Page 28 of Play Dirty

Steeling myself, I made a move toward the couch. No one offered me a seat. No one moved.

I stood there for a second, just looking at the space. Then I grabbed a pile of gear off the arm of one chair, and dropped onto the floor beside it.

The noise cut through the room just enough to get attention. Every pair of eyes settled on me.

I sat still, leaning back against the couch. No apologies. No hesitation.

“I’m not standing,” I said.

For once, no one laughed. No one really said anything. They all looked to Grayson, as if he had the answers. From the corner of my eye, I could see him and Ares… watching me.

Then, one by one, everyone’s attention turned back to the television.

The game unfolded. Someone shot a beautiful three-pointer. Zack cheered, and Asher slapped him, and in the excitement, Dorian knocked over a small bowl of pretzels.

My pretzels.

I didn’t say a word about it, though. It felt good just being among them, finally. Even if I wasn’t fully accepted.

Eventually, even Grayson and Ares stopped staring. I relaxed even more.

They could take my food. Mess with my laundry. Act like I didn’t belong here.

But it didn’t matter.

Because I did.

I leaned my head back against the couch and let the noise of the room wash over me. The laughter. The jokes. The low hum of voices that didn’t include me, but didn’t completely exclude me, either.

Across the room Grayson shifted slightly, his eyes now locked on the screen. Ares reached for another handful of pretzels, and didn’t even look in my direction this time.

Good, I thought to myself. Let them get comfortable.

I folded my arms across my chest, as my eyes drifted back to the game. They could take what they wanted. They could push, or test, or even provoke me if they needed to. It didn’t matter, because I wasn’t going anywhere.

Sooner or later, they were going to realize that I wasn’t the problem.

I was the solution.

~ 12 ~

HAVEN

I should’ve gone earlier.

That was my first thought as I stepped into the hallway, towel on my shoulder, shower caddy braced against my hip. The house was louder than usual tonight. Voices. Laughter. Something crashing down in the kitchen, that no one seemed concerned about.

The bathrooms were probably a disaster. And let’s be honest, they were always a disaster. Between Zack detonating dirty bombs every few hours and a cleaning schedule that was more of a loose suggestion, I’d seen some pretty gnarly shit. Literally.

All except the third-floor bathroom, which Sebastian and I kept pretty much spotless.

That one was ours, unofficially. In stark contrast to the cold, our third floor shower had been reliably predictable. The water was so good in fact, that most times the room became a hot, steamy oasis.

And after the frozen tundra of my third floor bedroom, hot and steamy was good.

I approached the door and found it open, with steam bleeding into the hallway. And just inside—

Grayson.