I hear a mixture of giggles and sighs from the girls around us and the guys let out various encouragements, one of them punching my shoulder but I brush him off.
“I don’t care about what people think, Skyler. I know you do, but I don’t. I’m not sorry. I want you. I want –”
Suddenly, Skyler thrusts her cup into her Little’s hands and stands before grabbing my hoodie and pulling me into her, crushing her lips to mine. Everyone hoots and hollers as she throws her arms around my neck and I pull her into me tighter, tasting the lips I’ve dreamt about for the past week and a half.
She pulls back, smiling, and runs her fingers through my mussed up hair. “I’ve missed you. Take me to the dance tomorrow.”
And as happy as I am to hear her say she wants me to take her to the dance, something seems off. She’s smiling, but her eyes are hiding something. Erin is right here, so obviously that’s not what it is. I can’t figure it out, but something isn’t right.
“Like that was even an option,” I say, kissing her again. After a few more cheers and some guys yelling out for us to get a room, I take her hand and pull her away from the fire. She looks over her shoulder just as Erin storms off and I see her cringe. Maybe this is about her, after all.
“Don’t worry about that,” I say, pulling her chin toward me. “She’ll be okay.”
Skyler sighs, her eyes following Erin as she disappears, but when she turns back to me, that same smile comes. But it’s not her smile. Not the real one. I know that smile, I take pride in putting that smile on her face – but this? This is not it. Her eyes are soft, but distant – the light is missing.
Holy shit.
I think she’s giving me her poker face.
“Yeah, she’ll be fine,” she says, tucking her hands in the front pocket of my hoodie. She eyes the letters and looks back up at me. “So you’re officially a brother, huh?”
I know something is off with her, but maybe it’s just the distance. Even though it’s only been a week and a half, we didn’t talk at all. Maybe she’s just a little shy. Did she smile like this the first night we met?
“Nah, I stole this sweater from Goodwill. Don’t tell.”
She presses her finger to her puckered lips and my eyes follow. “Your secret is safe with me.”
I swallow hard, remembering the way it felt when she came on my fingers and wanting desperately to hear the sweet sounds that escaped her mouth again. I grab her face between my hands and pull her lips to mine, sliding my tongue in to take full advantage. She moans into my mouth and my dick hardens, anxious to be inside her.
Down, boy.
“Come home with me,” I murmur between kisses.
She kisses me back, hard, needy, but then her eyes open and I see the conflict in them. It’s the same wall of doubt from before, but it looks like the bricks I had chipped away at were now back and stronger than ever.
“I can’t.”
“Stop overthinking it and do what you want to do.”
“It’s not that easy.”
Suddenly, a bright flash catches us from the right and we both turn. I grab Skyler protectively and pull her into me to shield her from whatever the fuck is happening.
“You two are so cute together,” a voice says in the darkness. The fire is behind the person the voice came from, making a haunting silhouette as my eyes try to adjust. “New boyfriend again, Skyler? Will he be with you in Vegas?”
My heart stops.
What the hell is happening?
“Shit.” Skyler grabs my hand and yanks it hard in the opposite direction and before I know it we’re running. The photographer chases us for a while, still shouting questions before we lose him, hiding in the family bathroom of Hawthorne Hall. When we’re sure he’s gone, we sneak out and walk swiftly toward the sorority house.
“What the fuck was that?” I ask as we walk. I tried asking when we were hiding, but Skyler wouldn’t make a sound and kept shushing me when I tried.
She groans. “Probably a reporter. Or a freelance photographer low on funds. Or maybe there’s another Hottest Poker Players issue coming out from some played out magazine. I always seem to end up on those shitty lists.”
“What are you talking about?”
She sighs. “This happened last year before I played a pretty massive tournament in Atlantic City. My parents told me it would probably happen again and maybe be even worse with this one in Vegas, but I guess I didn’t think they would find me here. They’re not supposed to be allowed on campus, but technically the bonfire isn’t on campus, is it? Fuck.”
She’s rambling, so I stop her just short of her sorority house’s lawn and pull her into me, wrapping my arms around her. I kiss her hair and wait for her breaths to steady against my chest before pulling back to face her again.
“It’s all good, they’re gone now and we can talk to the Dean tomorrow about this. Or President Whittington. They’ll take care of it.”
She nods, but for once I see concern laden on her face – not the kind about sorority functions or fighting her feelings for me, but legitimate concern. “Okay,” she says finally, but she doesn’t seem convinced.
“Hey, look at me.” I wait for her to bring her eyes to mine before continuing. “The only thing you need to worry about right now is picking out a dress for tomorrow night, okay? I’ll handle talking to the president. Pick you up at seven?”
For a second she just stares at me, a look of what seems like pain washing over her face. Slowly, she smiles, but this smile is even worse than the one she’s been feeding me all night. It’s not fake – it’s forced.
“Actually, Adam and some of your brothers are coming in a limo to pick a lot of my other sisters up. Could we ride with them? It would be so fun!”
I chew my bottom lip, definitely not wanting to agree but realizing I don’t really have a choice at this point. “Okay, yeah. I’ll talk to Adam.”
