Hate the Game

by Renshaw, Winter

  My stomach is a cage of frenzied butterflies and my head is all kinds of distracted and my lips burn in anticipation of seeing him again. We’ve been “dating” almost a month now and this still happens every time I think about him.

  Every. Damn. Time.

  He wasn’t wrong when he said we could have fun together, but every part of me knows that come May, things are going to get one-hundred-and-one kinds of complicated.

  Chapter 26

  Talon

  They say time flies when you’re having fun and it just might be the truest words ever spoken, cliché or otherwise.

  In one week, we leave for Irie’s cousin’s wedding in Missouri.

  In two weeks, my offer from Richmond expires, which means they’ll be allowed to make a new offer, one that will undoubtedly be less sweet than the first.

  Music plays low from a speaker on my desk as Irie and I are sprawled across my bed on a random Thursday night.

  We were supposed to be studying, but neither of us are feeling focused on anything other than each other tonight.

  “It’s getting late,” she says, her leg intertwined with mine as I twist her soft hair in my fingers. Hozier’s From Eden plays in the background, and her body is warm against me.

  “Stay.”

  She gazes up at me through sleepy eyes, her lips pink and swollen from two solid hours of kissing me tonight.

  “I can’t,” she says. “I’ve been staying over a lot lately, and that’s not fair to Aunt Bette.”

  “Has she said something?”

  “No. She hasn’t. And she won’t. But still. It’s not right.”

  I stroke my hand against the side of her pretty face. I always hate when she leaves. Everything feels empty and hollow, lifeless. It’s like a piece of me is missing. She’s my phantom limb.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks, sitting up and tucking one leg halfway beneath her.

  “You think you’ll miss this?” I ask.

  We’ve been so focused on having fun this past month that we’ve intentionally side-stepped the inevitable—life after graduation.

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “Just answer.”

  She rolls her eyes, pretending to be annoyed. “Obviously.”

  “What if I never find anyone like you again?” I ask. “What we go our separate ways and I never find someone who drives me half as wild as you do?”

  “I don’t know why you’re bringing this up right now,” she says. “We went into this knowing we wouldn’t have a future, remember?”

  “A couple years ago, there was this volunteer board at the Memorial Union,” I say. “I walked past it probably half a dozen times before I actually stopped and looked at it. Irie, your name was on every last sign-up sheet.”

  She shrugs. “Just doing my part.”

  “Where am I going to find another girl as selfless as you? As giving? I mean, you live with your eighty-year-old aunt taking care of her instead of living in some campus apartment with a bunch of friends, getting that true college experience,” I continue. “And don’t even get me started on the way you hold your own when other girls give you shit. You are everything, Irie. Inside and out.”

  “Everything? No one’s ever called me that before.”

  “You’re the real deal,” I say. “And I know that if we walk away from this, I’m never going to find anyone half as real as you.”

  Irie slides off the bed and begins to gather her things from around the room—shoes, bag, phone, and when she’s dressed and ready to dash out the door, she turns to me and hesitates.

  “I think we’re moving way too fast,” she says. “And I think you’re overthinking this.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “That we shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves or make rash decisions because we’re afraid. The future is terrifying. There’s never a right decision when it comes to anything.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Just … let’s have fun.” Her eyes soften. “I like this … being with you. I don’t want to ruin it. I don’t want to complicate it. You promised …”

  She’s right.

  I did.

  Irie slides her hand in mine and I kiss the top, her skin cashmere-soft against my mouth.

  “Goodnight, gorgeous,” I say.

  She smiles, lowering her swollen lips to mine one last time for the night. “See you tomorrow.”

  With that she’s gone.

  I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the emptiness to sink into my bones as I contemplate my future.

  Sliding my hands behind my head, I drag in a heavy breath and close my eyes, imagining a life without her … only it’s depressing as fuck. The second I sign that contract and move out east, I’m going to be surrounded by opportunists, fame-chasers and plastic women who aspire to be nothing more than a baller’s wife.

  The creak of the door pulls me out of my silent pity party, and I sit up in bed, peering across the room to a familiar shadow standing in the doorway.

  “I thought you left,” I say to her.

  She closes the door behind her, dropping her bag near my desk and sliding out of her shoes. “I called Aunt Bette. She doesn’t need me tonight.”

  Irie tears off her clothes, stripping down to her bra and panties, and she helps herself to a t-shirt from my top drawer. I love how comfortable she is around me now, and I love it even more when she makes herself at home with me. A second later, she’s crawling into bed with me, curling under my arm and breathing me in.

  A moment ago I was tired, mentally exhausted from the heaviness of the decision weighing on me, anchored by the uncertainty of what comes after graduation, bothered by knowing a life without Irie isn’t any kind of life that interests me.

  And now here she is, back in my arms again, sending me high as a fucking kite.

  Irie’s my drug of choice, I’m woefully addicted, and I’ve just taken another hit.

  I press a kiss into the top of her strawberry-scented head and close my eyes.

  I could live in this moment forever.

  Chapter 27

  Irie

  Talon is awake before the sun comes up Friday morning, trying to quietly get his gear together for his morning workout. I stir, shifting beneath his heavy blankets before rolling to my side and watching him.

