Page 9 of The Player
“What?” He shrugged, clueless.
“You forget I can see your thoughts as clear as day, and no, I’m not bringing a girl to feed your fantasy. If I did have a girl as my date, it’d be my own fantasies I’d be fulfilling.” I breezed past him to get to the car door.
“Like fuck you would,” he muttered. “That’s a fantasy I want in on…” And then, a little louder, he whined, “And what about my lift?”
I turned to face him and then huffed, “Fine. I’ll drive you home. But on one condition.”
“That I invite you in for coffee?”
“No. That you keep your mouth shut. I can feel a migraine coming on.”
“I’m great with migraines.” He laced his fingers together and turned his hands around to crack his knuckles. “I have healing hands.”
“And I’m not averse to pulling my knife out of my pocket again and reminding you why you should keep those healings hands to yourself.” I gave my own twisted smile as I cocked my head and said, “Your hands would look so pretty on my bookshelf. I need some new bookends.”
“And there was me thinking I was the creepy one.” He sauntered over to the passenger side of my car and then mimicked closing his mouth with an imaginary zip.
“Your silence is my favourite sound, Will. But I’ll believe it when I hear it.”
I clicked the lock on my car key to open the doors, and the lights flickered in response. As they did, I noticed the orange glow of a cigarette as someone further down the road stood at the entrance to an alleyway, smoking. But when my lights lit up the street, they stepped back, keeping their head low and their face hidden. I didn’t think any more about it, though. Smoking a cigarette in the street at eight o’clock was hardly a crime, and definitely not as creepy as leaning against someone’s car.
I climbed into the driver’s side but didn’t hear the clink as my knife fell out of my jacket pocket and landed in the gutter. A knife that I’d carried with me for years.
My security.
And in the blink of an eye, it was gone.
“So, what are you coming to the party dressed as?” Will asked, proving my predictions right and lasting all of twenty seconds in his vow of silence.
“I knew you wouldn’t last,” I said in a disappointed tone. “You know, sometimes it’s better to keep your mouth shut. Let people think you’re ignorant rather than open it and prove them right,” I joked, trying and failing to keep the grin off my face.
“Whatever,” he shot back. “Takes one to know one.” He twisted to face me. “So… what are you coming as?”
“I’m coming as your worst nightmare.” I smirked.
“My mother?” He hit the back of his head off the headrest and then groaned, “Thatwillbe a fucking nightmare. Woman never knows when to shut up.”
“Runs in the family, then.” I pulled down the street, taking one last glance at the shadow smoking in the alleyway as they turned to walk away. “Could be worse…” I carried on. “I could come asmymum.”
“I hear your mum has a soft spot for me,” he said, turning his head and grinning at the side of my face as I drove.
“Yeah,” I replied, my eyes fixed on the road ahead. “It’s called the swamp at the bottom of our garden.”
That earned a chuckle from him, and then he plummeted to new depths of stupidity with his next question.
“Maybe we could do matching outfits, you know, a theme?”
I snorted.
“I’m not twelve, Will. That’s never gonna happen. There won’t be any theme. No matching. No nothing. And this…” I gestured from him to me. “Let’s be real for a second. This is never going to happen either.”
“You keep saying that.” His focus shifted as he peered out of the passenger side window and whispered, “But we both know that’s bullshit.”
I tried to think of a witty response. I tried to think of any response. But my brain, as always, was scrambled whenever I was around Will bloody Stokes. Sitting there, large as life, taking up all the air in my car and making me ultra-aware of his every move, every breath.
Did I mention that I hated him for that?
I should’ve thrown him out for breaking his no-talking promise and made him catch the bus.
