Anatomy of a Player (Taking Shots #2)

by Cindi Madsen

  I stared right back, conveying Go ahead. Make my day, without actually having to say it, and he quickly spun around. I was so not in the mood for this class. Not that I usually was, but I’d been off all week. I could pinpoint the exact moment everything had gone to hell, too. A certain blond reporter had ripped me a new one in front of everyone. Anger rose up just thinking about it. There was another emotion, too, one I didn’t want to name, so I grabbed the anger and held on to it.

  Even Dane had kept his mouth shut about it, not daring to mention Whitney or the bet. He’d forgone his usual harping on my subpar grade in this statistics class, too. After our tense phone call Sunday night, Mom hadn’t dared to call back to ask if I’d made a decision about walking her down the aisle yet, which was a miracle in and of itself.

  If I didn’t feel like shit, I’d keep this chip on my shoulder for the rest of the semester. Damn Reporter Girl.

  At first I’d thought we were playing our usual game in the locker room, going back and forth, trying to one up each other. But things got real quickly, and she’d gone out of her way to twist that knife she’d stabbed into my chest.

  And still I’d almost texted her twice, which was ridiculous. I told myself it was for the bet, but lying to yourself never worked as well as it should, and the truth was, I missed talking to her. I wondered if she was stressed, if she was watching touching documentaries and fighting for causes across campus.

  I’d told her things I never told anyone. She brought a sense of calm to my life even as she drove me crazy, and I’d thought things between us had shifted into new territory.

  But Whitney had proved that I’d been right to stay away from dating and the inevitable damage that came along with letting someone in—with actually caring—and now I felt stupid for entertaining thoughts of more in the first place. Who needs her? Not me. I could find another girl in a heartbeat.

  I readjusted, purposely knocking into the guy’s chair again as I did. Every nerve in my body was strung tight, just waiting for a fight. Craving it, honestly. Which was another reason I needed to play in that game tomorrow. If I didn’t get this pent-up aggression out soon, I’d explode.

  On the way to my next class, one of my regular fangirls approached.

  “Hey, Hudson!” She’d once offered to write any paper I needed, but I’d already made it through my English classes. I think a few of the guys on the team took her up on the offer, and I couldn’t help but wonder if her papers sounded as girly as she did, with as many “likes” thrown in, but I supposed paper filtered out the high-pitched jabber.

  “What’s up, sweetheart?” Yeah, I admit it—I didn’t know her name. One blurred into the next, and I didn’t have enough room in my brain for the stuff I needed to know as it was. Honestly, I stayed away from girls like her, choosing to go outside the group of girls several of my teammates had slept with. No judgments on either side, but it was much easier when constant run-ins weren’t inevitable, which was another reason I should’ve never started talking to Whitney in the first place.

  In the long run, we would’ve wanted different things anyway. It’s for the best that it ended before it really began.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard there’s, like, this big Halloween party at the Quad on Saturday…”

  Actually, I hadn’t. But you could count on there being a party there every weekend. Most holidays sucked at my house, but I’d always liked Halloween. Dress up as someone else and get candy? Count me in. Then, when I got older, Dane and I took it as an opportunity to wreak some havoc while costumed. Add the girls dressed up in their sexy little costumes, and again, count me in.

  “I know the team’s, like, traveling,” she continued, wrapping a strand of dark hair around her finger. Not blond—not that that mattered or I was still obsessing about a certain girl with that hair color or anything. “But do you think you guys will, like, be back in time?”

  “Unfortunately we’ll probably have to miss it.”

  She sighed, putting her whole body into it. “Boo. I wish all the games were, like, home games.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Keeping my weight on my right foot was starting to become a challenge, and with the limp walk I had to do right now, I was going to be late enough for my next class. “Catch you later.”

  “I’ll hope for sooner,” she said, adding a wink before walking away. I stared after her and her short skirt for a moment, wondering if I should forget challenging and just go for easy and uncomplicated. With how on edge I’d been, maybe it would help.