  “Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, shoving a small towel into his gym bag.

  “It’s fine.” I sit up, climbing out of bed and gathering my things. “I’ll walk out with you.”

  I change into last night’s clothes and head to his bathroom to freshen up. A second later we’re in the hallway of his apartment, locking up behind us before making our way to the parking lot.

  Aunt Bette’s been letting me drive her Crown Victoria lately. She thought it was ridiculous that it took me almost four years to even so much as ask to borrow it for personal use, but I never wanted her to think I was taking advantage of her.

  Plus this thing is ancient. If it breaks down on my watch, I won’t have the funds to pay for any repairs.

  Talon takes my hand in his as we walk to the parking lot, where our cars are parked side by side—his shiny black Beemer and Aunt Bette’s fabulous maroon Ford that’s almost as old as I am.

  “What’s on your window?” he asks as we get closer.

  “What do you mean?” I squint through the early morning darkness and scan Aunt Bette’s car.

  And then I see it.

  The word “SLUT” dragged across the driver’s side glass in red lipstick.

  Original …

  “The fuck is wrong with people?” Talon throws his gym bag on the ground before rifling through it to grab his workout towel. A second later he’s trying to wipe the glass clean, but he’s only making it worse. The entire thing is smeared in red. “I’ll be back. I’m going to grab some Windex or something. This is bullshit, Irie. I’m sorry.”

  In an instant, I’m taken back to a nearly identical
incident my senior year at Iron Cross High. It’s a moment that’s stayed with me for years, despite my best efforts to erase it from my memory.

  Talon disappears inside, which gives me time to fight off the wave of tears that begin to cloud my vision.

  I don’t want him to see this side of me.

  I don’t want to have to explain something he couldn’t possibly begin to understand.

  Chapter 28

  Talon

  I toss an extra pair of jeans in my suitcase and zip it shut. Tomorrow I’ll be boarding a plane with Irie and Bette to Missouri for her cousin’s wedding. If I’m being honest, Missouri isn’t exactly on my bucket list, but I’m looking forward to a weekend away with her, a change of scenery, a glimpse of what life could be like outside the PVU bubble we know all too well.

  “Dude.” Rylan bursts through my door, his phone in hand. “Why didn’t you tell me Irie used to be a friggin’ cheerleader?”

  “The hell are you talking about? Let me see.” Pretty sure she would have mentioned something like that to me by now.

  Rylan hands me his phone, where it appears he’s Googled “Irie Davenport.” If it were any other asshole, I’d clock him for it because my girlfriend is none of his damn business, but I’ve known Ryland since our sophomore year and he’s always had a peculiar obsession with Googling everybody—it’s never anything personal, it’s just something he does because he’s a giant fucking weirdo.

  I scroll through the first image on the screen and stop on the second I recognize an all-too-familiar face. Pinching to zoom in, it takes all of a single second to confirm that it is, indeed, my girlfriend dressed in a full cheerleader’s uniform, complete with a sky-high ponytail tied with a glossy red ribbon. Her hands are at her hips, fists full of red and black pom-poms, and she’s grinning wide as she stands front and center before her squad.

  The caption below says, “Cheer squad captain Irie Davenport does her part to lead the Iron Cross Rams to a homecoming victory.”

  “Huh.” I hand Ryland his phone.

  I can only assume there are a million other things I’ve yet to learn about her.

  A weekend in her hometown should help fill in some of those blanks.

  Chapter 29

  Irie

  “Take a right up here,” I point up ahead as Talon brings the Nissan we rented to a slow crawl just short of my aunt and uncle’s driveway. “It’s the white house at the end of the street.”

  The flight went smoothly. Aunt Bette downed two glasses of cheap chardonnay at an airport bar before we boarded, Talon zoned out with headphones in his ears, and I read a paperback I grabbed from a gift shop. There wasn’t an ounce of turbulence or so much as a minute of a delay and yet I’ve been tense all afternoon.

  My head throbs and my stomach churns.

  Coming home—if I can even call it that—is something I’ve been dreading ever since Lauren and Jack sent their save-the-dates last fall and Bette RSVP’d the two of us.

  Talon pulls into my aunt and uncle’s driveway, parking off to the side. Judging by the number of unfamiliar vehicles lining the street, I’d say they’re in the midst of doing some pre-wedding entertaining, which is probably a good thing. I just want to show up, make my appearance, and get the hell out of here. The fewer exchanges the better.

  He kills the engine and climbs out to grab our luggage from the trunk as I help Bette out of the backseat. We’re all halfway up the front walk when the door swings open and Lauren comes dashing out, a vision in a white sheath dress, her hair an icier shade of blonde than the last time I saw her.

  She wraps her arms around Aunt Bette, making a show of their reunion despite the fact that Bette has never been all that fond of Lauren nor have they ever been close. But Bette plays along, hugging Lauren back and telling her how beautiful she looks.

  Lauren glides her palm down the side of her head before tucking her hair behind one ear and feigning a humble thank you.

