Page 93 of Play Fake
“Don’t get any fucking ideas about that,” Wren growls at him. “Just get the washcloth and go wet it in the bathroom next door.”
“Fuck,” I grunt, grabbing my stomach as another round of beer and vodka come up. The bile tears at my throat.
Wren makes a little soothing sound and keeps rubbing my back.
“Don’t worry about Mac, okay? I have a feeling it’ll all work out.”
“Not when she finds out about this. She already thinks I’m nothing but a fuckboy. She’s gonna hear about me fucking Holly in, what, is this your room? In your fucking room… and it’ll be over.”
“Did you fuck Holly?” She asks softly.
“No. Fuck no. I didn’t touch her other than to get her off me. I didn’t fuck Amber either. Jesus, my dick can’t even get up for anyone but Mac. It’s sad, really.” I mutter half to the trash can and half to Wren.
A bright little laugh comes out of her, and she rubs my back some more.
“You poor poor man.”
“I’m fucking serious here, Wren.”
“Oh, I know. You’ve got it bad.”
“Here.” East says grumpily.
A hand extends with a cold, wet washcloth, and I take it. East stands in front of me expectantly.
“I really am sorry, man.”
“It’s fine. I know you meant well. And she’s been really fucking persistent.” I wipe my mouth and my forehead with the cloth. It smells like the laundry detergent Mac uses and it makes me miss her a little more.
“Do you want some water?” Wren asks softly.
“No. Not yet, but thanks. And thanks for being so understanding. I’m sorry about this. About your room and coming up here.”
“It’s fine. It’s obvious it wasn’t your idea.” I can tell her icy tone is meant for the other person in the room.
“I said I’m sorry. What else can I do?”
“Groveling wouldn’t hurt.”
“Yeah, you want me on my knees, princess? Would that help?”
I feel Wren’s fingers tense against my back, and I look up to give East a warning. He doesn’t see it though because his eyes are locked with hers in a battle of wills, and I suddenly feel like a third wheel as the tension in the room mounts.
I’m still too nauseous and my head is pounding too much to deal with this.
I clear my throat and sit up straighter to get his attention. “Why don’t you go downstairs and see if you can call us a ride?”
East snaps out of his little stare-off and looks over at me, his face softening. “Got it.”
He takes off back down the hall, the music from downstairs drifting in as he leaves the door open.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Wren. If there’s anything I can do…”
“It’s fine, Waylon. Seriously. Don’t sweat it. But be careful with your friend, yeah? He’s kind of an asshole.”
“He’s a well-meaning asshole.”
“All the same.”