  Since the opportunity wasn’t going anywhere, I turned to limp toward my next class, swearing every single time I came down on my left foot.

  Four more hours, four more hours…

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Whitney

  I stormed into the apartment, glad to find Lyla on the couch. The pen stabbed through her bun must’ve broken at some point, because the tip was covered in black ink and she had a splatter on her cheek—she was obviously in study mode, and had probably been that way for hours.

  “Lyla, you and I are going to a Halloween party tonight.”

  She slowly looked up from her notes and blinked at me a couple of times. “We are?”

  “Yes. I figured if I announced it like that, it took out the variables, and the only way for you to solve the equation would be to come with me.”

  “Wow, you’re getting scary good at chemistry logic.”

  I put my hands together and bowed. “When I left you, I was but the learner. Now I am the master.”

  “Wait…I turned you into Darth Vader? I don’t know how I feel about this.”

  I laughed. After she’d confessed one night that she’d only seen parts of the Star Wars movies, Beck and I had teamed together for an intervention. At least someone understood my Star Wars references now.

  Hudson would’ve gotten it, too, I thought with a pang, and the desperate edge I’d experienced all week pushed its way to the forefront. I shoved it back—I wasn’t thinking about him. In fact, this night was about not thinking about him.

  “So, the party?”

  She opened her mouth, and I could tell an excuse or maybe just an I-don’t-know was on the tip of her tongue, so I plowed on with the spiel I’d prepared. “Studies can wait, and you’re the one who said I needed to meet new guys, and it’s Halloween and can’t we have one night where we can go out and not think about anything else? I just want one night to be myself—not the boring reporter girl who wears way too little color and cares too much about being serious and professional. I need a night off from it all, and Halloween’s a perfect excuse, don’t you think?”

  I sat next to her on the couch and pressed my hands together again, this time in prayer position.

  “Wow, you pulled out the big guns,” Lyla said. “How can I say no to that?”

  “You can’t. That’s the point.”

  Lyla brought up one knee, making a colorful tent with her maxi skirt. “What about Kristen? She’s better at parties—just saying.”

  “Yeah, but she’ll shove me toward any and every guy, not the ones I’m supposed to be going for. She also started dating that dude she met at the party she left me at, and she’s in that enamored, all-wrapped-up-in-him phase. And I know you’re still in that phase with Beck, but the team’s in Denver.”

  “Which is why I was going to cram in all the studying I could.” Lyla gave a half longing, half anxious look at her books, then returned her gaze to me. “But if you need me to go with you, I’ll go.”

  I tackle-hugged her. “Thank-you-thank-you-thank-you.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said with a laugh. She stacked her books and notebooks into a neat pile, clearing off the coffee table. “So I don’t need a costume?”

  Since I’d just talked her into going, I didn’t want to mess it up, so I worked to make my answer as neutral as possible. “You probably can go without one, but I think it’ll be more fun with.”

  “But you said you wanted to be yourself.”
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  Now her confusion made sense. For someone majoring in communication, you’d think I’d do a better job of it. “Right. Myself, but dressed as someone or something else. I want to feel sexy—I know, I know, I want guys to want me for me, but if someone doesn’t check me out soon, I’ll feel like I’ve completely lost it. Besides, dressing in bright colors and having my makeup all done up is me.”

  “Do you have an idea for what you want to be, then? And an idea I can have? I haven’t dressed up for Halloween in a long time.”

  “Well, first off…” I ripped one of the blank papers from her notebook, wrapped it around the end of the pen in her hair, and slid it loose. “Your pen leaked.” I held it up so she could see for herself, and she patted the top of her head.

  “Crap. Is it all over my hair?”

  “Just one little spot. Plus the smudge on your cheek.”

  She reached up and wiped her cheek, but it was the wrong one. “Basically, you’re saying I already look the part of a mad chemist, so I should just go with it. I do have a lab coat I could throw on.”

