Page 3 of The Killing Game

I’m standing there, looking like an idiot with my mouth gaped open, when I hear Jason’s haughty, deep voice echo in from the doorway.

“Good girl.”

Did…did he just?

Did he just fucking good girl me?!

Gods, have mercy on my black soul.

I hate that my body betrays me. My insides clench while fantasies run wild from that one, little phrase. The idea of Jason pinning me against the wall, feeling his breath on my skin. I catch myself wondering what his hardness would feel like pressed up against me, clawing at his back as he makes me submit to him. A million variations of positions haunt my imagination.

Do I seriously want to fuck Jason Vera?

This weekend is not going to go as expected.

If this is any indication of what’s to come, I need to stay on guard. There’s no way I’m ending this trip cumming on Jason’s dick. Nope. Can’t fucking do it. I made a deal with myself. There’s some lines I just won’t cross.

Colton walks into the kitchen looking back at Jason as he passes, confusion lining his face. I pick my jaw up off the metaphorical floor and return my composure to its natural, resting bitch face before he figures out what’s going on. Turning back to the counter, I grab the rum bottle and a glass to start making my drink. The spiced, golden liquid reminds me of the brief interaction that just occurred with matching amber eyes. I shoot a glance at Colton. When he looks back at me, I can tell he’s still confused.

“What the fuck was Jason mumbling about?”

“The usual bullshit. He’s trying to get underneath my skin.” I shrug, finishing my drink I was so rudely interrupted in making.

Colton joins me at the counter, grabbing a glass for himself. He grabs some ice from the freezer and returns with a handful for me, as well.

“Thanks!” I say, smiling warmly at my best friend as we clink our glasses. “Cheers!”

Colton takes a swig of what I assume is his expensive whiskey. He really takes this All-American boy persona seriously. Below that meathead exterior though, he’s actually really calculating when it comes to his career. He has an image to maintain. It’s what caught University of Wisconsin’s attention during try-outs. He wasn’t just a good player, he was also the wet dream of every basic white girl out there. The boy you could bring home to your parents. Someone who could be your Prince Charming. He will always be just Colton to me, though.

We met freshman year in theater. It’s not something he publicly shares. Very few jocks were in the fine arts department, let alone excelled at it. We were paired to do a comedy scene together. He was wary of me at first. In high school, I went way overboard into the emo-scene trend. The raccoon tail, colored hair, all black clothes, dark makeup, and brooding expressions. Unless you really got to know me, I was just that “bitchy emo girl”. We became best friends when Colton realized the fashion was only skin deep, my dark humor was borderline certifiable, and I cursed like a Marine. He told me once he likes the fact I treat him like a human instead of just eye candy. Who knew a jock could have a heart and a brain?

“Are you ready for training to start?” I ask him. Practice team isn’t exactly something to write home about, but it’s still a big deal in the grand scheme of his career. It’s the stepping stone to a bigger position in the future. I know he’ll take it just as seriously as if he was at a starting line.

Colton nods as he finishes his first drink.

“I think so. The coaches sent me over a nutrition guide to start on Monday before we officially start. I know that practice team isn’t my forever gig, but it’ll give me time to learn the tricks of the trade. I’ll make enough so I won’t have to worry about money and can solely focus on strengthening my skills. I’m really grateful I got this chance to do something bigger than me.” Always the humble Colton. I smile at him warmly. I’m going to miss these sweet moments we share.

“You’re going to do great, Colt. I can’t wait to see you on national TV one day and cheer for my best friend kicking the other team’s ass!” I wrap him in a reassuring hug. Just because I write horror and like to degrade people, doesn’t mean I can’t have a soft side. I genuinely care about the people closest to me. I want them to be happy. Colton returns the embrace with the biggest bear hug. He picks me up off the ground, squeezing my insides until I can’t breathe.

“Okay, big boy. Put me down before you break me in half,” I choke out. He chuckles before letting me go.

“Thank you, Ashe. I promise I won’t forget you when I make it big. I love you, bitch.” He taps me on the shoulder with his fist.

“I love you, too, jerk,” I say, returning his jab with a little more force.

Our gentle moment is cut short. The scream of a dying banshee fills the room.

It stops just as quickly as it started.

Then everything goes silent.

THREE

2:24 P.M.

Colton and I rush out of the kitchen towards the blood curdling scream we just heard. The accordion glass door to the balcony is open as Sam sits in the shade on her tie-dye yoga mat. Her arms are covering her eyes to avoid looking in front of her. We hear every explicit flow from her mouth.

“Fucking hell. You’re such a goddamn dickhead, Jason. I hope you get ass fucked by a cactus. Screw you!”