Page 66 of The Demons We Hide

Mads looks on, a contemplative expression on her face. “Actually, I picked up an extra shift at work, so I think I’m going to have to sit this one out.”

My interest in the afterparty diminishes the moment the words leave her lips, but it explains why Roquel was so insistent on me coming. If she knew Mads was already out, then it makes sense that she’d want another person there when she isn’t chatting up that team member she’s always trying to hook. I have a feeling that the only attention he gives her happens at parties. A part of me wants to tell her to move on to greener pastures—find someone who actually gives a shit about her and not whether or not she’s willing to put out, but it’s none of my business.

“Oh, well, I hope you make good tips then,” I say lamely.

Mads grins and nods. “Me too.”

“You can’t go to the afterparty in your normal shit,” Roquel says suddenly, pulling away from me. “You need to actually dress the part.”

Another groan threatens to spill forth. It takes considerable effort, but I manage to swallow it back. “It’s going to be cold as fuck,” I remind her. “I’m not going dressed like I’m hitting the club.”

Roquel latches on to my arm and shakes me. “At least promise that you won’t come in sweatpants or leggings,” she demands. “A low-cut top, please?” She pokes the side of my tit and I yelp, ripping away from her and cupping my boob as I gape at her. “It’s not fair that you have so much and the rest of us have nada.” She looks down at her own somewhat flat chest before spearing me with a frown. “You don’t even bother to show off the goods.”

“Maybe because I’m not a damn supermarket,” I snap. “My body isn’t ‘goods’ for someone to buy.”

She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Still cupping the side of my tit, I shift a bit on the hard metal of the bleacher seat. “I’ll dress the way I dress,” I mutter. “Deal with it.”

Roquel opens her mouth as if she might protest, but before she can, the loud scream of the football coach’s whistle echoes up to us. The three of us look down to find that practice is coming to a close. I frown. Surely, they’re not done yet.

Releasing my abused boob, I reach into my pocket and fish out the phone that the guys insisted I keep. The time is far closer to five o’clock than I thought, but they’ve only been at it for a few hours. As if sensing the direction of my thoughts, Mads bumps my side, catching my attention.

“Practices on the week of a big game usually don’t run as long,” she murmurs. “It’s to make sure that they don’t get too tired out.”

I wonder if she knows that because her ex used to be a football player. Probably. Then, I wonder what happened to the asshole. All I know is that after the douchebag ruined her life and reputation by spreading videos of the two of them having sex, he disappeared. Off to college, or something like it, I assume.

Despite my wondering, I know better than to ask something like that. Mads has never mentioned the bullshit she went through. I wouldn’t even know it if Roquel hadn’t told me. Or maybe I would…

As the players exit the field, some of them look up, and though a couple of them seem to appreciate Roquel, sitting beside me in an unnecessarily short jean skirt that doesn’t match the weather, more than a few of them also stare at Mads as if hungry for what they’d seen in those videos.

Mads pretends like she doesn’t notice, but I watch the way her back stiffens and her shoulders hunch ever so slightly. The thought of some strangers knowing how I look without my clothes because someone I trusted thought it would be fun to release videos of me without my permission makes me… murderous. I decide right then and there, if I ever meet Mads’ ex, I’ll make him pay for what he did to her.

“Welp, I’m gonna head home,” Roquel announces now that practice has ended. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

Both Mads and I wave as she hops down the bleachers and grins at the footballers as they wave her way. I pick up the extra sweater I’d brought and stuff it, along with my textbook, back into my bag. Together, Mads and I stand and make our way down too, albeit a bit slower.

By the time the guys have finished grabbing their shit and showering—or rather, Gio and Lex shower, Nolan always waits until he gets home—I’m standing against Nolan’s motorcycle and Mads is long gone.

“You’re with me,” Gio calls out, gesturing to his Firebird.

I frown. “What? Why?”

“I’ve got work,” Nolan answers as he passes me, squeezing my hip as he reaches for the helmet dangling from his handlebars. He’s taken to forcing me to wear it when I ride with him and not using one himself like the idiot he is, but now I watch as he unbuckles it and loosens the strap to fit his own head. “Gio’ll bring you by tonight when I get home.”

“Work?” I repeat the word, narrowing my eyes on him. “Orwork?” They don’t need to ask what I mean. From the way his shoulders tense underneath the plain black t-shirt he wears, I know he understands my intention.

Nolan shoots me a dark look. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to, Jules,” he warns me. Which tells me all that I need to know. Nolan’s not going to the garage he works at today. He’s doing something for Darrio Vargas.

I bare my teeth, but before I can say anything, the grip on my waist eases and Lex grabs at me, pulling me away from the bike and enfolding me in a massive bear hug. I grumble against his chest where my face is smooshed.

“I’m still annoyed,” I huff moments later when he releases me.

With a chuckle, Lex pushes back a lock of my hair and hooks it behind my ear. “And you’re fucking cute when you’re annoyed too,” he informs me.

Which one are you fucking?Roquel’s earlier question comes back to me. How shocked would she be if she found out that I’ve fucked nearly all of them. Nearly being the key word there. My eyes slide to the side as Nolan swings one leg over the seat of his bike and fits the helmet over his head.

“Come on,” Gio calls out from where he stands at his car, the driver’s side wide open and the engine running. “We’ve got somewhere to be.”

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