  “No way,” I said. “Tonight, we’re going all out. We’re going to go shopping, and this time, we’re buying stuff to make us look good.”

  …

  Three and a half hours later, Lyla Croft—or Lyla dressed as Lara Croft—and I arrived at the Quad.

  “I feel ridiculous, just like I did the first time I was here wearing so little,” Lyla said as she adjusted the shoulder holsters of her costume.

  “Well, you look hot—you actually have the boobs to pull it off.” I took out my phone, pulled up the pic I’d taken of her right before we left our apartment, and texted it to her. “Seriously, send Beck that picture and just wait for his head to explode.”

  While she sent that off, I tugged up the shimmery white, covered-in-candy-images top of my strapless dress. Katy Perry embodied all things colorful and glittery, so the instant I’d seen the costume, I knew I wanted to go as her. And once I’d seen the Lara Croft costume on the clearance rack, I’d known Lyla would look kickass in it.

  We took a quick selfie, and I smiled even bigger when I caught sight of my neon blue hair. The skirt of the dress was rainbow colored and landed mid-thigh—which felt downright scandalous after over a month of boring slacks—and I was so happy to be wearing my glittery pink five-and-a-half-inch pumps that I’d barely refrained from kissing them when I’d pulled them out of my closet.

  I was so excited about the party that we’d shown up on the early side, but there were still plenty of people in a variety of costumes. I linked arms with Lyla and we headed for the drink table.

  As we passed by a group of guys, I heard a muttered “holy shit.”

  That’s right. I usually look like this. Okay, not like this, but kind of like this.

  Lyla’s phone chimed and she pulled it out and read the message onscreen. “I think Beck’s head is exploding in a bad way. He thinks all these guys are going to hit on me, and says while he doesn’t blame them, he doesn’t like the thought of not being here to fight them off.”

  She quickly sent off a message, then lowered the phone. “I told him that I’ll just talk about cats and make chemistry jokes, and the guys will be running from me soon.”

  Her phone chimed again. She read it and then turned the screen so I could read it, too.

  Beck: Do you not understand that you’re every videogame geek’s wet dream? The cat and chemistry jokes are only going to make them want you more. Shit, I’m going to have to charter a jet there and keep them off you, aren’t I? ;)

  More text bubbles popped up, one right after another.

  Beck: Just be careful

  Beck: And call me when you get home. xoxo

  Beck: And save that costume for tomorrow night

  Lyla quickly dropped her phone, her cheeks turning pink.

  “See, it’s exploding in a good way,” I said. Finally we made it to the front of the line and grabbed a couple of drinks. Here and there guys approached. We made chit chat with vampires, werewolves, one zombie—you know, the usual crowd—and I waited to meet one of those nice guys who’d appreciate my body and my personality and brain.

  When one of Lyla’s chemistry classmates pulled her into conversation, I signaled that I’d be back, grabbed another drink, and looped around the room. A guy wearing a Star Trek costume approached and offered me a drink, and I lifted my cup to show I was good.

  “I saw you all the way across the room,” he said. “I really like your costume.”

  “Thanks. Spock, right?” Admittedly, I didn’t know much about Star Trek, but I did know the pointy-eared guy was Spock—at least I hoped so.

  “Yeah.” He beamed at me and then spread his hands to make a V, his thumb out. “Live long and prosper.”

  I nodded, because I didn’t know what else to do with that.

  The guy had no chin, just a slope from his mouth to his neck. He was on the scrawny side, too. Which was all fine, of course. I needed to shift my type, time had proven that. But shouldn’t I be a little attracted to a guy in order to date him?

  I gave a stab at conversation, asking if he liked Star Wars, too, but then he ranted about how people always thought those two should go together, but they weren’t even close to the same concept.

  Maybe if I dug deeper I’d find we actually had a thing or two in common, but when he placed his hand on my shoulder and asked about my major, all I could think about was finding a way to shift and get his clammy fingers off my skin without seeming rude.

