Lover's Game (South Bay Soundtracks Book 3)

by Amelia Stone

  “You want her, though.” I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. He was frowning down at his beer, and his face was flushed. “You’ve always wanted her.”

  He’d told me that after the disaster at the Spring Fling. When I’d gone to kick his ass for the unpardonable crime of breaking my best friend’s heart, he’d told me he’d only had the best intentions.

  He’s also promised he’d never make another move on her. It was the only reason I’d forgiven him.

  He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Did?”

  He huffed. “Look, I’m not going to argue semantics here, man, because it doesn’t matter how I feel now. The bottom line is that she doesn’t want me.”

  I wanted to believe him. Fuck, I wanted to believe him so badly. But I just couldn’t.

  “You don’t know that for sure,” I muttered.

  He shook his head at me. “Are you completely fucking blind, dude?”

  Yes, I thought. Yes I am.

  When had I ever seen what was really going on? Not then, and definitely not now. I’d never been able to see the truth. I had walked through most of my well and truly blind.

  But I wasn’t about to tell him that.

  “No,” I growled instead.

  He looked over at George, who wasn’t even pretending not to listen to our conversation.

  “That girl has been ass over tits in love with you since kindergarten, you lucky, undeserving asshole.” He took another sip of his beer as though he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of this grubby pub. “She has never looked at me, or any other guy. Not once. And she never will, not as long as you’re around.”

  I blinked, once, twice. Again. I inhaled, exhaled. Counted to ten. Gave up because counting was too hard right now.

  “She took that date with you, though.” My voice was all croaky, and I had to clear my throat before I could continue. “She agreed to go out with you.”

  I had no idea why I was so fixated on that. It was the eighth grade, for fuck’s sake. ‘Going steady’ at that age meant holding hands in the hallway at school, and maybe a sloppy, drool-filled kiss or two under the bleachers. It wasn’t like it was true love.

  But my mind seized on it, even though I had no idea why. I had no idea why my brain was still throwing up objections, why I couldn’t just accept that Krista had been in love with me all her life.

  Probably because that would mean accepting that I’d colossally fucked up by pushing her away, by cutting off all contact with her. Twice.

  “I think you know why she did that, though,” Ward replied.

  He was so calm. How was he still so calm? He’d just completely ruined my fucking life. But he was sitting there so calmly, like he had all the time in the world to wait for me to answer.

  I cleared my throat again. “Because I said we were just friends,” I rasped.

  Because I’d said it not once, not even twice. I’d said it a hundred times, until Krista – the girl with no self-esteem, the girl who expected ridicule at every turn because that’s all she’d ever experienced – had believed that she had no chance with the boy she’d loved.

  So she’d accepted the admiration of the boy she merely tolerated. Because she couldn’t have me.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  I closed my eyes, because I couldn’t look at my reflection in the dirty, chipped mirror behind the bar anymore.

  But that didn’t help, because the scene vividly displayed behind my eyelids now was one I’d replayed in my mind a million and one times in the last decade. I was frozen on my bar stool, watching yet again as she sat at that picnic table in the woods, quietly breaking my heart.

  Except she hadn’t been breaking my heart. She’d been breaking her own, before I could beat her to it. It was classic Krista: depriving herself of the things she deserved, because at least she wouldn’t be surprised when they never came. It wouldn’t have mattered to her that she was hurting herself, because that had always been a given.

  “I’m sorry, man.” Ward’s hand landed on my shoulder, reminding me that he was still here. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

  “Which one?” I popped an eye open, rolling it in his direction. “The Spring Fling, or what happened last night?”

  He gave me sardonic smile. “Both.”

  I frowned. “Why did you, though?” I turned in my seat, opening the other eye to glare at him. “Why would you do that to me? Do you really hate me that much?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “You’re my best friend.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I scoffed. “I always try to steal my best friend’s woman.”

  “You never had to, because your best friend is your woman,” he replied. “You two were always in this little bubble, and no one could get in. And I’ve always, I don’t know, resented that.”

