by C. M. Owens
His lips part. “So the game is already over after just a few minutes, but no one knows that but the queen.”
It stops on a spot where Harley is having to explain to some guys who’ve stumbled across her they haven’t captured her; the game is, in fact, already over.
“Everyone assumes the queen has to go to that statue, when in reality—”
“The queen had too much of an advantage from the very beginning, and she wasn’t playing the game. Everyone else was playing her game,” he says, eyes going a little wide as a slow grin curves his lips. “You’re going to have to talk nerdy to me more often, Britt,” he adds, standing abruptly and bending over to press a hard kiss to my forehead.
Then he’s gone, already jogging toward the guest room, while I try to remind myself that forehead kisses are completely platonic. I half wonder if he’s installed a strobe light when the room flashes before I realize it’s just me blinking uncontrollably.
People truly will believe I’m a robot if I continue to glitch like one. Robots are only sexy to a small demographic.
Base isn’t in that demographic.
I’ve finished up the rest of the short clips by the time he walks back out, a shirt in his hand. My phone vibrating tries to help distract me from all the very eye-catching things.
“Please tell me you’re hungry, because I’m starving, and I want to buy you dinner. It’s my pathetic way of making up for all my crazy,” he says, grabbing his own phone.
I look down, reading the message from Harley.
HARLEY: Taking in the sights? Figured out why I’m the world’s best boss and most awesome friend yet?
Confused, I glance up to answer Base, only to get distracted immediately while he pulls on his shirt, his attention still on his phone. It’s harder to look away when he doesn’t know I’m looking. Physically harder.
It’s getting out of sorts.
I thought taking off of clothing was supposed to be the sexy part. Not the putting on of clothing.
My eyes flick down to my phone, then back up to Base, then back down again, and I have an ooohhh moment.
In the very next second, I want to do her physical harm.
ME: I told you he rejected me, or have you forgotten? How can this be anything other than cruel?
HARLEY: Did you mention your hymen before said rejection?
I blink.
ME: Yes.
HARLEY: Then there’s still hope. Besides, no guy calls a girl his muse, takes photos of her all the time, and has zero attraction to her.
ME: You’re supposed to help me be less confused. Not more confused.
HARLEY: I’m the world’s best boss, and one day you’ll buy me the appropriate mug. When that day comes, I’ll know it’s because you mean it and not because you’re sucking up.
Following that, she sends me a picture of a mug with the requested captioning, World’s Best Boss.
They genuinely find me to be random, but their collective train of thought eludes me the vast majority of the time when they’re being purposely vague.
Putting my phone away, I notice Base grinning at me. “Why do you look frustrated?”
“Because Harley…doesn’t always make sense…even though she’s usually the one I understand the most.”
Now it seems more and more like he’s the one I understand the most. Then sometimes, I simply don’t understand him, not even a little bit, not even at all.
“What’d she do that you don’t understand?” he asks, that trademark smile of his inching across his face. “Maybe I can help translate.”
“When I told her you were here and shirtless a lot—”
“You mentioned the fact I’m shirtless a lot?” he interrupts, his grin turning lopsided as he arches an eyebrow at me.
“It came up,” I say with a shrug. “Anyway, she thinks she’s ‘the world’s best boss’ and an ‘awesome friend’ because she’s making me work at home so I can see you shirtless.”
His head drops back as his body shakes with evident silent laughter he keeps tucked away behind firmly pressed lips.
“After I specifically told her you rejected me,” I go on, getting to the tedious part, since he asked. His silent laughter stops, judging by how his body goes still. “So I don’t understand her current thought process.”
He clears his throat, looking over at me with an expression I can’t possibly decipher. Incredulity, maybe?
“I didn’t reject you, Britt. I rejected taking something that personal from you, because it’d be a dick move. I’m still on the path to sainthood.”
I have no idea what sainthood has to do with anything. I could point out the only thing I’ve deliberately offered was the one thing he rejected, therefore meaning he rejected me—but I don’t.
Instead, I stand, grab my purse and slide on my sandals without commenting.
“Are you mad at me?” he asks, causing me to frown as I look over my shoulder.
“Why would I be mad at you?”
His lips twitch, and he exhales harshly.
“I told you my priorities right now are music. In two more years, if you’re still up for grabs, I’ll be the first person asking for a second chance,” he says with an easy grin, one that reminds me of Maverick when he’s being charming…and saying things just to be nice to people.
“Okay,” is the only safe word I can find when I remain undecided on how sincere that comment is.
He’s the type to spare feelings, so I can imagine him being artificially charming to cushion the sting of rejection.
I shouldn’t have brought it up.
“And I’m back to getting one word answers,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I thought we were going to eat, because I’m actually hungry,” I state in overt deflection.
Sensing the subtle tension from this really unexpected conflict, I turn and walk toward the door, hearing him laughing in a way that doesn’t really sound like he’s amused.
