Page 49 of The Worst Kind of Promise
He sets his glass and towel on the ground, focusing his attention on the rack of dumbbells beside him. He squats down to pick up a twenty-pound weight for his warmup, readying himself with a breath. “You have to prove that you didn’t mean any of it,” he advises, curling his lower arm. “Whatever it was.”
Prove to her how much I still care about her. Prove to her that I’m done playing this game. Prove to her that I want the real thing with her for as long as she’ll have me. I pick Faye in every universe. In the ones where we’re best friends, in the ones where we’re sworn enemies, in the ones where we’re strangers who live on opposite ends of the world.I pick her.
When she looked at me while I was leaving the bathroom, when she had to ask if I’d come back because she didn’t think I would, it crushed my heart. I’d created this narrative that abandoning her was always my plan from the start, and that was never the case. I can’t have her believing that for the rest of the summer. I know what I’m putting at risk here—my relationship with Hayes. I know I’m choosing her over him. I know I should think harder about all of this. But if she spends another second not knowing that I’m so completely infatuated with her, I don’t know if I’ll survive.
Do you know what it feels like when it hurts to breathe? When you keep sucking oxygen into your lungs in an effort to breathe easier, but nothing seems to be working?
And then you see them standing there, waiting for you, waiting for all the possible adventures you two are about to have and the memories you’ll treasure from them, and the breath comes easy. Crisp and fresh and like nothing you’ve ever tasted before because you’ve been so used to breathing tainted air.
Is that what love feels like? And if so, am I destined to live a life smothered in a smog-infused atmosphere?
19
A LITTLE COMPETITION NEVER HURT ANYBODY
KIT
If there’s one thing my team holds near and dear to their heart, besides our red-blooded love for hockey, it’s some good, friendly competition. Usually involving alcohol of some kind. Lots of it.
I really didn’t want to be included in the team’s annual drinking game—especially with Faye playing—but Gage wasn’t taking no for an answer. And now, occasionally catching the glower on her face or the hushed insults under her breath, I’m subjecting myself to whatever ethically questionable game Gage has cooked up for us. Knowing him, I’ll probably end the night face-down in my underwear or possibly knocked out cold a mile away from the house. Both of which would be better consequences than having to face the love of my life after brutally ripping her heart out.
Faye looks a lot better than I do. In fact, the waist-squeezing corset she has on right now is making it impossible to concentrate on the rules of the game. Black lace hugging the defined curve of her hips, the tight cinch across her ribs pushing her small breasts to pillow over the sinfully low neckline. And she has this fucking black ribbon threaded in her hair—one that I want to unravel in my fist while I tease my tongue along her bottom lip.
Whenever my gaze flicks to her, I have to ignore the desire in my belly that’s a few ill-advised steps away from rocketing to high heaven. I know corsets are hard to take off—that there’s a bunch of ties and shit—but at this rate, I’d snap the thing in two to get even the smallest glimpse of her flawless skin.
Not that she’d probably ever let me. She’s pissed, and rightfully so. I know that I wanted to talk to her as soon as possible, but I didn’t even take into consideration if she’d give me the time of day. Which, surprise, she hasn’t.
Gage has five cups stacked in a pyramid at the opposite ends of the coffee table, all filled halfway with whatever alcohol we’ve had wasting away in our cupboards. He doesn’t always like to disclose what we’re drinking, which usually sledgehammers me around my third drink in.
The whole team is here, including Aeris and Faye, who both seem like they’re starting to regret partaking in tonight’s battle royale.
“Are we playing Beer Pong?” Aeris asks, peeking over the rims of the red solo cups curiously.
An evil grin touches Gage’s lips. “Not exactly.”
“Gage, I’m not cleaning up any more yack,” Hayes says.
“It’s a tame game, I promise. Nobody’s gonna yack or lose their clothes tonight. Or end up on a mattress in the middle of a lake.”
“Yeah, that was a lot less funny when I woke up to find a field trip of fifth graders surrounding me,” Casen mutters, a frown underscoring the steel-set glare of his eyes.
Faye doesn’t look my way as she laughs to herself, and God, what I would’ve given to see her eyes glitter with mirth when she did—her deep-cut smile lines, the scrunch of her nose, how she sometimes tips her head back in a candid way that deserves to be captured on camera.
I can’t stop staring at her, and I’m not doing it inconspicuously. Pretty sure I have cartoon love hearts popping out of my eyes. I hate that we’re lifetimes apart; I hate that we can barely be in the same room as each other. I hate that I’m not the one making her laugh like that.
“We’re playing a combination of drinking games,” Gage announces, placing two ping-pong balls in the center of the table. “Beer Pong, Flip Cup, and Rage Cage.”
That seems…excessive. And possibly dangerous.
Fulton raises his hand sheepishly, already sweating like a pig despite the game not having started yet. Poor guy. I’m pretty sure he isn’t equipped to handle any games besides tabletop ones.
“Yes, Ful?”
“Uh…what does that mean exactly?”
Gage rubs his hands together like a crazed mastermind. “So glad you asked, buddy. Faye, could you help me with the demonstration?”
Every head in the room turns to Faye, and she stiffens, pink cheeked. “Yeah, sure,” she agrees, tightening the bow in rolling hills of light brown hair.