  His flippant response had my blood pulsing between my ears. “You’re serious with this? You tried to ruin a friendship – twice – because no one was paying attention to you?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t say it made sense.”

  He looked away, staring out the window at the Friday afternoon traffic. South Bay was gearing up for another tourist-filled weekend, and Grand Avenue was hopping with activity. But he wasn’t taking any of it in.

  I shook my head in disbelief. “A therapist would have a field day with you.”

  “So I’m told.” He sounded sad, and I almost felt sorry for him.

  Almost. He was still a woman-stealing twerp.

  “Anyway.” He took the last sip of his beer, then stood. “What are you going to do about Krista?”

  I studied the bar top for a bit. Some classy individual had carved their name alongside what I assumed to be a likeness of their own junk, complete with a frankly optimistic spray of ejaculate.

  Maybe Mindy was right. Maybe this joint should be bulldozed. With me in it.

  “I don’t know,” I finally replied. “I might have told her I never wanted to see her again.” I gulped. “Kind of.”

  “‘Kind of’ as in, those were your exact words?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Well, shit,” he drawled.

  I nodded again, because that pretty much summed it up. “Yeah.”

  He patted my shoulder. “Well, best of luck with that, man.”

  I glared at him. “That’s it? You come in here and drop all these fucking truth bombs, and then leave me to figure this shit out on my own?”

  “Like I know what to do?” He ran a hand through his hair, which looked uncharacteristically messy. “I’ve never had a girlfriend.” He smirked. “Well, not one I actually liked, anyway.”

  “It’s not that hard,” George piped up.

  We both turned to look at him.

  “Just talk to her.” George shrugged. “Tell her you love her. Compliment her eyes, or her shoes. Women like that shit.”

  “Please tell me you’re not taking love advice from the man who spends all day in this hovel just to avoid his wife.” Mindy’s arms were full of alcohol bottles as she came back into the bar.

  George gave us a sheepish smile. “Still with her, though. Married forty-two years, and she still loves me.”

  “Yeah, because you don’t spend any time together.” Mindy snorted. “I too would be madly in love with you if I never had to see you.”

  “Well, what would you do?” I asked her.

  She set her burdens down on the bar with a sigh. “What he said.” She shrugged. “He’s actually right in this case.” She pointed a stern finger at me. “Only in this case, though.”

  Ward shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt,” he added. “Besides, you can’t ignore her forever. Eventually you run the risk of her moving on.”

  Fuck. That was exactly what I did not want.

  But what could I say to her that would make her forgive me, make her believe that I loved her, that I’d always loved her and always would?

  I wasn’t sure. B
ut I had to figure it out.

  “I’ll try,” I said. “I’ll try to talk to her.”

  “’Atta boy.” George held up his glass in a salute.

  Mindy nodded once. “Good.”

  Ward dropped a hand on my shoulder once more. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I frowned as he walked to the door. “Tomorrow?”

  “Dude.” He smirked. “The wedding of the century.”

  Right. Jess and Adam’s wedding. And as the maid of honor, Krista was guaranteed to be there. A plan began to take shape as I stared at my reflection in the bar mirror. I didn’t know what to say, exactly, but at least I had an opportunity. My mind spun as I worked it out in my mind.

  It could work.

  It had to work.

  “Here.” I looked up to see Mindy setting a beer down in front of me. Ward had left, and it was just me and my new friends left in the bar.

  I frowned. “I thought I was cut off.”

  She shrugged. “My bar, my rules,” she reminded me. “You’d better drink up, friend. You’re going to need all the courage you can get.”

  “It’s ten a.m. and you’re already hitting the hooch? Seriously?”

  I was standing in the corner of Jess’s hotel room in the LeGrand, surrounded by my sisters, my mother, my oldest niece, and my grandmother. Everyone was busy prepping Jess, but somehow she’d caught me trying to sneak a sip from my hip flask.

