Page 38 of Twisted Needs

CHAPTER 11

FUNNY GUYS

ANDERS

Five Months Back

I don’t know how I always get roped into these kinds of things.

Aviva’s boyfriend was drafted to the fucking Sentinels of all teams, so now she’s fully embracing her newfound WAG status and dragging me down with her.

There’s a bunch of mats that span the length of the rink, making it easier to walk across the ice without slipping. Around us, dozens of small kids weave in and out of each other, cutting the ice in their little skates.

“I regret my choice in outfit,” Aviva complains, pulling down her plain white baby tee that keeps riding up her hourglass figure.

“I don’t know why you didn’t just wear Cal’s jersey,” I point out.

“Because WAGs don’t wear their partner’s jerseys,” she mutters. “That’s like going to visit your man who works at Starbucks in your own little green apron.”

I snort. “I guess that’s true.”

“And besides…” she sighs. “I don’t want to rub it in your face that my man is in the NHL and yours isn’t.”

“He’s not my man, Aves,” I roll my eyes. I flick my gaze in the direction of Seth and his roommate, Connor.

I didn’t even think it was possible for frat guys to be bi, but Seth is, like, the epitome of a bi frat guy. In other words—he’s a man-whore. Sleeps with everyone. No matter which parts they have down there.

Connor, unfortunately, is painfully straight. He’s dating some chick named Abigail who has big tits and an even bigger ass. She’s gorgeous, by the way, but the man couldn’t be any more obvious about his intentions.

“He’s not my man.”

Aviva tilts her head down and lifts a brow. “Didn’t he fuck you last night?”

“That’s…not important…”

“Anders, babe,” she sighs, shaking her head. “I know you’ve got this hopeless little crush on you know who, but that doesn’t mean you should be holding yourself back from having a bit of fun.”

I know. Obviously I know that. But I can’t help it.

Parker and I are friends. That’s it. Nothing more than two people who have known each other a very long time.

He has me over for dinner sometimes to catch up on life. I call him sometimes when I’m at the store and feel awkward walking around in there alone. And there’s been a few nights where I’ve had too much to drink and he’s insistent on me keeping him on the phone until I’ve gotten home safe. There’s nothing inherently weird about that. I do the same exact things with all my other friends.

The only difference, though, is that Parker and I have the kind of history that stands better as something unspoken rather than something that’s made known to other people. A mutual feeling between the two of us that lives and breathes as its own, but bringing it to fruition is a whole different story.

It’s the definition of complicated.

“I am having fun,” I argue. “Look. We’re here—fun. So fun.”

“You look miserable.”

“I’m hungover.”

“You never get hungover.”

“Okay, stop clocking my shit,” I groan.

She gives me a look, pursing her lips and shaking her head a little.