Page 7 of The Games We Play

“So, were you getting ready, or are you wearing that?”

“Hmm?” I glance at my satin tank that does little to hide my hardened nipples and lands above my belly button. Ryan seems to notice too. His gaze locks on my chest, and I move my folded arms higher to block his view.

He clears his throat. “The homecoming party? We were supposed to go out to eat beforehand?”

I take in his attire for the first time. Unlike my pathetic excuse of a human vessel, Ryan is on the college football team and is always dressedto kill. He’s popular and invited to all the parties. Where he usually brings his lame best friend, whom he refuses to give up on.

Me.

“What time is it?” I ask.

“Almost five. Are you feeling okay? Are you sick? You don’t look so good.”

“Thanks, Prince Charming, that’s what all the girls want to hear,” I quip. Although the humor I’m trying to fake doesn’t portray in my voice. I slept all day. And the more I think back on it, what happened last night is very real. “Let me go get ready. I’ll be back down in thirty.”

“Girl, math means two hours,” Ryan sighs and plops on the couch. He finds something to hold his interest on the television, and I take the steps two at a time.

The handwritten note remains on the table, and I snatch it off, crumple it, and throw it in the trash. The hot water from the shower soaks the bandages off, and I’m surprised to find butterfly strips on two of the deeper cuts.

First, he chases me and threatens me, but at the end of the night, he tucks me in and takes care of me? What in the actual fuck…is happening?

***

Just to prove Ryanwrong, I’m ready in an hour and a half. The shower did little to help my hangover, but once we got to Ryan’s frat house, it was nothing a red solo cup couldn’t cure.

I’ve drunk half the cup, my headache subsiding, when someone grabs it from my mouth and pulls it away. “Hey,” I whine. Ryan forces a slice of pizza at me, and I grimace.

“We both know you haven’t eaten today, and before you put more booze in your system, you need something substantial.”

I take a very unladylike bite of the cheesy slice and nearly swallow it whole before ripping my cup from his hands. “Happy?” I say around the mouthful.

“No,” he deadpans and forces another bite on me, and I end up eating the entire piece. I won’t admit it aloud, but he is right. I know that. I just can’t bring myself to care.

Several girls come over and dance around Ryan, clearly hoping tonight is the night he ditches his mess of a best friend and gives one of them a chance. I retreat to the wall, just like every time he forces me to come to one of these things and people watch. My nerves are shot, constantly scanning the room for a familiar mask. Or what if he comes back tonight? I left Roxy—not like the man scared her. Would he be waiting for me when I got home?

“I found you.”

I jump at the voice to my right and look up to find Seth smiling down at me. His hair is plastered to his forehead, and his sweaty shirt clings to his body. He’s not as ripped as my visitor last night, and his hands aren’t as large. He couldn’t be him…could he?

Am I seriously comparing the guy I’ve been crushing on for the past year to a stranger?

“What?” I blurt, not remembering what he said.

He dips his head closer so his lips brush against my hair. “I got yourtext last night.”

I think back through the haze of what I sent. I remember messaging him, but what did I say?

“Oh, yeah?” I try to play it off. Then I remember. I asked if he wanted to hang out, come over and watch a movie, or go eat. How lame could I possibly be?

“Want to go somewhere quieter?”

I glance around and spot Ryan staring at us. A girl humps his leg. At least, that’s what it looks like she is doing. Seth runs his hand down my shoulder and grabs my hand. Before we make it to the steps, he is pulled back and spun away from me.

Ryan drops his hands to his sides in fists.

“What’s your problem, Collins?” Seth shouts.

“She’s drunk and not going to be another notch for you to check off.”

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