Page 119 of Puck You Both

"And now you're here, and you’re in my bed, and you learned my name, and I keep thinking... If the rivalry goes soft... I don't know what I am out there without a man at the other end keeping score."

The bottle lies between us, forgotten, still pointing at him.

Wall draws breath.

Chapter 22

WALL

"IT WON'T."

The words tumble out of me automatically, and I am painfully aware of how fucking lame they sound, all things considered.

Because that’s not what Patrick’s confession was about, was it? No, it wasn’t about me. The man has just practically admitted to his whole professional career being a lie. He admitted the biggest dream he’s ever had has been taken away from him, ripped right out of his gloves before he ever really started living, and what do you fucking say to that?

My eyes dart to Theo’s face, and that split second is enough to let me know he doesn’t know either.

And so I repeat, "It won't,” because those are the only words I have.

Patrick's eyes lift off the bottle slowly, but instead of just meeting mine and dashing, he holds my gaze. "What won't?"

"Go soft."

To my left, Theo starts breathing again.

I reach across the bottle and put my hand over Patrick's. "I won’t let it. I need it too." My thumb presses over his knuckle. "Besides, I want to beat you more now, not less."

He arches one brow. “You do?”

“Yes. Because now I know you'll still be mad about it when I take you home after, and there’s a promise in that."

Patrick looks at me for a few seconds, face unreadable, before he bursts out laughing. "That is a profoundly fucked-up reassurance."

My chest deflates, ease washing over me. "Did it work?"

His hand turns under mine until our palms meet. "It did."

The quiet that settles in after that is softer than the last one, but it still has weight, and it's sitting on all three of us at once.

Theo cracks first.

"Okay, hell no." He snatches the bottle out from under our joined hands. "Beautiful. Life-altering. I'm unwell. And if one more person in this circle grows as a human being tonight, I will bite him." He plants the bottle down and spins with violence. "Somebody owes me a secret that doesn't require recovery time."

Three laps, a wobble, and the bottle picks me.

Theo looks up at me with naked pleading, and I take his point. Patrick is still wearing his confession on his face, and Theo's eyes never fully dried. What this night needs is somewhere to land that isn't feelings.

I scan my inner vault for something merciful. What I find is flammable. Close enough. "I bought a chair."

Theo blinks. "Congratulations?"

"For my apartment." I let it sit. "A very specific chair."

Watching Theo understand a thing is some of the best free entertainment left in this economy. It comes to him in stages—nothing, then a small frown, and then his entire face lights up like I’ve just hung the moon.

"The chair?" He's up on his knees. "You bought the— When? What kind? Is it leather? Patrick. Patrick. He bought the chair."

"I heard."