Page 34 of Bad Run

The streetlights whiz by as Reed speeds down the streets of Hollywood. I hate to admit it, but I’m sulking as I stare out of the window, watching the city pass by in a blur of lights.

I regret not calling a car and getting a ride home. This whole idea of going to the club feels immature and ridiculous.

Blake lowers the radio and twists his body in the passenger seat to face me. “Yo, Lancey-pooh. What’s up with you and Gwen?”

Shock shoots through me, making the hair on the back of my neck stand at attention at the mention of me and Gwen. “What?”

“What is up with you and Gwen?” he repeats his question.

“Nothing.”

Reed, the big oaf, guffaws at my answer. Normally I love my buddy, but he can be a nosy fucker, and I know he put Blake up to this.

“Dude, you stare at her all the time. And it’s not the normal ‘oh, she’s hot’ kind of look; it’s the look of someone in—” He stops, tapping his chin in thought.

“Love. Bro, you look at Gwen like you’re in love with her,” Reed finishes Blake’s sentence, knocking me on my ass.

Love? I look at Gwen as if I’m in love with her.

No. No fucking way.

“Exactly. That’s some Cam shit right there.” Blake clasps his hands and holds them to his chest as he makes a face. I know he’s trying to pretend he’s in love, but he just looks constipated.

“Fuck off. I don’t do that.” I scoff, and my friends laugh at me.

“Yes, you do,” Blake doubles down.

“I do?” I ask, the words tumbling out of me.

Do I look at her like that?

My brain flips through all the times I’ve watched her from afar. Cam also said something like that to me in the locker room, but I didn’t believe him.

If these two—who half of the time do nothing but joke around and talk about getting laid—noticed, has Gwen? Has Coach Anson? Ted?

Fuck.

“You do, and we all see it,” Reed answers me. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel as he continues to drive toward the club.

“Well, everyone but Snell, because he’s looking at her the same way,” Blake says as he turns around in his seat and turns the radio back up as though he didn’t just punch me in the gut.

This time, jealousy isn’t the emotion that clogs my throat; it’s regret.

And that’s confusing as fuck.

twelve

Gwen

Present

“Ohmigod, this place is amazing.” Jenna looks around the club in wonder. She got in from New York this morning, for her birthday celebration. She is staying with me for the next week before she returns home.

“It’s … something,” I say, taking in the scene before me.

Catch 22 is the new nightclub in Hollywood, and apparently, it’s all the rage.

I honestly have no words for the giant, three-level fishbowl. The bars, balconies, dance floors, everything, are made of either clear glass or something a lot like it. Purple neon lights streak across the walls, providing the only light in the dark club.