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“Laney, come on,” I reach toward her, sucking in my lips as I feel the heat of more and more people staring at us.
She shakes her head and licks her lips then turns to her right and takes the red cup from the counter that’s maybe half full.
“Come on, Cutter. It’s not like Ihaveto get up early. I could always call in sick.” She snickers at her lame joke. Sick time is not a thing for college athletes unless you want to find yourself off the roster and out of a scholarship.
Her lips soften into a cunning smirk as she brings the cup to her mouth. I knock it from her hand before she has a chance to take a drink, spraying beer on anyone within a five-foot radius and sending the cup somewhere on the other side of the kitchen counter.
“This is not you, Laney. Come on.”
She lifts her chin as her top lip sneers.
“Oh it’s me, Cutter. And you should quit while you’re ahead.”
We hold this absurd standoff for several seconds, and it grows eerily quiet in the area immediately around us. A few people push their way out of the kitchen, clearly not here for the awkward tension that gets thicker by the second. Matt, however, is not one of those people, and he worms his way in, putting an arm around the both of us as if he’s our agent and he has any right to touch me right now. I’m ready to swing fists.
“Guys, guys. Come on, what’s with my happy couple? Caney-ship lives!” Matt’s drunk but he’s always this stupid. I shirk his arm off of me when he tries to coax us to the back yard.
“Let him go, Matt. He’s in love with me and afraid to admit he lost the bet. And he doesn’t want to play a drinking game with me. But you will, right?” She puts a hand on the center of Matt’s chest and his eyes drop. I don’t think he knows what to do when a girl like Laney gets aggressive. And normally, I think he’d give up and let her be the boss, but he also is sober enough to know that this is his sister’s best friend, his roommate, and my—my problem.
“I don’t play drinking games, Laney. On account of my dad having been an alcoholic and all.” I level her with a hard glare and her fingertips slide down Matt’s chest until her hand drops off completely. Her eyes flinch along with the corners of her mouth. Matt backs away a step and Laney grabs the bottle of water from the counter, never breaking our eye contact.
“Fine. Let’s go to bed.”
She whips around with the bottle in one hand while she uses her free hand to shove people out of the way. I trail behind her, waving off offers of help from a few of my teammates, including Chuck. If I were more established in this house, I’d be telling everyone to get the fuck out right now, but I don’t need that rap being laid on me for the rest of our senior year. I’ve got enough bullshit to wade through, including a five-eleven drunk one that’s seriously got me stuck right now. I’m so pissed at her yet so fucking worried.Gah!
Laney marches through our door, and I pull it shut behind me as she climbs onto the bed and folds her legs up as she sits staring at me. She makes a production of pulling the cap from the bottle then taking a long drink that sends some of the water spilling down her chin and onto her white shirt. If she weren’t angry and drunk, this would be one of the hottest moments of my life. Not now, though. Not like this. This Laney, she’s sad. She’s broken.
I lock the door behind me to keep any unwanted visitors out of our room for the rest of the night.
“I’m right, though, aren’t I?” she says, pulling the bottle from her lips and letting it suction the bottom one just a little. I wish it were time to kiss it. It’s not. My eyes flit back up to hers.
“Right about what?” I lean against the dresser and fold my arms.
“You might not love me but you like me. You’re falling first. You lose.” Her eyes narrow on me and dance with her competitive fire. There’s a nastiness to this, though.
“I admire you, Laney.”
And yeah, I feel plenty of other confusing things, but damn, now is not the time.
“Ha. Whatever.” She pulls her shirt off and tosses it at me. I swallow hard because whether she’s acting out or not, she’s fucking gorgeous and nearly naked.
“Laney, stop.” She sits up on her knees and hooks her thumbs in her shorts, teasing to pull them down. I throw her shirt back at her before she has a chance then open my top drawer and get out my hockey sweatshirt and add that to the clothes now in her lap. “Put it on. And sober up.”
She falls back on her heels and swallows hard, instant hurt pulling her eyes down.
I turn my back to her, half to get my head right because goddamn is she sexy and half to take away her power. I glance briefly to make sure she’s getting dressed, and when she has my sweatshirt on fully, I turn back around and move toward her. She scoots back until her shoulders reach the headboard. I take the cue and stop at the foot of the bed and sit with my feet on the floor. Our eyes lock for a few hard seconds, and there’s a palpable ache. It’s there because I get it. I know how she feels. I know what disappointment feels like when you set unfathomable standards for yourself and work your ass off. But I also know that Laney, she’s not going to fail.
I take a deep breath and look down at my thighs and the small hole forming on the knee of my jeans. I have to get her off of this stupid bet thing so she’ll hear what I have to say. I have to take away her excuse, even if it means going back on all the hard conversations I’d hoped to have instead tonight. The feelings talk.
“We’re not in love, Laney. We both know that.” I meet her gaze, and her eyes widen for a breath at my words. That tiny flinch, I’ll come back to that. Tomorrow. In a few days. Sometime. I saw it, and it meant something.
“That doesn’t mean I’m some asshole who doesn’t care about you,” I continue. “Because I do care about you. And you have practice in the morning. And some work to do. And if you leave this room and go back to that bad idea Matt brought into our house, you’re going to hate yourself tomorrow. Maybe not right away, but eventually, you’ll snap out of this anger fog and sober up, and then you’ll realize you made a mess out of your dreams. Don’t do that. You don’t want to do that.”
Her eyes don’t blink for several seconds. Eventually, they flit to the bottle she’s clutching in her hands and she fidgets with it a little, rotating it while her fingernails pick at the plastic wrapping.
“My dad showed up to the game.” Her head snaps up to meet my gaze again and she blinks a few times.
That’s what this is about.
