Page 24 of Striking Range

This is the first time he has pried in the face of this particular lie—this means he does not believe me.

“Uh, sports stuff. Baseball, I mean. You wouldn’t understand it.” I find moments later that this is the wrong thing to say.

I watch his lips as they form a sarcastic smirk, his blue eyes finding mine and locking onto me. “I wouldn’t understand baseball? I think I would, because I’m not an idiot.”

I hurry to turn my attention back to the TV, pretending to be interested in the cartoon we’ve seen a million times.

I can’t lie when he’s looking directly at me. He’s too good at pulling me apart—a vicious predator, my little puppy. My ruthless viper.

“No, I just meant you wouldn’t understand the politics of it. That’s all.” I can hear the panic, the defensiveness in my own voice.

“Mhm. Sure.”

We fall into silence again, this time less comfortable. We both know I’m lying, and we both know that I’m aware of how obvious this fact is. For what reason he believes I’m lying to him, I’m not sure. But I am relieved that he’s not pushing me. I have nothing I could say; I’ve been hiding Ash’s true nature for twelve years, and I have no intention of ever telling him.

I don’t want Skylar to worry; I don’t want his pity. But most of all, it’s embarrassing. So fucking embarrassing.

My own parents abandoned me—and then the people who did want me only truly wanted a punching bag. I don’t want Skylar to think of me like that, to see me as so little. To see my true worth.

“I have to work at six tonight,” Skylar starts, placing his mug back on the table now that it’s half empty. I’ve never seen him finish a glass, not in twelve years. “Want to get Henry and Kelly together and get dinner before?”

I shrug. “Sure. But then I’m going to the bar and getting drunk.”

Skylar snorts. “Of course you are.”

We spend most of the day just like that: laid out on the couch doing nothing. At some point, Skylar makes me review some of his math homework, which is all fine; I like that there is at least one thing he’s not the best at.

As the early evening rolls around, we load up into Sky’s Honda and head to Angie’s Diner, leaving my car at the apartment so I can Uber home later once I inevitably get wasted.

Pulling into the parking lot, we spot Henry and Kelly by the entrance, waving at us enthusiastically. A hot spike of anger and unfamiliar jealousy courses through me at the sight of Kelly’s beautiful face.

But just as quickly as it comes, it goes, and it’s replaced by guilt and shame. She was drunk and free to do as she pleased. I have no claim over Skylar.

Plus, she gave me seven minutes in heaven with him, so truthfully, I should be thanking her. Or cursing her, depending on which side of my animal brain you’re asking.

And then, because everything I love in my life has a price, I look between our two friends and remember Ash’s warning. Sadness coats everything that surrounds me and everything that lurks inside.

I do not believe my friends are worthless. Just because they don’t fit the Carmichael image doesn’t mean they aren’t good enough to be in my company. I am nothing special, anyway.

Mediocre man, mediocre baseball player, sex god.

There are at least fifty other men out there just like me. The only great thing I have to offer this world is how fast I can bring someone to orgasm. I’m nothing special.

Skylar and I join up with Henry and Kelly, the four of us falling into our usual seats at our booth in the back.

We order what we always do; we say hi to Jenny.

“How are y’all’s headaches?” Kelly asks, sucking down her cookies-and-cream milkshake, her pink hair in two low pigtails.

“I’ve been fine since I went to the gym this morning,” Skylar says, shrugging.

“Sky fixed me around lunch,” I add.

Kelly laughs. “Of course he did. Pro bartender and all that.”

“I don’t get hangovers,” Henry brags, throwing an arm over the back of their booth.

This earns him a glare from the girl next to him as she sasses, “Okay, Chuckie. Brag about it.”