“Okay,” she says, smiling again. She lifts up on her toes and gives me a swift kiss before turning toward the door.
As I watch her walk away, my head spins with confusion. She kissed me in public, made a huge scene about the dance – it’s clear she’s not worried about our “friends only” agreement. But at the same time, now she’s being different with me. Is she still feeling weird about Erin? Is she using me to make Adam mad? Does she still have feelings for him?
God, why am I such a chick right now?
I roll my eyes and start walking toward my apartment, shaking my head. I’m overreacting, reading too much into shit. She’s fine, we’re fine – I’ve just been so worked up over the past week thinking about what was going through her head that I’m making shit up that isn’t even happening.
Pulling in a deep breath, I let the cool February air fill my lungs and then push it out, letting the stress go with it. I feel my chest deflate and realize how tense I’ve been all night. Everything is cool, nothing to worry about – except not killing Adam when I ask him to ride in that damn limo tomorrow night.
And that photo.
I try to convince myself I won’t have to deal with that, but something in my gut tells me I will. Not just with the president, but with my dad. I’m still in this game for him, I’m still here and doing what he wants me to do.
Right?
Yes. Definitely yes. UCLA is my dream school and I’m going to get there. But I can still have some fun with Skyler along the way, right? I mean, at this point she’s going to hate me no matter what.
Or maybe she won’t.
Maybe I should tell her I play, that I want to enter the tournament just for fun to see how I do. Then when I win, it’ll be like a joke – something we can laugh about together. Hey, remember that time I helped you train for that tournament and then I ended up winning? Hilarious!
Okay, so it sounded better in my head. But if I am still in this, if I’m still committed to figuring out her weaknesses and beating her in May, then I need to get her back at a table so I can watch. And I need to disconnect th
e feelings – hers for me, mine for her – a little fun, but nothing too crazy.
Although I’m pretty sure it’s already too late for that.
“What the hell were you thinking?!”
My dad’s voice rings in my ear as I pull the phone away, sinking my head further into the pillow. It’s just past eight and I am clearly not awake enough to answer any questions.
“Hmpf?” I manage, my head still aching from his booming voice.
“Get your ass out of bed and open the email I sent you. Now.” He coughs the last word, covering the receiver to cough more when he finishes. I roll my eyes and sit up, reaching for my laptop. When I pull up his email and click the link inside, a sudden rush of realization rolls over me.
It’s a photo of me and Skyler.
Kissing.
The headline reads: Skyler Thorne – Training for the Tournament, or for a Romp in the Woods?
Fuck.
“Dad, it’s not that bad. I’m going to talk to the president and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“Damn right you are! But first you’re going to explain to me why the HELL you are kissing Skyler Thorne?!”
I cringe, remembering that he still doesn’t know how friendly our relationship has become.
“Listen, it’s not a big deal, Dad,” I reassure him. “I know it looks bad, but we’re just having a little fun.” I try desperately to grasp words that will make him okay with the situation. “She was having a tough time trusting me, but the closer we got the more open she got. She agreed to let me help her with poker, but she was resistant. I think this is the best way to get her to open up, to really see what her weaknesses are.”
Douche.
You are a fucking douche shovel.
The words leave an acidic taste on my tongue as they leave my mouth, but I know I have to say them. To my dad, at least. But then again, is it really a lie? I still intend to go through with the plan, so what else can I really say about what Skyler means to me?
Yep. Douche.
Dad sighs on the other end which causes him to go into another coughing fit.
“You okay, Dad?”
He coughs a few more times before responding, “I’m fine. But you won’t be if you don’t pull your head out of your ass and focus on the tournament and your mission at that school.” He sighs and I imagine him pacing in his office, running his hand through his graying hair. “Listen, I’m sorry, I know this isn’t an easy task. But I just… I really need you to focus. I need you to do this for me, Oliver.” There’s that damn name drop again.
“I know, Dad,” I say, my voice trailing off. He may be an asshole, but I love him, and I know how much this means to him. And I know how much UCLA means to me. I need to focus more, but it’s not that easy.
Not with Skyler in the mix.
“It’s only the side of your face and it’s dark, so hopefully no one will be able to place you. But you can’t be careless and let this happen again. You may not be known in the poker world, but you’ve played enough that they’d find a story to run if someone recognizes that it’s you hanging out with Skyler Thorne.”
Shit, I hadn’t even thought about that. What if they did find out who I was? If she found out who I was?
“I’ll be careful, Dad. I promise. I’ll handle it.”
“Good,” he says pointedly. It’s quiet on the line for a few moments before he clears his throat and adds, “Hope school is going well. I have to run. Keep me posted on developments. When’s the next time you’re watching her play?”
“Soon,” I lie, though I hope I can somehow make it a reality. I need to rein this shit in. Fast.
“Okay. Let me know when you have things squared away.”
“Uh huh,” is all I say before ending the call.
I sigh, tossing my phone to the side and moving to the end of the bed where my keyboard stands. My fingers work before I have the chance to tell them what to play. They glide over the keys, the soft and sad music filling my room. I think of the way Skyler felt when my hands were all over her, when my fingers were inside her. I think of how I felt waking up without her, or for the two weeks when I didn’t know where we stood. I picture her face in the firelight last night, something missing in those sparkling blue eyes of hers. What is she hiding? Does she know what I’m hiding?
