Games We Play

by Angel Lawson

  “Is this how you feel all the time?” I ask, thinking of Chief McMichael and all the years he’s worked on this case. “Like you’re holding a ball of loose threads?”

  She laughs. “Not all the time. Sometimes we get it right. But I’m afraid this time there just aren’t enough pieces to put it together, in either of the girls' cases.”

  The waitress walks over and slides a bowl of oatmeal and fruit on the table. She asks if I’d like to order something, but I pass, my stomach full of knots—or rather, loose threads.

  “How do you let it go?” I ask.

  “You don’t,” she replies, spearing a strawberry on her fork, “not exactly, but that’s the catch with crime; there’s always another one around the corner to catch your attention.”

  28

  Ozzy

  Two days past homecoming and it’s like a gear shifts in the school. We’re past all the big stuff. Two things matter; school work and the final game of the season.

  Mrs. Gimple, along with all the other teachers, unleash huge assignments. By the end of school Monday, I’m loaded down with two group projects, one major exam, and three papers.

  Oh, and don’t forget college applications.

  Even with all that, I’m singularly focused—and it’s not on school work or college. It’s Kenley Keene.

  “You know what I want?” she asks, and I use every ounce of self-control not to ask her if it’s sex. Because that’s what I want. All the time. Desperately. With her.

  “Uh,” I say, squeezing her knee. “No.”

  “Ice cream.” She flashes me a grin. “Double chocolate peanut butter.”

  I lift an eyebrow. “Kendrick’s?”

  She makes a u-turn, tires squealing, just before the bridge and heads back into town. We pass Main Street, and she pulls into the parking lot of the flat-roofed building. She turns off the car and leans over, kissing me on the mouth. My hand inches upward, feeling the soft warmth of her upper thigh.

  “Ice cream,” she says, like she’s trying to remind herself of our task.

  “Yep,” I reply, thinking something cold may be the best thing to calm me down anyway.

  Her step doesn’t falter until we walk inside and she sees Alice standing behind the counter. Even then it’s just a blip before her shoulders push back.

  “Hey,” Alice says, eyes darting between us.

  Kenley unconsciously rubs her lips. “Hi.”

  “I’ll have a chocolate strawberry shake and,” I nod at Kenley, “she’ll have a—”

  “Double chocolate peanut butter,” Alice says, cutting me off. “Waffle cone. Got it.”

  Kenley gives me a look before slinking off, heading across the small space. There’s a row of old photographs mounted to the wall in the small breezeway. She enters the small, quiet space, and busies herself while I wait for our order.

  Alice tediously fills our order; scooping four identical balls of ice cream in a metal cup to make my shake. She turns her back to me and flips on the blender, the sound ricocheting through the room.

  “Do you think she’s happy?”

  I look up and see her right across from me. I’ll admit I don’t pay Alice much attention. Especially not after all the shit that went down between her and Kenley. But with her so close I do notice a few changes—physically. Her hair is a deeper pink than normal and the makeup under her eyes dark and thick. There’s a septum ring that I’m pretty sure wasn’t there before.

  “Do I think who is happy?” I ask, knowing the answer.

  Her eyes flit to where Kenley studies the pictures. “Kenley. Is she happy?”

  “I think the last month has been really fucking hard on everyone, Alice, and Kenley is doing what she can to make the best of it.”

  Like trying to get some ice cream in peace.

  “I always knew she’d drop me when she got the chance.” Her jaw tics. “I’m sure you don’t think she’ll do that to you too, but she will. She only has eyes for one person. Well, two, but one is dead. That leaves Finn.” Her eyes sweep over me. “You’re cute Oz, but you’re no Finn Holloway. I couldn’t make her happy and neither can you.”

  I’m not sure what reaction Alice is hoping for but it’s not the burst of laughter that she gets. Her snide grin falters. “I think you just revealed your own blind spot, Alice. Kenley doesn’t need to be sheltered and controlled. She wants, no, needs, more than one person in her life—more than one friend, maybe more than one boyfriend. She was always going to leave you because you wanted her all to yourself.”