I would try to fix it, but the more I talk, the worse things usually get, especially without a buffer. I don’t want to risk saying the wrong thing and accidentally escalating the situation until it spirals out of control.
I scrub a hand over the back of my neck. Avoiding all conflict is a lot harder when you spend more time together.
Chapter 17
BASE
“Tell me something no one else knows,” I say to her as I drive her car.
I’ve decided to leave my truck at my place until the Sterling men organically learn how outrageously and inappropriately I’ve inserted myself into her life.
Not that I’m scared of the Sterlings, but…I’d like to delay being punched by a Sterling for as long as humanly possible.
“I used to eat crickets,” she deadpans in answer to the question I forgot I asked. “I only stopped because people found it disgusting.”
I miraculously choke back any sound. “If people thought it was disgusting, then clearly someone else knows that.”
She taps her chin as though she’s thinking. “Dane didn’t blink.”
“What?” I ask, confused.
She shrugs as she props up on the console, bringing herself closer to me as she stares ahead and speaks.
“When he found me, I was…far more socially inept than you know me now—”
“I wish I had known you then,” I interrupt, keeping one hand on the wheel as I tug a strand of her hair with my other.
“Not really. It was sometimes hard to focus on a person and think, while also…appropriately communicating with said person unless I was simply reciting rehearsed conversation. I spent an unfortunate amount of time vocalizing arguments that should have been kept internalized, as well,” she says, eyes distant like she’s thinking back.
“It didn’t take him long to start sorting me, when no one else had managed to do it for so many years.”
I don’t say anything much before brushing her hair out of her face and to the side.
“I still try
to avoid conflict unless resolution is necessary to move forward,” she adds as her eyes move back to mine. “I have a favor to ask.”
My thumb strokes down her cheek.
“Name it,” I say quietly, feeling the intense air around us.
“I don’t like revisiting my past on command,” she says very timidly.
My thumb freezes and my eyes go to hers.
“I realize it’s a respectable rudimentary bonding mechanism to share one’s life story within a friendship, but I will never do that. I say that with full certainty. I never actively think about it,” she goes on. “I’ll share small pieces at my own pace when I find it relevant to a situation at hand. But I’ll simply continue to be vague and intentionally elusive about it. I don’t like the sense of loneliness that accompanies those memories.”
We just sit still in the parking lot for a few seconds while I toy with the ends of her hair.
“I’m telling you this because I see it as a probable future point of conflict I’d like to avoid,” she adds when I just study her, my gaze raking over her face.
“That’s perfectly fair,” I tell her, my eyes dropping to her lips.
She gives a nod and turns to push her door open before stepping out of the car. I take an extra second or two to follow suit.
I hurry to open the door to the restaurant for her, but two girls walk out and pause when they see us…as though they’re frozen in surprise.
“Britt!” one of them says very loudly…but I don’t have Britt’s memory, so I can’t recall her name or how I know her.
“What are you two doing here?” the other one asks, her brows drawn tight as she looks between us like she’s confused.
“We’re hungry,” Britt states as though it should be obvious, and I bite back a grin.
The other chick also restrains a smile.
“I meant together,” she goes on. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell Wren,” she adds.
“Nor will I tell Ethan,” the other says as she mimes crossing her heart. “This is the first time in the hour I’ve been out of the house, that I’m finally okay with being away from Isa for a few minutes.”
My smile only grows, because now I realize this is Bella and Allie. She’s been in my environment so much but I’ve barely seen her in hers.
“You won’t tell them I’m hungry?” Britt asks, confused.
“We won’t tell them you were here with Base Masters,” Bella dutifully explains between loud slurps of her straw.
“Oh, that doesn’t matter. He’s not a potential suitor because he already rejected me. We’re trying to be friends now,” Britt states matter-of-factly.
Bella sputters her milkshake. Allie chokes back a sound of surprise. I groan while scrubbing a hand over my face for the third or fourth time tonight.
“I didn’t reject you,” I quickly point out. Again.
“Sorry. He rejected taking my virginity because he feels it’d be a ‘dick move,’” she continues, simply quoting me as though this is a perfectly natural conversation to have with two women I don’t know, and with the door still open to the nosy burger joint.
Her honesty is usually my favorite part about her. However, I’d really like to have this conversation in private.
I’m starting to realize the drastic difference in her comfort level with them compared to other people.
Bella sighs, looking over at me like she’s disappointed for reasons unbeknownst to me, before shaking her head.
“I promise they don’t all suck,” she says, patting Britt’s hand.
“I don’t think I suck,” I feel the need to point out. Not sure why exactly I’m having to defend this, since it’s technically the right thing. “I’m on the path to sainthood.”
“Says the guy whose band is called The Fallen,” Bella, apparently too quick-witted, is fast to retort. “False advertisement, bro,” she adds, doing this head weave thing as she snaps her fingers in a “Z” formation.
I don’t know what to do with that, so I just stare…
“I’m tired,” Bella says after a beat of silence. “Ignore me.”
