Page 18 of The Games We Play
The way her laughter rang out over the music, warm and untamed.
The way her damn smile lit up the entire room, brighter than any neon sign could ever dream of being.
She was a walking beam of pure, blinding sunshine. That’s what I liked most about her. It was the reason why I was such a goddamn mess, I couldn’t get any of it out of my head.
I scrubbed my hands through my hair, exhaling sharply as I tipped my head back toward the ceiling.
I needed a break. Five minutes to pull myself together before I embarrassed myself any further.
With the crowd finally settled, I grabbed a cigarette from my back pocket and stalked toward the back door, shoving it open so hard it cracked against the brick wall before slamming shut behind me.
Fresh air and a smoke. That always helped.
I wedged the cigarette between my lips, flicked my lighter, and took a long, deep inhale. The burn filled my lungs, sharp and grounding. For a second, I let myself believe it might actually do the trick.
Then—
The door banged open again, but I didn’t turn around because I swear to God, if that’s Lizzie…
“Dude, what the hell is your problem?”
Not Lizzie. Dudley.
Of fucking course.
I turned just enough to see him standing there, arms spread wide like he was ready to throw down. His blond hair was a tangled mess, brown eyes narrowed in irritation.
Where I had tattoos, he had piercings—his lip, his eyebrow, a stud in his nostril. And, as always, he was decked out in all black, the look completed by a cowboy hat.
My blood simmered. I didn’t want to deal with him. Didn’t want to deal with anyone.
Why the hell couldn’t people just leave me the fuck alone?
Why did I always have to explain myself like some schoolboy? First, my sister and now Dudley.
The frustration churned so deep that I didn’t even think before I snapped.
“Worry about yourself and get back to work,” I barked, my skin prickling, vision blurring at the edges.
I took a step forward. So did he.
Toe to toe.
Both of us stubborn as hell, neither backing down.
Dudley exhaled slowly, jaw twitching before he took a step away, not in the mood for a testosterone-fueled pissing match. I was glad for it because, with how I was feeling right now, I didn’t see myself choosing the high ground. I’d say something I’d regret.
Pointing a finger at me, he sighed. “When you’re done dropping shit and screwing up drinks, get your ass back inside. Otherwise, I’m taking your tip money, too.”
With a shake of his head, he disappeared back inside, leaving me alone with nothing but my cigarette, my frustration, and the mess in my head.
Clearly, he had more to say but chose otherwise.
Dudley was one of my good friends. He and I have been working this bar together nearly every night for years, and to see him pissed at me wasn’t a feeling I enjoyed.
Sure, I liked to stir the pot and shake shit up, but I didn’t enjoy it when people I cared about were angry at me.
I had to get back to work, service needed to go on as normal.