  We stare at one another for a long beat and I add, “I’m not sure if you two can ever work things out, but I do know that as long as you’re petty and jealous, Kenley won’t want to be in your life.”

  Her eyes narrow, hurt and prideful. I don’t know if Alice is in love with Kenley or what, but she’s trapped in a level of toxicity that supersedes everything else. She finally turns away and walks over to the blender, shutting it off.

  A moment later I’m walking out the door, handing the cone to Kenley.

  “Thanks,” she says. “Sorry I walked out. I just can’t with that today.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  “Did she say something to you?” she asks when we reach the car. She leans against the side, taking a long lick of her cone.

  “She wanted to know if you’re happy.” A smudge of chocolate clings to her lip. I reach out and wipe it away with my thumb. “Are you?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “Maybe I need to do a better job of letting everyone know.”

  She touches my cheek and places a kiss on my mouth, right where everyone in the whole goddamned town can see.

  29

  Kenley

  Cold water rushes over my hands and I curse the fact the school doesn’t have hot water in the bathrooms. I guess I’m lucky there’s soap in the dispenser.

  I’m not so lucky when it comes to paper towels.

  “Crap,” I mutter, looking up as the door opens. Kayla James walks through the door. “Hey,” I say. “No paper towels. Again.”

  “It’s like they don’t want us to wash our hands,” she says, striding over to the mirror. She drops her bag in the sink and starts rummaging through.

  I don’t know Kayla personally. She’s younger and we’re not involved in any of the same activities. There’s been zero reason for me to talk to her, but now seems like my chance.

  “Hey, do you have any lotion? The cold water is ruining my skin.”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  She digs through her purse and pulls out a pale, purple tube. I take it and squeeze out a small dollop. It smells like lavender.

  Kayla’s wearing a big sweater, different from her normal skintight clothing. I pretend not to notice when she tugs at the cowl neck, revealing a purple mark on her collarbone.

  “Jesus Christ,” she mutters, fishing out a tube of concealer.

  I peer over and say, “That I can help with.”

  Her eyes flick to mine in the mirror. “What?”

  “That hickey? The best way to cover it is with a hint of green.”

  I unzip my bag and pull it out of the small compartment. I’d been carrying it ever since I marked up Ezra’s neck.

  Kayla eyes me suspiciously—or is she impressed? I hand it over. She squeezes out a small dot and pulls back her collar, giving me a better look. It’s more purple than red, the skin not inflamed like the mark I’d left on Ezra.

  I’m not so sure that’s a love bite.

  “Yikes,” I say, “that looks like it hurt.”

  She shakes her head. “Guess that’s the dichotomy of pleasure and pain, right?”

  “Right.”

  Did Chandler do that to her?

  I lean against the sink. “It’s not okay for someone to hurt you if you don’t like it.”

  “Who says I don’t like it?” She rubs in the concealer. “Look, Kenley, right?” I nod. “I appreciate your concern. I know they gave you that award and everything, but I’m no
t some damsel in distress. I can take care of myself, I’ve been doing it for a long time.”

  “Yeah, that’s what Rose thought, too.”

  She snorts. “You think Finn Holloway liked it rough?”

  “No, I don’t. But I know that whoever did that to you has done it before to other girls. Girls like you.”

  She blinks and shoves the tube back in my hand. “Rose Waller and I are nothing alike. I’m not a rich girl with a powerful father. I’m also not about to toss myself off a bridge.”

  She adjusts her sweater and storms out of the bathroom. I watch her go, not saying what’s on the tip of my tongue; that more than ever, I’m convinced that Rose didn’t jump off that bridge.

  She was pushed.

  Hot tub?

  I read the text from Ezra twice, feeling the flutter in my lower belly.

  Now?

  It’s late. We have school tomorrow, but that little part of me that loves risk begs me to go for it.

  Ten minutes. I’ll pick you up.

