by Cindi Madsen
“So if Megan’s the reason you’ve been happier lately, let yourself be happy,” Hudson continued. “You deserve a break from fixing everyone. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you were there to knock some sense into me when I nearly gave up on making things right with Whitney. But for once you deserve not to have to be responsible for it all.”
I fought for the smile, but once it was there it turned genuine. “I don’t know if I’d call you fixed, though. Maybe a little less defective…”
Hudson laughed and punched me in the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go eat. And if I make a super loud joke, or kick you under the table, it means stop staring at Beck’s sister before he notices.”
…
The interior of the restaurant was all black brick, sleek stainless steel bar and tables, and square framed windows separating the different sections. Definitely the type of unique places Megan gravitated toward.
“There they are.” Hudson headed across the room to where Beck, Lyla, Whitney, Vanessa, and Megan sat. I tried not to let my eyes linger on Megan, but she had on this shimmery pink lip gloss that drew my attention to her lips and made me recall tracing that sexy bottom lip with my thumb this morning, and how she bit me. Then I was thinking of everything that came after.
“You going to sit down or what, man?” Hudson asked, bringing me back to the present. Which was good—much longer of that type of thinking and the evidence of my attraction to her would be hard to hide.
I slid into the open spot at the end of the table, which left Megan to my right. Unfortunately, it also meant staring across the table at her brother on the other end. He gave me a nod and I returned it, studying his expression for any sign he knew about Megan and me. But he didn’t look like he wanted to kill me, so I figured he had no idea, and I’d like to keep it that way.
Large flat screen TVs hung next to the bar and on the far wall, both tuned to the game. Luckily, between the Bruins and Lyla, Beck was fairly distracted.
Megan was pretty distracted with the game, too, her eyes glued to the screen once the Bruins took possession. “Oh, go in, go in.” She leaned as she urged the puck on-screen to keep sailing across the ice, like if she leaned far enough or maybe blew on it, it’d cross the line.
It went in and our table—along with half the patrons in the bar—cheered. As a Rangers fan, when I first arrived in Boston, I’d been adamantly against ever celebrating a Bruins win. The town gradually won me over, though, and while I’d still pick the Rangers above anyone else every time, I no longer cheered against the Bruins.
We ordered dinner and continued watching the game, although to be honest, I was having a hard time taking my eyes off Megan. She yelled instructions at the players, everything from “he’s open” to “go wide.” Too bad they couldn’t hear her, because she gave sound coaching advice—I was ready to do just about anything she told me to.
Here and there she would flash me a smile, and while everyone else was distracted by the waitress delivering their food, I reached under the table and hooked one of her fingers with mine.
The little indention in her cheek that accompanied her smiles showed, and a string in my heart tugged.
Then the waitress set down our food, breaking the spell that’d fooled me into thinking we were the only two people in the world for a moment.
The last seconds of the game ticked by and the Bruins pulled off the win, which left everyone in the bar in a good mood, the beer flowing freely for most of them. I stuck to water because I knew I’d need a clear mind to prevent everything I was feeling for Megan from showing in my face.
She frowned at her plate. “Aww, my fries are almost out.” She took the second to last one and swirled it through her puddle of ketchup.
“Out? You make it sound like it’s gasoline and you’ll stall out once they’re gone.”
“That’s exactly what it’s like. Fueled by fries—that’s my slogan.”
I laughed and she grinned. She lifted her soda, and I swore she was purposely drinking as sexy as possible, torturing me with the way her mouth wrapped around the straw.
I readjusted in my seat, trying not to think about other things I’d like her to wrap her mouth around.
An empty sucking noise came from her drink, and she heaved a sigh. “And now my soda is over already.”
She says things like her fries are almost out and her soda is over. How damn cute is that?
A shoe slammed into my calf, sending a sharp pain up it. I tore my gaze from Megan and glanced across at Hudson, who widened his eyes, and tipped his head toward the other end of the table.