My thoughts shift to UCLA, to the dream I’ve had for so long and what it means to me – to attend my dream school, graduate from the program I’ve always imagined, live in California and write shows that people love, that people crave. These are my dreams, they’re what my entire life has been built on… but are they still everything I want?
I pound the keys harder, closing my eyes tight and letting the questions pour through me and into the song. I should write this down. I should play this for Skyler.
I should let Skyler go.
Every thought flies at me at once, colliding with each other and scattering around me.
Things are far from squared away.
My head is still throbbing as I shuffle slowly downstairs, my fingers kneading my temples methodically. I wish I could say I had a hangover, that my headache was alcohol-induced, but unfortunately the three beers I had last night have nothing to do with this pain. I was up late – too late – thinking about Kip.
Shocker, I know.
Last night was supposed to be easy, but it wasn’t. I held him at a distance, but I know it’s not going to last for long. He sees it. I don’t know how or why, but he sees my poker face and he’s going to call me on my bluff. That has never happened to me before, not with anyone.
And it sure as hell can’t happen now.
To make things even peachier, the damn paparazzi are hunting for photos of me again. Most of the year, I can fly under the radar. I’m one of the few players still in school and they respect school property and my age. For the most part, anyway. With the tournament getting closer, I should have known this shit would start.
When I saw the article pop up on the tournament website this morning, it made me sick. I hate the perception of female players. It’s always about how hot we are or who we’re screwing, never about how well we play the game. It’s stupid and offensive, but clearly it’s not changing. Now, not only am I submitting Kip to this twisted game of Erin’s, but I’m feeding him to the wolves that are greasy photographers on a mission.
I can’t do this.
When I round the corner into the kitchen, my fingers still working my temple, I stop dead in my tracks at the sight of my Big. She’s standing at the counter, hands clasped around a mug of steaming liquid, hair falling all around her face. Slowly, she lifts her eyes to mine. They’re swollen and puffy and my stomach sinks because I know I’m the reason they look that way. And I’m probably about to make it worse.
Because I can’t do this anymore. I can’t play this game. I want to be with Kip and not as a game for her. For me.
“Hot chocolate?” She lifts the mug slightly, shrugging her shoulders.
I prop my ass up on the counter. “I think I need something stronger.”
Erin smiles, but it’s a faint smile. Silently, she turns to the cupboard and grabs another mug, starting a cup of coffee on the Keurig. “It’s funny, you know. Parents. Kids. The whole relationship that exists there.”
I listen as the coffee machine works, chewing on her words. “I’m not sure I’m following, Big.”
She sighs, running her hands through her hair. Maybe I’m not the reason her face is tear-stained, after all.
Not completely, anyway.
“I mean we grow up looking up to our parents. We envy them, build our dreams and our goals around who they are or who they aren’t. But do we ever really make them happy? Or proud? They say we do, but would they really tell us if we failed them?”
She hands me the mug once the coffee finishes pouring in. I hold it between my hands and let the steam waft up to my nose, warming it from the chilly morning air. “I don’t think we can fail them,” I finally say. “I thi
nk just by existing, we make them proud. They see themselves in us.”
Erin scoffs, shaking her head as she takes another sip from her cup. “All my parents see when they look at me is a blurred, imperfect reflection of what they wish I was. I feel it. They don’t say it, but their eyes do. They’re ashamed of me.”
Why on earth would anyone be ashamed of Erin? She’s gorgeous, intelligent, and president of the best sorority on campus. She has her shit together.
“I know, right?” Erin shakes her head as if she’s heard my thoughts. “It doesn’t make sense, does it? Most parents would be proud of me, I guess. But then again, most parents didn’t dream of their baby girl growing up and getting a MRS degree and banging a rich lawyer or doctor or whatever. You would think I shot a puppy by telling them I’d rather be a lawyer than marry one.”
We both sip quietly for a few minutes, no other sounds but the clinking of china on countertop and the occasional slurp from our lips. Thumbing the handle of my mug, I lift my eyes to my Big’s. “Ex, you have nothing to be ashamed of and your parents are crazy if they don’t see the amazing things you’re doing for this campus, this sorority, and for yourself. They come from old money, they’re not used to a world where a woman wants to be educated simply because she can be. You’re too smart and too damn talented to get married and sit at home. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but it’s not your style. Could you imagine that? You would go bat shit crazy. You can’t even sit in your pajamas for a full day!”
At that, we both giggle and Erin sniffles a little. “You have to say that,” she says, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her hoodie. “You’re my little nugget of sunshine.” Her hair is stringy from the wind last night, her mascara smeared. She looks like hell, and Erin never looks anything less than amazing. I stare at her, the girl who took me in under her wing as a freshman. Hell, the entire reason I rushed KKB in the first place. She was everything I wanted to be – and that was as a freaking sophomore. Now, as a senior, she was more like a dream than something I could actually hope to attain. It killed me to see her this way, even with all the drama between us this semester.
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