Page 63 of Level Up for Love

He would have made a better Littlefinger. Traitor.

I stand immediately. Solo sniffs Owen’s cloak and then trots away to find attention elsewhere. He’s clearly a dog of taste.

Owen regards me with a sullen scowl. “Really, Reagan? You’re here with Wesley Locke?”

I set my jaw. “I’m here with my D&D group, actually. He plays with us.” What a strange way to phrase our complicated relationship. It erases so much of the context that is Wesley.

Shock flashes across his features. “You’re running a game again?” I wonder if I’m imagining the note of betrayal in his voice. It doesn’t matter; of all people, he has no right to feel that way.

“I’m playing this time, actually. Wesley DMs.”

Owen releases a hollow, unhappy laugh. “From what I saw in the hallway, it looks like he does more than DM.”

I feel an ugly twist of satisfaction in my chest. Good. Our little show worked. “Maybe,” I say. It’s not exactly a lie. “But that’s not really any of your business anymore, is it?” None of it is—not whom I’m spending my time with, or the details of my new D&D game. I feel the loss of everything we used to share all over again, the chasm he tore in both our relationship and our friend group. Underneath the layers of anger and resentment, despite how I’d almost convinced myself I’d healed, the old wound aches.

For a moment, I think my words are enough to make him storm off. But instead, he takes a step forward and drops his voice. “You know, I heard about Hurricane. You really think he’d care about you now if he wasn’t at rock bottom?”

That’s too far.

With enough determination, I’m sure I could make my foam sword into a formidable weapon. I could send this boy crawling back to the North. But I refuse to flinch, despite the way unease worms its way into my chest. “Everything looks like rock bottom when you’re sitting there yourself,” I say coldly.

The door squeaks behind me, and suddenly fingers brush aside the silver chains of my costume to press a calming touch between my shoulder blades. I drop my shoulders immediately; I hadn’t realized how close they were getting to my ears. The hand shifts upward to circle securely around the back of my neck.

Behind me, Wesley says, “I got your seltzer,” though I hadn’t asked for another one. “Everything okay here?”

Owen’s pale eyes shift to look at Wesley over my shoulder.

And then, inexplicably, Wesley inhales sharply, and his hold stiffens.

For a long moment, no one speaks, but I’m done with this. “Everything’s fine,” I say. “Owen was just leaving.” I fix him with a glare.

Owen’s jaw flexes, like he’s trying to work himself up to say something, but then he just stalks off with a sigh.

When Wesley doesn’t move, I spin to face him. Emotions war on his features: annoyance, determination, and, most puzzling of all, confusion. He looks down at me, brows knitted together on his forehead.

“That’s your ex? The same guy from college?”

“You knew him?” Owen certainly knew who Wesley was, from all the shit I used to talk about him, but Owen wasn’t in a lot of the advanced classes I had with Wes. Their paths might have never crossed.

“I—not really,” he says. “I didn’t know his name. But wasn’t he there that night?”

I don’t have to ask which night he’s talking about. “He was,” I say slowly. “Why?”

“I just…I wasn’t expecting to recognize him. That’s all.” His gaze is distant for a moment before he blinks and is back with me, concern etched on his face. “Are you okay?”

It’s cold enough that I can see my breath when I release a long sigh. “I’m fine. Miserable people say miserable things.” I glance to where Wesley toys with the stem of a wineglass, a change from what he had earlier. Red wine. Of course. After all that discomfort, it feels good to laugh.

“You’re really committing to the bit, aren’t you?” I tease.

He flashes me a smaller version of that famous lopsided smile. “The first beer was for me. This is for the costume. I don’t even like red wine.”

God damn him, but it’s cute.

“Thank you for that,” I say eventually, looking down. “You didn’t need to.”

“If anything, I did it for him.” His tosses his chin in the direction in which Owen walked away, his tone playful and rich with sarcasm. “I could tell you were about to tear into him. Would’ve really killed the party, honestly.”

As the moon rises higher in the sky, the air grows colder. I’m more aware of what my costume doesn’t cover as goosebumps dimple my skin. I hug my arms around my middle.