  I meet him on the corner, like the last time he came to get me. This time there’s no hesitation about getting on the back of his bike. It gives me the chance to unabashedly wrap my arms around his body and hold him tight, but tonight he has other plans. I’m okay with it.

  “Is your dad here?” I’ve done my best to avoid Mr. Baxter since our altercation in the kitchen during float building. He made it clear he didn’t think his son should waste his time on a girl like me.

  “No,” he says, leading me through the house and out the back door. Lights from the pool and hot tub cast a glow over the deck. “You need to change?”

  I shake my head. “I’m wearing my suit.”

  He grins and kisses me, pushing at the hem of my shirt. His fingers are warm from his leather gloves, but I still get a chill when he touches me.

  “I’m not. I’ll be right back.” He walks into the guest house.

  I pull off my shirt and jeans, shivering from the sudden cold. I toss them both on a chair and walk over to the hot tub. I’m wearing the bikini that matches the one Rose wore. I still remember the look in Ezra’s eyes that day. He liked it. A lot.

  I dip a toe into the steaming water, feeling the rush of bubbling warmth. I sit, first on the edge, then submerging my lower body. Ezra jogs out the guest house door, shirtless in a pair of black swim trunks.

  His body is amazing. There’s the span of muscles along his long, lean torso and the smooth curve of his biceps and shoulders. He stops by the edge and looks down at me.

  “You’re wearing the bikini.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  He shakes his head and steps down into the water. His grin is deadly. “I’d been hoping to see you in that again.”

  Ezra Baxter is many things, but he sure as hell isn’t shy, and he makes me lose all inhibition, which is why a moment after he gets in the tub, I stand and move in front of him.

  “God, you’re gorgeous,” he says, eyeing my body. He runs a hand down my side, thumb settling on my hip. “Like, not one damn person has a clue you’re walking around with that banging body underneath all those baggy clothes.” I raise an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe two other people, but that’s it.”

  “My clothes aren’t that baggy.”

  “You need to invest in a hoodie shop, babe.”

  I lean forward and kiss him. His tongue slips between my lips, sending a spark of desire through my body. His hands glide down my back and over the curve of my ass, fingers tugging at the edge of my bottoms. My body remembers the last time his hands were that close, how he made me feel, how hard I’d come.

  It throbs and tingles at the memory.

  And the promise of more to come.

  Things have changed since Ezra and I were together. I’m no longer a virgin, and I’ve learned a few things about what guys like. He must sense this as I straddle his hips and press my chest against his, feeling the hard want between us. Hot steam bubbles around us and I grind against him. His mouth and hands grow needy; my nails drag against his warm flesh, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

  He pulls back, jaw clenched tight. His fingers brush back damp hair. His thumb tugs at my bottom lip.

  “Talk to me, babe,” he whispers, wanting to know what to do next. “Tell me what you want.”

  My eyes dart to the guest house—the comfortable bed that I know is inside. It’s all the invitation he needs as he stands, lifting me with him. Hot water runs down our bodies, leaving a trail as he carries me across the pool deck to the guest room door. He fumbles with the knob and I laugh at his eagerness. Not much rattles Ezra Baxter.

  In one swift move, he gets it open and shoves his tongue in my mouth; both shut me up.

  Ezra carries me through the room, holding me under my butt. He kisses me the whole time; never stopping, not even when he lays me on the bed and crawls over me. I run my hands along his stomach, pulling at the little tie at the waist of his trunks. He’s hard—erect—his cock straining at the fabric. I reach for him, feeling his length under the damp fabric. His lips burn against my neck, my chest, my stomach, every inch of my body as he shimmies down the bed. I thrust my fingers into his hair, tugging at the dark locks. He stands and I prop up on my elbows, getting a good look at his body. It’s obvious that he’s big, more so than Ozzy, and a flutter of nerves tickles my belly. His thumbs hook in his shorts.

  “You two may want to stop right there.”

  His eyes widen, and I freeze. Both of us look over his shoulder where his father stands in the doorway.

  “Jesus, Dad. Ever think of knocking?” Ezra asks, adjusting himself. He moves, blocking me from his father’s view.