Beck had a deadly serious expression on his face, and I worried I’d put it there. Oops. Guess I was being pretty obvious.
“I think we should ask Coach about that last play they scored on,” Hudson said, nice and loud to be heard over the din of the place. “You, me, and Beck could run it, don’t you think?”
“With the fake like that?” I added, glancing at Beck.
A crease showed up in Beck’s forehead and I wasn’t sure if he was thinking about the play or about murdering me. “Yeah, but we should add a reverse to Hudson.”
“Did you see the way they switched up their zone defense, too?” Megan leaned forward, and even though I could have gotten more than a side glance of cleavage, I forced myself to keep my gaze straight.
“That was tight,” Hudson said.
“Sure.” Whitney picked up her drink and swirled the ice around in the cup. “I totally know what you all are talking about.”
Hudson lifted their entwined hands and kissed the back of hers. “I’ll give you some private tutoring tonight.”
They formed a tiny bubble and did the close talking, foreplay kind of thing they constantly fell into, and I experienced a twinge of jealousy over the fact that I couldn’t do the same with Megan.
Wait. That’s not what I want.
It wasn’t exactly not not what I wanted. I just knew better than to think I could have it right now.
No drama.
Or, now that I’d already landed myself waist-deep in it, maybe I should change it to Just a bit of drama, as long as the cause of the drama has big blue eyes, a laugh that makes everything seem right in the world, and a penchant for funky jewelry.
With everyone else distracted—even Ryder and Vanessa were deep in conversation that included a bit of eye-humping—I scooted my plate toward Megan. “Want the rest of my fries? I’d hate for you to run out of energy.”
She grabbed one and bit it in half. After a quick glance to check no one was watching, I whispered, “How many fries will you need to be fueled up for tomorrow night?”
She turned those blue eyes on me and her hand curled around my thigh, so high that her pinky brushed my balls. “More than this for what I have planned.”
My throat went dry, and I worked to keep my jaw from dropping to the floor. I stared at my empty plate, trying to get myself under control.
Megan scooted her chair out. “I think it’s time to check out the games. Dane or Ryder, care to lose ten bucks tonight? Full disclosure, you’ll have to tell people you lost at hockey to a girl.” She glanced from him to me.
Vanessa shot up, grabbing Ryder’s hand. “I’m going to go kick his ass at foosball, actually, so looks like you’re stuck with Dane.”
Megan crossed her arms and pinned me with a glare I assumed was supposed to come across as intimidating. “Looks like it’s me and you, Kowalski.”
“You’re challenging me to a hockey game?” I did my best to keep it more on the trash-talky than flirty side. “Pfft. Please.”
“Ten bucks to the winner.” She pulled a folded green bill out of her pocket and waved it at me.
“You’re on.”
Megan turned to the rest of the group. “There are a ton of games—Beckett, they even have an old school Street Fighter arcade machine. I’ll find you for a game in a bit, ’kay?”
Before her brother could even answer, she practically bounced out of the dining
area. I followed, trying not to fucking skip after her and those sexy legs—she had on the bright pink pants she wore the night of the hockey party, and I suddenly found myself a big fan of the color pink.
The second we were out of view, I grabbed her hand, yanked her to me, and kissed her. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I walked in.”
“Well, it’s probably for the best that you refrained, but whenever possible, I vote for hello-kissing.” She glanced around and then gave me a quick peck on the lips. “Unfortunately all the games are in the same area. I’m glad you ended up coming, though.”
I almost opened my mouth and told her it was because I found out she would be here, and after this morning, I’d been counting down the seconds until I could see her again. But then I worried that those kinds of statements might undo what we’d agreed upon. Keeping it light, so no one gets hurt. “Me, too.”
She led me to a bubble hockey table, the flat metal guys protected under glass. It was the same idea as foosball, with bars to push and pull and spin the players. I tested the levers to get a feel for it and Megan did the same.