  We talked majors, I moved around enough to keep him from touching me again, and when there was a lull in the conversation—one I’d take full credit for—I said, “I better go find my friend.”

  Three steps into my search for Lyla, I came face-to-face with Trevor. In what I took as a costume mirroring real life, my ex was dressed up as the devil. He had on black workout shorts and a red boxing type robe, no shirt, and a devil horn headband. “Whitney,” he said, a smile working its way across his lips. “Hey.”

  It’d been over a month since he’d dumped me without a second thought, but the hurt rose up again, the hit to my self-esteem still there. I wrapped my arms around myself, almost expecting another insult on my neediness. “Trevor.”

  His gaze ran up and down me—the total obvious check out I’d thought I wanted tonight, but it only made me shrivel further into myself. “Damn, you look hot.”

  Did he want me to thank him for the compliment? Was it always so clear that all he’d wanted was sex, and I just hadn’t seen it because I’d been too busy thinking about his stupid handsome face and the athletic body he proudly showed off? I’d been so flattered that he’d picked me, which was extra stupid, because he obviously hadn’t.

  I wanted to say something—to reach down and find enough confidence to tell him off—and yet I remained frozen in place, the insecure part of me wondering if I was as needy as he’d said. If I was the reason all my relationships failed.

  “You know, maybe you and I could…?” He tilted his head toward the back rooms, where people went to hook up. “For old time’s sake.”

  The insult was going to happen, it was—I just needed to pick whether to call him an assface or asshole or basically anything involving the word ass.

  Then an arm wrapped around my waist, and I was curled into a rock-solid chest. “Hey, baby. Sorry I’m late.”

  I stared up into Hudson’s face, wondering how he was here and why he’d swooped in to help, and then I realized that I didn’t really care about the whys right now. I put my hand on his chest. “No worries. I’m just glad that you made it.”

  Trevor became the frozen one, and finally I found my voice. “Oh, about your earlier question? You probably want to find a girl who doesn’t already know that you’re an asshole.”

  His jaw clenched, and I fully expected to be called a bitch, but Hudson stepped partway in front of me, his posture radiating menace, and Trevor threw up his hands and walked away.

  For a mome
nt I thought I’d imagined the entire thing, but I still had my hand curled around Hudson’s arm. He slowly turned to face me. “I was worried that I might be overstepping, but you looked like you could use a bit of help.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Seriously. I was finally able to say what I’ve wanted to say to him for weeks.”

  “Good.” Hudson’s gaze dipped, and a shock of awareness rippled through my body. While he was busy with his perusal, I did a little checking out of my own. He had a hockey mask, but instead of covering his face it was pushed up, just the end protruding over his forehead. A beat-up wooden hockey stick with lots of white tape was somehow attached to his back, and yet, my eyes returned to the arms that his red sleeveless T-shirt showed off.

  I’d seen Hudson in various states of undress in the locker room, but I’d never allowed myself to fully take in his sleeves—especially all the ink covering his jacked shoulders. For all the showing off Trevor did, he had nothing on Hudson Decker.

  “A hockey player? That’s your big costume?” Not that it didn’t work for him, but I couldn’t help but tease him about it.

  “Casey Jones,” he said.

  “Who does he play for again?”

  Hudson’s mouth kicked up one side. “The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, I guess. Mostly he uses his stick for vigilante justice, though.” He shrugged, all unabashed about it. “I wasn’t planning on coming, so I had to go with a last minute option, and I’ve been Casey Jones before.”

  He reached out and skimmed his fingers along the edge of my skirt. His fingertips barely brushed my thigh, but my skin hummed under the attention, craving more. “What about you, Katy Perry? I’d like a song and dance.”

  “Well, quid pro quo.”

  “You’ve seen my dance out on the ice plenty. Or is it vigilante justice that you want me to dole out?”

  “I think you already did that, actually.”

  “Then it looks like you’re the one who owes me the quid,” he said. “Get dancing, girl.”

  I stuck out my lips in my best pout and added some eye batting. “All alone?”