  I looked up at her words, hurrying to put the little bottle out of sight and sending a silent thank you to Phoebe for giving us what every woman really wants out of life – a dress with pockets. Then I gave the bride what I hoped was a not-too-guilty smile.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Unh unh.” Jess’s tentacle shot out, grabbing my wrist. “Give it up.” Then she pulled me toward her, reaching into my pocket and grabbing the flask before I could stop her.

  “But-” I whimpered, trying unsuccessfully to reach out and take it back from her. But she twisted out of my reach.

  “Hold still,” Phoebe admonished, clamping her hands down on Jess’s shoulders. “This is hard enough without you squirming.”

  “And whose fault is that, Miss Big Time Fashion Designer?” Jess shot back.

  “Not now, girls,” Mom said through gritted teeth. She was holding the back of Jess’s gown shut while Phoebe worked the intricate buttons.

  “Can I just, like, sniff it?” Lindsay gave the flask a desperate look. “I really, really miss alcohol.”

  “You drink too much,” Nana chided, as she sipped a glass of champagne.

  “I spend my days with teenagers, and my nights and weekends with four children whose mission in life seems to be to smear poop on my dog,” Lindsay retorted. “You’d wash your melatonin down with a shot of rye if you were me, too.”

  “Please. I raised four boys by myself.” Nana lifted a bony shoulder, not bothering to look up from the program she’d been leafing through for the last half an hour.

  My grandfather had died in a car accident when my dad and Uncle Chris, her youngest children, were infants. Nana had never remarried.

  “And I did it without any of those mother’s little helpers, thank you very much.”

  “No, but you did do it with a whole lot of three martini lunches,” my mother muttered.

  “I heard that.” Nana fixed my mother with a laser stare. “And that was unkind, Louise.”

  Everyone winced, and Mom reeled like she’d just been slapped.

  “Hit her where it hurts, why don’t you,” Jess whispered.

  Nana shrugged, turning back to her program like all was forgotten. But Mom continued to send her dark glances.

  “Well, I am going insane over here,” Lindsay complained, making grabby hands at the flask. “I’ve been pregnant forever and it’s a million fucking degrees outside and I just want to feel like a normal adult again.”

  “Lindsay Jean!” Mom widened her eyes over Jess’s shoulder. “Language.”

  “Louise.” Nana looked up again. “Enough.”

  “It’s always-”

  “The right time to be kind,” we all chorused.

  “Well, it is,” Mom sniffed.

  “Yes, but it’s never the right time to be guilted into it, dear,” Nana countered. “So stick a sock in it.”

  “It’s only seventy-nine degrees right now,” Fiona said, holding up Lindsay’s phone, which she’d been playing a game on all morning. “And the high’s supposed to be eighty-six,” she added in the super serious tone of a nine-year-old trying to be helpful. “Not a million.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart.” Mom smiled at her.

  “Got it!” Lindsay crowed as she snatched the flask out of Jess’s distracted hands.

  “No!”

  I lunged for it, but Lindsay danced out of reach surprisingly fast for a pregnant woman who was trussed up in a constricting formal gown.

  “I’m not going to drink it,” she tutted as she unscrewed the cap. “I just want to sni-what the fuck?” She gave me a horrified look. “Is that pickle juice?”

  My cheeks flamed. “It’s for emergencies,” I muttered.

  “Yes, but you actually have pickle juice emergencies?”

  “She needs the comfort,” Mom stage-whispered, nodding her head at me pointedly.

  My family all knew what had happened with Seth the other night. I couldn’t have hidden it from them even if I’d wanted to; I was too devastated to act normal. They had all been as supportive as anyone could hope for, telling me they loved me, he was an idiot, et cetera et cetera.

  But my issues had, understandably, been put on the back burner that morning, in preparation for Jess’s big day.

  Lindsay gave the flask another cautious sniff. Then she made a face like she was intrigued. “Actually, that smells kind of good.”

  “Oh, let me smell,” Jess moaned. “I am so nauseous today.”

  “That’s just nerves, honey,” Mom soothed. “You’ll feel better after the ceremony is over.”

