isn’t even steak anymore,” I contend, a couple of steps behind her. “It’s overpriced hamburger at that point.”