“I’m going to go order for us,” I tell Britt, clutching her side to bring her attention to me. “Stop telling people I rejected you.”
As I walk off, I just barely hear her quietly telling them, “I considered reciting the definition of rejection to him, but most people say it comes off as passive aggressive when I do that.”
How the hell did sainthood suddenly turn me into the damn devil?
After getting the burgers ordered, I go back, hoping like hell those two are gone so I can once again explain to Britt that I did not reject her.
Unfortunately, they’re not gone, and I catch the tail end of Britt saying, “No. I’m bringing Tommy. I made plans with him at the park during LARP, so we’re changing plans instead of cancelling them. Now I have to find something else to wear.”
“I’ll come over and—”
“Say what now?” I cut in, quickly joining them outside, and shutting the door as I usher them off to the side.
Bella looks like she has the devil in her eyes when she answers me. “Britt’s bringing a date to tomorrow’s cookout at Dane’s house. We were discussing what we’re wearing.”
“Tommy and I are friends,” Britt states, confused.
“You’re taking Tommy as your date somewhere?” I ask Britt, not missing the way Bella fucking grins.
Now that I remember who she is, I’ve decided I liked her better when she was on the front row and just dancing to the songs I was singing instead of making my life hell.
Allie elbows Bella, but I think she’s just doing better at hiding her smile, because she definitely has humor dancing in her eyes when I glance at her.
“It’s not a date,” Britt says very dryly once again. “We were going to go to a town that has various cos play costumes to see if we could salvage anything to recycle and reuse as our own.”
“He’s a level one,” I remind her.
She frowns. “So? Everyone is level-one at some point, and it’s the responsibility of the upper levels to take on squires and train them. It’s rare to have a chance to interact in the real world, unless you already know each other.”
I don’t have any idea what to say to any of that without making myself sound like a jealous dick right now.
“I have no idea what any of that means,” Allie states flatly.
“Me neither, but now Tommy doesn’t sound as sexy as I was hoping,” Bella adds.
“I’ll go with you tomorrow. Level-One Squire Boy can sit at home and work on getting to level two,” I tell Britt, noticing the way she lifts her eyebrows like she’s confused.
“Any of this make sense to you?” Bella stage whispers to Allie.
“Still nada,” Allie quips.
“I can’t change my plans now,” Britt tells me, frowning. “Tria assured me it’s rude to give less than twenty-four hours’ notice before canceling.”
“It’s not rude. Just cancel,” I argue, at the same time Bella says, “Totally rude. You have to bring Tommy now.”
Why is this woman out to make my life hell?! When I glare over at her, she gives me a smartass grin.
“What the hell have I ever done to you?” I ask her very seriously.
“It’s what you’ve not done for Britt while getting your muse—” Allie’s hand abruptly clamps over Bella’s mouth, and she starts dragging Bella away.
“See you tomorrow, Britt!” Allie calls, then wrangles Bella back and gets her hand over her mouth again before she can get something of her own—probably the last word—out.
There’s actually a little bit of a struggle, before Bella finally shouts, “Not the nipples, you evil woman!”
Bella gets shoved into the car before adding, “Sheesh! You’re freakishly strong these days when you’re bullying a woman who is still recuperating from her body being put through hell!”
Motherfucking crazy rich people.
First, they ha
ve me questioning my resolve by flipping it to be a bad thing, making a motherfucking saint feel like the snake in Eden’s tall grass. Now they’re reveling in the fact Britt has a date, and I’m not so subtle with the whole jealousy thing.
But Britt, fortunately, doesn’t seem to deduce that as easily as they clearly did.
Grabbing her hand, I drag her inside the restaurant and change our order so that it’s to-go.
“Why are we leaving?” she asks as they finish bagging our stuff.
“No seats,” I tell her as I use my free hand to grab the bags, leaving the drinks behind, and start dragging her back to the car.
“But it’s mostly empty,” she argues.
I really regret taking her out in public now. I like it better when I have her just to myself.
Chapter 18
BRITT
Okay, so I’ve established the fact Base is weird, but he’s being weirder than usual. And much quieter.
He said nothing on the way home, and now that we’ve eaten—in complete silence—he’s gone to his room to work on music. Something…he doesn’t usually do if I’m here.
Now where exactly did this conflict come from? It’s springing up like weeds around us tonight.
Tonight, instead of playing music, he’s just listening to it. Loudly.
I’m curled up on my bed, watching a movie I have no interest in. I showered, brushed my teeth, shaved my legs…essentially anything to kill time, since I’m not used to having so much of it.
My paper is staring at me from across the room—the unfinished first draft. But I’m not in the mood to write about sex. It’s becoming ever-so-clear that I might remain a virgin.
I’m way ahead on my job, per the latest usual, so I’m metaphorically twiddling my fingers as I await the next task.
Restless, I finally throw the covers back, needing answers to why he’s being like this.