“See, the downfall of this type of game,” I said as I jerked on one of the handles, “is it’s hard for me to pull off the ‘let me show you how’ move.”
“Oh? And is that one of your usual moves?”
“Of course. Girls can’t resist it.”
She frowned at the hockey table and smacked the top of one of the levers. “Um, I totes don’t get it. How is this sporsting thing done?” She stuck out her lips farther and added an extra heaping of ditzy to her voice. “I’m just a girl with no hand-eye coordination who needs hands-on experience.”
After a quick scan of the place, I rounded the table and wrapped my arms around her. “Okay, so you grab it like this…” I moved her hand to one of the plastic handles and covered it with mine. “Then you push it like this, see…”
Megan reached up and twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “Wow, there’s, like, a lot of thrusting involved in this game.”
I choked out a laugh, but then she backed up into me, her butt lined up with my crotch. My grip on her hand tightened, and I nipped at her earlobe. “The ditzy act is hotter than I thought it’d be. But I think you’re going to get us both in trouble. We better save the thrusting lessons for later.”
She spun around and placed her hands on my chest. “Fine. If that’s what you want…” Her mischievous expression made it clear she knew exactly what she was doing to me.
My cell buzzed, and I dug it out of my pocket.
Hudson: We’re headed your way.
I showed Megan and then rounded the hockey table. I inserted some quarters and the puck popped out of the middle.
“Crap! I meant to go the other way,” Megan said when one of my metal guys hit the puck. “Someone didn’t give me good enough lessons.”
With a quick twist of my wrist, the puck flew toward my goal. “Hey, it’d take more than a few minutes to show you all of my tricks.”
We continued to banter back and forth, but since I’d caught sight of Lyla’s fiery red hair and was sure Beck was by her side, we kept our comments aimed at the hockey game—although calling it that seemed a bit offensive to what me and the guys did.
When I won by a point, I threw my hands up, making a big deal of beating her.
Megan shook her head. “I think you got the good side. My guys didn’t spin.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let’s switch and have a rematch, then.”
As we exchanged places, I took advantage of the table blocking the view of our lower halves and gave her a quick smack on the butt. “Good game. You’ll get ’em next time, Tiger.”
Megan rolled her eyes, but a giant grin curved her lips. I watched her set up on the other side, and my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, sure Hudson was warning me that I wasn’t being subtle enough.
Instead my ex’s name lit up the screen, along with the text she’d sent.
Jazmine: Don’t freak out, but Lissa got picked up by the cops tonight. It wasn’t my fault. I tried to get her to leave, but she insisted on staying.
“What’s wrong?” Megan asked. “Dane?”
“Just a second.” Dread filled my chest, turning the blood in my veins icy cold. “I gotta take care of something.”
Me: Did you call Cassidy? Or my parents?
Jazmine: No. I’m telling you. You’re welcome.
What I wanted to write back was no fucking thanks. But that’d only start a fight, and obviously Lissa was hell-bent on ruining her future. So instead I pulled up Cassidy’s name, wondering how to break the news without it crushing her, and wishing that I were there so she didn’t have to shoulder it herself.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Megan
Dane had left in a hurry, and I wondered again what was in that text that made him pale like that and then rush off so quickly. Hudson and Whitney went with him, and while I hadn’t talked to Whitney much, I thought about texting her just to make sure Dane was okay.
Which would be the opposite of covert, and possibly not in line with the casual, no-pressure relationship we were supposed to have going on, but I couldn’t help but worry that something bad had happened.
“You okay?” Vanessa asked, draping her arm over my shoulders.
“Yeah. I’m sure it was important, whatever it was.” I glanced over my shoulder at Ryder, who was playing the Pac-Man machine, an intense look on his face. “You having fun with Ryder?”
“Yeah. He’s nice to look at. Kind of quiet, though.”
“Well, thanks for reading between the lines and making sure I got to play with Dane.”