  “It’s my house. I don’t have to knock.”

  I finally break from my trance, thankful I’m still covered even if it’s in the tiny scraps of the bikini. Heat boils under my skin, sheer humiliation. Is he going to call my parents? Who think I’m tucked in my bed right now?

  My eyes meet Mr. Baxter’s as they flick from my chest to my face. “Get dressed and meet me in the house.”

  He exits the room and I sit up, searching around. “Shit, my clothes are outside.”

  “I’ll get them.”

  I scramble off the bed and start pacing. I can’t believe I let this happen. My parents give me a lot of freedom, but this? They’ll crack down on me in a heartbeat. And Mr. Baxter? I shudder, thinking of the way he looked at me. He already told me I wasn’t good enough for his son—and now he caught me like this?

  “Here,” Ezra says, coming back in the room. He hands me my shirt, jeans, and sneakers while tugging his own sweatshirt over his head. “I’m so sorry, KK, he told me he was going out of town. I had no idea he’d be back.”

  “Do you think he’ll call my parents?”

  He runs his hand through his hair—just like I had a few minutes ago when he was kissing my stomach. I pull my shirt on. Then my jeans.

  “I doubt it. He’ll have to explain his own parenting flaws if he does. At the most he probably wants to give us some bullshit don’t-get-pregnant speech. It’s a classic.”

  “He doesn’t think I’m good enough for you.”

  “What?” He frowns. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “The final night of float building when I was in the kitchen. He told me that you needed to focus on football—not girls. Not me, for sure.”

  “Too bad that’s not his decision.” My hand shake as I tie my shoes. Ezra steps over and wraps his arms around me. “No one gets to decide who is important to me, KK, especially not my dad, who’s barely around himself. Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

  “What about your dad?”

  “I’ll deal with him when I get home.”

  The last thing I want is to face Mr. Baxter again, so I follow him to the garage. My heart pounds, not just for myself, but for Ezra. His dad is hard on him. Will this push him over the edge?

  He leaves me by the SUV. “Wait here.”

  He kisses my forehead and walks insi
de. Angry voices carry through the shut door, but Ezra remerges, jaw clenched tight. He nods for me to get in the car, and I move quickly.

  “Is he pissed?”

  “Yeah, he’s pissed. At me, not you.” The garage door opens, and he backs up. At the end of the driveway he stops the car and says, “My dad is an asshole. Selfish, egotistical, driven. Right now, all he can see is that state ring. I don’t even give a shit about it, but I compromised to keep him off my back.” He holds my eye. “I will not compromise when it comes to you, got it?”

  “We can lay off until the end of the season. It’s okay.”

  He shakes his head. “No, it’s not. He has to understand he doesn’t control everything and everyone. Not you and not me.”

  I take his hand. “Just be careful.”

  He pulls into the street and takes me home, dropping me a few houses away. The lights are still off, meaning Mr. Baxter didn’t call and wake up my parents. I kiss him quickly, then ease out of the car, shutting the door quietly behind me. I wave when I get to the front porch and he drives off.

  My heartrate doesn’t slow until I’m in bed, under the covers. It’s not getting caught that’s bothering me, or even Ezra fighting with this dad. It’s the dark look Mr. Baxter gave me when he looked at me on the bed, barely dressed. It’s the fact he has something on me that he can hold over my head.

  Mr. Baxter already has too much power in this town.

  I don’t want him to have it over me too.

  30

  Finn

  “Ice and rest your shoulder for the rest of the day, and you’ll be fine for the game tomorrow.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask Jenna, the team trainer, over the sound of tape ripping. I’m sitting on a padded table in the athletic training room. She’s looped the adhesive around my arm to secure a bag of ice to my shoulder. “About the game, that is.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. I mean, if it hurts let me know, but this is just precautionary. Coach Chandler wants you well rested for tomorrow.” Her walkie-talkie crackles and one of the coaches asks her to head out to the field to check on a player. “Close the door when you leave, okay?”