  “Aunt Bette, so glad you’re here,” Aunt Elizabeth steps out from inside, arms wide open as she comes toward us. Her smile and embrace are reserved only for Bette, which is fine with me, but it doesn’t make this moment any less awkward or uncomfortable for half of us.

  “Irie,” Elizabeth says, turning to me and clasping her wiry hands tight in front of her narrow hips. “Did you have a nice flight?”

  “We did,” I say.

  Her eyes move from mine to Talon and back, her lips puckered tight. “Well, aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend? I had no idea you were bringing a guest. I hope he was able to find accommodations at the Quality Inn. I know most of the good hotels are booked with wedding guests …”

  “This is Talon,” I say. “My boyfriend. Talon, this is my aunt, Elizabeth.”

  Talon extends his hand. “Wonderful to meet you, Elizabeth. And don’t worry about me. I was able to find a suite at the Hilton in Peony Falls.”

  Aunt Liz’s dusty blue eyes flash for a second. There’s nothing more this woman hates than being one-upped, and everyone knows Peony Falls is a giant step and a half up from anything Iron Cross could ever offer a visitor.

  “Well, then,” Liz says. “Why don’t you all come in? We just got back from the rehearsal dinner. Having a small gathering for … close friends and family.” We head inside like ducks in a row. “Oh, and Irie, I wasn’t able to get a hold of your mother, and I tried everything. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t sure if you were hoping to see her or not, but I wanted to let you know.”

  “Did you try courier pigeon-ing the invite?” Talon asks. I told him on our first date that she lives on a technology-free commune. His dig is brilliant.

  My aunt shoots him a dirty look before turning away and opting to ignore him.

  I jab him in the ribs.

  I should have warned him about Aunt Liz’s non-existent sense of humor.

  At least now he knows.

  “So this is where you grew up?” he asks as we stop in the foyer. He leans down to examine the vast array of Lauren’s photos that litter the marble console table against the wall. “Why aren’t there any pictures of you?”

  I chuff. “Because they’re probably trying to erase those years from their memory.”

  “Why would they want to do that?”

  “Because I was their worst nightmare.”

  He begins to say something, probably wanting me to elaborate, when Uncle Michael rounds the corner, hands on his hips.

  “Irie,” he says. “Good to see you.”

  He doesn’t mean it.

  That’s the thing about people like him. They say and do things they never mean all of the time because they think it makes them look better. They’re always covering up their ugly souls with good deeds.

  I never asked for them to take me in.

  They wanted to look like saints to their congregation, like pillars to their community. Not to mention, Aunt Elizabeth always wanted more children but after Lauren, it just never happened for them. I think she had visions of dressing us like twins and showing off her beautiful, perfect china doll daughters to all of her friends at the Iron Cross Country Club.

  Only none of that happened.

  Lauren and I fought like, well, siblings.

  And I was never the sweet, angelic niece she envisioned.

  I was opinionated and sardonic and wise beyond my years—a trait thrust upon me from years of living on a commune where curfews and structure were never a thing and autonomy began by age five.

  She wanted so badly to shape me into the person she wanted me to be.

  Unfortunately that only worked with Lauren, who came equipped with a born-to-please-gene from birth.

  “And who’s your friend?” Uncle Michael says.

  “This is my boyfriend,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat, one that takes me back to my senior year. “Talon, this is my uncle Michael.”

  They shake hands, Michael making an obvious attempt to size him up despite the fact that Talon towers over him.

&nbs
p; “Dad, come on, we’re waiting for you,” Lauren says from the doorway. She doesn’t so much as give me a simple greeting. “Oh, my goodness, Aunt Bette!”

  She wraps her arms around Bette’s shoulders, squeezing tight as if to make it look like they have such a close, wonderful bond even though we all know the truth.

  “Thank you so much for coming,” she says before letting her go and turning to me. “Irie.”

  “Lauren,” I say without missing a beat.

  “I’m surprised you’re able to miss class to come here,” she says. “I hate the idea of you falling behind just to come to my wedding …”

  “It’s spring break. And I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” I say with a faux smile that shuts her up. I’m perfectly capable of taking the high road, even if she isn’t.

  Her gaze travels to Talon next, and she inhales a sharp breath, her eyes widening before averting.

  I know that look.

  She finds him attractive …

  “Lauren, this is my boyfriend, Talon,” I say, hooking my arm into his and splaying my other hand across his steely chest.

  Lauren clears her throat, too nervous in his presence to utter a single respectable response.

  “Come on, Dad.” Lauren straightens her shoulders, suddenly pretending like we’re not there anymore. “They need you in the next room.”

  I don’t know what they could possibly need him for right now. It’s not like they’re cutting a cake or lighting fireworks. I imagine she’s jealous that his attention isn’t solely on her tonight.

  Sometimes I think he wanted to be a father figure to me.

  Other times I think he felt guilty, like he was abandoning his own daughter if he gave me too much of his time or energy. Regardless, it’s in the past now.

  I don’t need a father figure anymore and I don’t need him.

  “Talon, if you wouldn’t mind taking those bags to the guest room for us, that’d be great,” Uncle Michael says, speaking to him but looking at me. “Come join us in the family room when you’re done.”