“’Course. What are friends for?”
Before Lyla and Vanessa, I more knew the theory of what friends were for, but my roommate turned out to be an even better friend than I’d hoped for, adding proof that they did exist. Earlier today I told her everything that’d happened with Dane, from last night at the Quad to the confrontation this morning, and how we’d, uh, worked out our issues. She encouraged me to enjoy it while it lasted, which made me feel better about revising my original stance on potential boyfriends.
Lyla and Beck wandered over, hand in hand.
“Anyone want a drink?” Beckett asked.
“Yeah. I’ll have a shot of whiskey,” I said.
“Funny. So a Coke?”
“Sure.” Not that I actually wanted whiskey. Maybe something milder, but Beckett would never go for it, as if he thought I never drank. Someday I’d have to break the news that I wasn’t his kid sister anymore.
He went to grab the drinks, and I leaned against the wall, the hours I hadn’t slept suddenly weighing me down and making me wish for my bed. Of course whenever I finally flopped into it, I found myself wide-awake, calculating the length of the cracks in the ceiling based on the square footage of the room.
Me + no sleep = useless knowledge of cracks, and the fact that the ones in our dorm average two and a half feet. Or thirty inches, if you’re into that kind of thing, and .762 meters for my British friends. You know, if I meet any someday.
Ryder threw his hands up and swore at the Pac-Man ghosts. When he noticed he’d grabbed our attention, his expression turned sheepish, and he slowly walked over to us, arriving right as Beck returned with drinks.
I took a sip of Coke, then set it on a nearby table and turned to Lyla. “Mind if I steal my brother for a game?”
“Steal away,” Lyla said. “I’m all gamed out.”
We moved over to an old school Street Fighter game. This place was such a mix of modern and vintage, and I loved it—it would basically be me if I were a restaurant. Of course it also meant I’d have to figure out the joystick and buttons, since Beckett and I used to play on his PlayStation.
“Are you sure you can handle this?” my brother asked. “Things could get ugly.”
“You mean we might reignite the sibling rivalry of ’05?” For some reason that was the year we went from playing for fun t
o playing to win at all costs, and a game of Sorry turned ugly. For such an apologetic title, it certainly made us mad. Mom had banned us from board games for a month.
That hollow spot in my heart that opened up whenever I thought about my parents made an appearance, sending swirls of sorrow and fondness through me.
Beckett leaned his palm against the edge of the brightly colored machine in front of us. “I was more thinking of the one that happened because of this very game.”
“Oh. That.” After I’d kicked his ass as Chun Li, we’d exchanged barbs over whether men or women were better fighters, and he said that video games were the only place females could keep up. So I punched him.
Funny how those memories made me miss my brother, even with him standing a few feet from me. “Good thing we’re more mature now.”
“Sure. Let’s go with that.” Beckett fed quarters into the machine and we played two games. Since we each won one, we decided to call it a tie and keep up the friendly feelings.
“Mom would be so proud of us going out on a tie,” I said.
A crooked grin spread across Beckett’s face. “She would. After she got over the shock that we could play without fighting.”
“I think what was most awesome about our blow-up over Street Fighter is that after we had to do the big forced apologies in front of Mom, you took me outside and showed me how to throw a better punch, with my weight behind it.”
“Well, I couldn’t have you punching like a girl.”
I shot him a daggered glare and he laughed and nudged me with his elbow. “Just kidding. So, we haven’t had much time to talk the last few weeks. How’s everything going? Classes? Where you live? Friends?”
“Really good, actually. Vanessa and I are growing closer everyday, and my classes are plenty challenging but I’m managing. You know, I thought I’d be more into electrical engineering—it’s showier and has the fun projects—but if I go biomedical I would be more of an asset to D&T Pharmaceuticals, which is cool because it helps me feel connected to Dad.”
“He’d like that.”
“Yeah, and I’d rather do something like that than office-type work.”