Page 96 of Delay of Game
A gentle touch reminiscent of a half dozen other times that all ended the same way.
I stepped out of his arms. “No.”
“No?” He blinked, bewildered.
“No. I’m not doing this again. By tomorrow, you’ll change your mind again. Nothing will change.” I pursed my lips, eyes fluttering to the fake gas streetlamp across the street. The LED flame flickered in and out, repeating the same pattern over and over. “I’m going home.”
“Let me drive you. We can talk on the way.”
I shook my head. “I need space. And you need to figure out what you want.”
“I want you, Astrid.” He said the words so convincingly that I almost believed them. My eyes fluttered closed, opening on the flame stuck in the same pattern over and over again.
I shook my head. “You don’t. You don’t know what you want.”
THIRTY-FOUR
ROB
Hard leather pressedinto my face as drool pooled around my mouth. I pushed myself up, rubbing my eyes as I pieced together the night before. Drinking, sure. The proof of that coated my mouth. Beer, by the taste of it. A lot of beer based on my throbbing head.
“Oh good, you’re awake.” Lena paused as she passed through the living room. She wore a gray robe over a pair of Breakers pajama pants, a spatula in one hand and a baby bottle in the other. “Breakfast is almost ready.”
“Why’d I sleep here last night?” I asked, raking my hand over my face.
She frowned. “Well, you couldn’t go back to the bar, so Noa brought you here and one drink turned into a dozen…”
“Mila?” A blind panic hit me, and I bolted to jump off the couch.
Lena tapped my chest with the spatula, bringing me to a stop. “With Gloria. I called her after we left the bar.”
The night slotted into place: almost fighting Fieste, going outside with Astrid, her walking away.
I covered my face with a hand and leaned back. “Fuck.”
“Yeah, fuck,” Lena echoed. “So much for being the least dramatic guy on the team, huh?”
“It’s been a season,” I admitted. Half a season, really.
“Get yourself together and then come into the kitchen,” she said. “I’m making breakfast, if I haven’t burned it already.”
Lena scurried out of the room. I raked my hand over my face before I followed.
Noa sat at the kitchen table, Kalani in a highchair beside him. He’d tied his long black hair into a low ponytail and balanced a tiny pink spoon in his hand, moving it back and forth through the air to the delight of his daughter. He landed his spoon airplane successfully only for Kalani to spit the food back out.
“Well, I tried,” Noa shrugged, setting down the spoon and taking the bottle Lena had set down beside him. He turned back toward me. “Oh, you’re up!”
“Lena promised breakfast and absolutely no comments about last night.” I pulled out a chair beside Noa.
“I did no such thing,” Lena said as she opened the oven. “And there’s coffee in the pot.”
“How about you let me drink some coffee and eat breakfast before forcing me to relive last night?” I asked, abandoning the chair for freshly brewed coffee.
“I’ll be shocked if you remember half of last night,” Noa muttered.
I remembered that I made an absolute ass out of myself. I remembered stepping up to Fieste and then chasing Astrid down the street. I remembered the look of disappointment on her face as she told me to figure out what I wanted before I bothered her again.
I shook away the memory and poured a cup of coffee black. I sucked down the strong Hawaiian roast and refilled the mug again before sitting down.
