Page 17 of Hate Game

“You could’ve gotten hurt.”

My dad’s concern doesn’t ease my dark mood.

Does it matter?I want to ask, except asking will clue my parents that not everything is right with me. I detest their hovering more than I do their keeping their distance.

A movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention. I turn. Rue is standing on the bottom stairs. She’s wearing a faded red T-shirt, jeans shredded at the knees, and a ratty pair of Chucks stained with dirt and grass streaks. Her hair is tucked behind her ears, the inky strands cascading over her shoulders. The tips hit above the small of her back.

When I last saw her, she was with Red. He held her against him in a way I’ve imagined holding her countless times after running into her at a party or hearing Red run his mouth off about what a troublemaker Rue is with her wild streak and attitude. For shit’s sake, the moment he put his arm across her shoulders and kissed the top of her head, I had to get the hell out of there. Otherwise, I would have driven my fist into Red’s face for poaching on what’s mine.

What’s mine?

Jesus.

Rue isn’t my girl.

Not that I want her.

I don’t want Rue Lee.

I don’t want a girl who doesn’t fit into my future and will only bring discord into my family. But what will Red think of Rue staying with me?

I zero in on the girl in question.

Narrow face. High cheekbones. Her eyes are so dark; they are black. A mouth that can talk dirty one moment and sweet the next. She has a pert nose I like to bop with my finger just to see her sexy-as-fuck eyes widen.

Rue is easy on the eyes, but that doesn’t mean I’ll give her a pass for intruding in my life. By the time her employment is through, she’ll wish she had never approached my parents with the idea of “babysitting” me.

Yeah, this is Rue’s doing. Unlike Riley, Rue doesn’t have a bleeding heart. She is heartless and ruthless, seeing my misfortune as an opportunity to get from me what she didn’t get two years ago—an apology.

Ain’t happening. In my eyes, there is nothing to be sorry for. But why do I have the feeling I should get down on my knees and beg Rue for forgiveness?

“How long does she stay for?”

“Until the school year is over,” Dad says.

“That’s seven months!”

Mom sets her hand on Dad’s arm.

Dad backtracks. “When you clean up your act.”

My mom pulls two pieces of paper from her bag and hands them to Rue, followed by a pen. Rue signs both and gives one back to my mom. Mom steers Dad to the door. “We have a flight to catch, Stone.”

Back to Oregon. They moved whatever business negotiations they were working on from the Bay Area to Portland, which is why they arrived so fast. Prior to that, they were overseas for Mom’s business.

“Of course, dear.” He sets his gaze on me. “Rue is instructed to send us weekly reports. Clean up your act, Malice. Do more in life than the minimum.”

Do more in life than the minimum? Had they been around for more than half the year, they would see that I work my ass off. Schoolwork doesn’t come easy for me, and playing ball at my top-notch best takes discipline and dedication. Two things that have fallen to the wayside now that the season is over.

What’s on my mind lately is wondering what I should do with my days now that my boys are occupied with something other than chasing skirts and causing mayhem.

I walk over to the kitchen and pour a drink. Rue must have the superpower of lightning speed. She’s at my side, taking the glass of whiskey out of my hand.

“You’re not legal to drink, pal.”

“I’m no pal of yours, and good luck keeping me in line, sweet thing,” I say next to her ear.

“Is that so?”

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