Page 38 of Burnout
She takes my cup without asking and drinks while eyeing me closely.
“You’re welcome,” I mutter dryly, but I’m not really upset. I start to make another drink for myself.
“Why do you have a murderous look in your eye, and who do I need to yell at?” Her eyes widen over the cup.
Tristan walks in and I glower as we make eye contact. He keeps going, walking through the living area and disappearing down a hallway toward the bedrooms.
He has a two-bedroom apartment even though he doesn’t have a roommate. He turned the spare bedroom into a workout room. I know because that’s where we made out. One minute I was poking fun at him for having a home gym and the next he was kissing me. Ugh. Never again.
“Oh. I see. I should have known.” My best friend raises her voice and yells after him. “You’re an asshole, Williams.”
It makes me laugh, how loyal she is even without knowing what happened.
“I’m sorry,” she says more sincerely. “What’d he do?”
“Just being his usual charming self.” I take a sip then cough. I got a little too heavy-handed with the splash of vodka on my redo drink.
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “Do you want to go? I heard the hockey guys have people over.”
“No. It’s fine.” I don’t want him to know how much his words are messing with my head.
“I can Saran wrap his toilets or call in a noise complaint.”
Smiling, I shake my head. “Just don’t leave me alone.”
She links her arm through mine. “Never.”
“Quinn, you’re up,” someone yells from the living room.
Her eyes light up with excitement, then she catches herself. “I’m done for the night.”
“Go,” I tell her. “I’ll watch.”
“You hate video games.”
“No, I don’t. I’m just not any good at them. I can be your personal cheerleader.” She just might have to tell me when to cheer because I have a hard time following most of them.
I settle into a spot between Quinn and a freshman golfer. Everyone else is playing, so I keep myself occupied by scrolling through my phone and drinking faster than normal. Occasionally I glance up to check what’s happening in the game. Quinn’s excitement level is my best indicator. When she wins, she’s loud and jumps around, and when she loses, she sits quietly and pouts.
Her phone pings three times in a row, vibrating on the couch between us.
“It’s Colter,” I tell her after a quick glance at the screen.
“Tell him I’m dominating Mario Kart. He’ll be so proud,” she says over her shoulder.
I snap a picture of her in deep concentration mode, then text it to him with her exact words. He replies with,Atta girl ??
I snort a laugh. “He’s very proud.”
She beams at the second-hand compliment.
I reply back asking how the tour is going.
Colter
Awesome. At a fair in Chandler tonight. Packed crowd.
I hesitate, wanting to ask him if Knox rode in the event, but for some reason it feels weird to ask. Then I say screw it, we’re working together. It’d be weird not to ask, right?