  “No, it’s pregnancy.” Jess reached out for the flask, which Lindsay handed over – after taking a swig. “I have never been a fan of pickles, but lately it’s all I want. I had some yesterday, and the morning sickness disappeared like that.” She punctuated her testimonial with a snap of her fingers.

  “True story,” Lindsay agreed. “When I was pregnant with Fiona, I put pickles on rocky road ice cream for three months straight.”

  “Gross!” Fiona cried.

  Lindsay shrugged. “You’ll see,” she told her daughter. “One day, when you’re pregnant, you’ll want to eat all kinds of crazy things.”

  “I don’t want to get pregnant, then.” Fiona sighed dramatically.

  “You’ll change your mind,” Lindsay assured her.

  “Or she won’t,” Phoebe gritted out as she struggled with the last few buttons. “Not everyone wants to have kids.”

  Lindsay’s eyes hardened. “Yeah, you’ve made your views very clear,” she spat.

  My gaze bounced between my sisters. Phoebe had apologized for the blow-up at the dress fitting, but things were still tense.

  “Wait.” Mom turned to Phoebe with a frown. “You don’t want to have kids?”

  Phoebe growled as she finally slid the last button home. “No.”

  Mom’s shoulders slumped. “Oh.” She turned back to Jess, smoothing the now-buttoned dress absently, like she just needed something to do. “I didn’t know that.”

  Phoebe frowned. “You never asked. You just assumed that I would churn out a million grandbabies like Lindsay did. And when it didn’t happen right away, you proceeded to needle me about it until you were blue in the face.”

  Mom’s face crumpled, and Lindsay put an arm around her to comfort her. She glared at Phoebe, and I tensed, waiting for another bomb to explode.

  “What does that husband of yours think about this?” Nana asked, before anyone could reply to Phoebe’s diatribe.

  Phoebe’s eyes hardened. “Jean-Marc thin
ks his mistress is more fuckable than I am,” she spat.

  You could practically hear a pin drop as her words sank in. Lindsay and Jess exchanged a look, and they both nodded. Then, without saying a word, Jess reached out, pulling Phoebe into a fierce hug.

  “Fuck him,” she growled, and for once, Mom didn’t chide her for her language.

  “He’s an idiot,” Lindsay agreed, wrapping her arms around Phoebe’s back in a hug sandwich. The animosity of a moment ago seemed to be completely forgotten. “How could he not want your kind heart and sparkling personality?”

  Phoebe made a noise halfway between a sob and a laugh. “I know, right?”

  Everybody laughed, and I breathed a sigh of relief, feeling like the tension had finally been broken.

  “And anyway,” Phoebe mumbled into Jess’s shoulder. “I don’t give a shit what he thinks. I think it’s my body, so it’s my-” she broke off, blinking furiously. Her voice cracked as she continued. “It’s my choice how I use it.”

  But something in her eyes seemed off, and I studied her, wondering if she was telling the whole truth.

  “Of course it is, honey,” Mom whispered. She cleared her throat. “I didn’t mean-”

  “I know,” Phoebe quickly said. She gave Mom a sad smile. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I blew up at you. Again.”

  Then the two of them hugged, squeezing each other like it was a competition. Mom whispered something I couldn’t quite hear, and Phoebe nodded, closing her eyes against some emotion I could only imagine. Then she pulled back, grinning wickedly despite the tears in her eyes.

  “Fuck this,” she cried. “You’re getting married, Jessica!”

  Jess let out another shaky laugh. “Fuck yeah I am!” She waved a hand in front of her face to keep her tears at bay.

  “Well, then let’s get the fucking show on the road!” Lindsay heaved herself to her feet, straightening out the skirt of her now-altered dress. “But I have to pee first.”

  “Me too,” Jess added.

  “Me three,” Nana said in a haughty tone. “So you girls will have to wait for me.”

  We all stared at her for a beat.

  “What? I take a diuretic.”

  “Is that something you have to take because you’re old?” Fiona asked, with the blunt lack of diplomacy only kids and elderly people could get away with.