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“No.” Something hit the back of the door, and I assumed he’d thrown a book. “Do you not understand whatfuck offmeans?”
“I want to talk game strategy,” I tried, pressing my palm flat against the wood.
He laughed like he didn’t believe me. After a moment he stopped and silence fell again, but he didn’t open the door or tell me to fuck off. I tried the knob, but it remained locked.
“Dude, come on. Why are you mad?” I pounded my fist on the door again, and it flew open, revealing a snarling Atlas. He glared at me and pointed a finger at my chest.
“You’re a douchebag, that’s why. You lied to Dad, and then he found out the truth, and now I’m fucking being punished.” He shook his head and went to close the door, but I jammed my foot in before he could. I used my shoulder to shove it open, successfully making him fall back a few steps.
I closed the door and spun toward him. “Do you honestly think you wouldn’t have been punished anyway? You trashed a Lamborghini.” I snorted in amusement. “I tried to help you.”
“Yeah, well you fucking made it worse.” He turned his back and stalked to his bed, flopping onto the mattress on his belly. He grunted out something else, but it was muffled by the pillow under his face.
I laughed, and he sent me a glare. “Are you sulking?”
“Fuck off. I’m not.” But him shoving his face back into his pillow contradicted his snarled words.
I walked in farther and sat on the bed beside him. I didn’t touch him, even though I wanted to do exactly that. There weren’t quite words for what we were doing because it wasn’t a relationship, and it seemed like more than fucking, even though we weren’t friends. It felt as though his hate for me had eased up, even if he wouldn’t admit it. His dad had nearly managed to fuck up the progress we’d made, though.
I pressed my tongue to the inside of my cheek and sighed. I didn’t know what to say to him other than to talk about the one thing he clearly loved—hockey. “We need to get ready to beat Clarion Forge next weekend. If you’ve got tips—”
He rolled over rather aggressively and stayed lying on his back while glaring at me with crossed arms. “Why are you asking for my help?You’rethe captain.”
“Because, believe it or not, we’re your team. We’ve gotta have each other’s backs, don’t we? Fuck, come on, help me. Make your dad happy.”
He grunted out a nasty sound. “Don’t think anything would make him proud of me. He’ll think it’s all you. As far as he’s concerned, there’s only one player on our team.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it. Everyone fucking knows it, even him.” I poked Atlas on the hip, and to my surprise, he didn’t lash out the way I’d expected.
He continued to stare at me with an unreadable expression.
“Listen, we’re a team, and we work together. You know the guys better than me. Help me.”
He kept staring.
I sighed, expecting rejection, but finally his arms dropped from his chest.
He shuffled backward to sit against the head of the bed. “What do you want to know?”
“Their strengths and weaknesses. What they’re good at and what they’re shit at. Everything.” I nudged his thigh and grinned. “Come on.”
“All right.” His mouth curved into a smirk. “Let’s start with you.”
I groaned, and his mouth stretched wider.
Asshole.
A few hours later found me lying on my back next to him. We’d gone through most of the team, and to my surprise, he’d even evaluated his own weaknesses. By the time we were done, we’d started talking about classes and even his dad. Then he’d begun telling me stories about the team and the former captain, Hoffman.
“So then, fuck.” He laughed loudly and slapped his chest, rolling into my side and burying his face against my arm. “Hoffman, the loser, went up to this soccer player, the pretty redhead, and kissed her on the cheek. Dude, she lost her shit and punched him right in the nose, and damned well broke it. The fucker deserved it for kissing her without consent, you know? And those soccer girls don’t put up with shit.”
“Yep, sounds like he deserved it.” I shook my head and grinned. I enjoyed seeing him this way, carefree and happy as he told me a story. It wasn’t often that I got to see Atlas so relaxed. “What was Hoffman like on the team? I heard stories.”
Atlas tensed and the happiness drained out of him quicker than water through a sieve. He shifted back from me and his jaw stiffened. “He was all right.”
“Only all right? He was the captain.” I tilted my head. Thane had talked about Hoffman with respect as a player, but there was an underlying secret there, as though he didn’t like the former captain. Thane was careful with his words, and I’d noticed him holding back, and that had put me on edge. When someone didn’t want to say something, there was usually a big reason why.
Atlas pressed his lips together and a stress line folded into his forehead. “What was said?”
