Revenge Games (Revenge Games Duet Book 1)

by Sky Corgan

  “Sure.” I hand the bottle over to him.

  Now, we're only a few feet apart. He's so close. It's not like he's never been this close to me before. At work, he's gotten a lot closer when he had to sit next to me and explain something with the data entry system. This is different, though, because it feels like this time his closeness is voluntary.

  Thankfully, he's having a hard time with the top as well, so I don't feel like a complete idiot. He gives it a few cursory tugs, then he clutches the bottle under one arm and gives the top a good pull. It finally pops open, but the pressure he's putting on the canister forces water out, squirting all down the front of my shirt.

  I gasp, and Peter looks mortified.

  “I'm so sorry.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of napkins, handing half of them to me.

  I start wiping down the front of my shirt, and he wipes off my arm. At the first touch of the napkin to my skin, I freeze. My eyes find Peter's face and my heartbeat doubles. He's intently focused on soaking up the water, but all I can think about is that he's touching me. It's not skin-to-skin, but he's touching me.

  Caleb jogs over and asks what happened, and I glare at him for ruining the moment between us. Peter's attention is wrenched away from me as he turns to Caleb.

  “I accidentally squirted her with the water bottle,” he explains.

  Caleb gives us a queer look before announcing that he has to leave. “Damn client wanted to make a last minute appointment.”

  I'd be sad that our evening together is over if I didn't feel like we made so much progress. I'm stuck in a dream-like state, still swooning over being touched by Peter. If he was willing to cross my personal space boundary, then that must mean we've gotten closer.

  “Bye.” I wave to them before diverting to the bathroom.

  Stupid small bladder, robbing me of my chance to spend more time with Peter. I know I'll never make it home without stopping if I try to leave now, though, and having to pull over into a gas station would be too inconvenient. Besides, if I give the guys some time alone together, maybe Peter will say something to Caleb about me. I can get the scoop later.

  I'm so happy that I start skipping the second I turn the corner to the bathroom. I do my business and then stop in front of the mirror to check myself out before leaving. Hopefully, my makeup held up. I remember Caleb telling me to wear something comfortable for playing tennis, but I didn't want Peter to think that I'm a slob. I put on a minimal amount of makeup before leaving my apartment and wore dress pants so that I could still move around adequately.

  When I get in front of the mirror, though, it's not smeared makeup that I see. My mouth falls agape as my eyes zero in on the two big armpit sweat stains on my blouse accompanied by the dark streak of water from where Peter sprayed me.

  “Oh my God,” I gasp, backing up against the wall.

  Is this what he saw? How could he have missed it? The fucking pit stains are huge. Why didn't I consider that this could happen if I wore silk? I was so obsessed with looking good for Peter that I didn't even think that I was going to be sweating.

  I feel so embarrassed that I want to cry—so upset that I start trembling. He's going to think that I'm a disgusting pig. Just like when kids saw me sweat during gym class in high school. They pointed and made fun of me. I can only imagine that Peter was doing the same thing inside of his head.

  I made a fool out of myself. There's no way he'll possibly like me now. I'm such an idiot.

  A girl enters the bathroom. She's wearing a tank top and shorts, everything skin tight. Her hair is up in a high ponytail, her body is fit and perfect. I cast a glance at my reflection in the mirror, at least a good twenty pounds heavier than she is.

  Why would Peter ever want someone like me when he can have someone like her? I'm sure that girls like her hit on him all the time. She's actually athletic, not just pretending to be. She knows what to wear on the court, looking good without even having to try.

  Chasing Peter is probably pointless. Both Caleb and Becky are right. I should just forget about him. He's way out of my league, and I don't know what in the hell I'm doing. Maybe I'm every bit as hopeless as Caleb thinks I am.

  Feeling defeated, I leave the restroom, my energy now completely drained. Each of my legs feels like they weigh a hundred pounds as I trudge back to my car. Thankfully, both of the boys are already gone, so I don't have to worry about Peter looking at me with judging eyes. I imagine him and Caleb making fun of me before they left, and tears begin to well up to the surface. Tonight has been an absolute nightmare.

  It's definitely going to be a Ben & Jerry's night. I'm surrendering to the universe until I go to sleep. Nothing else matters besides doing whatever it takes to make myself feel better, damn the consequences to my waistline.

  I'm almost home when my phone buzzes with a notification. I glance at it to see a text from Caleb. He must have just gotten to the gym. Lazily, I tap the screen to read the text. It simply says, “Peter said you're a pretty cool girl.”

  It feels like my heart freezes in my chest. I know that I stop breathing for several seconds.

  Peter said that I'm cool. He actually...complimented me?

  I squeal so loudly that the people driving next to me look over. It's like someone just gave me a shot of adrenaline straight to my heart. My energy is completely renewed. In fact, I have even more than I did before I found out about my nasty pit stains.

  Maybe he didn't notice them, I think happily. If he did, surely he would have been disgusted by me.

  It doesn't matter anymore; I wave the negative thoughts away. All that matters is that he complimented me. He said something to Caleb about me, and it wasn't anything bad. I can't possibly ask for more than that, given the situation.

  I have so much energy that when I get back to my apartment, I take the stairs instead of the elevator. When I finish the first flight, though, I realize that was a horrible idea and hop on the elevator to ascend the next two floors. Maybe my energy is more mental than physical. Whatever the case, my legs are killing me from running back and forth across the tennis court. I don't need the extra exercise, especially since I don't plan on eating ice cream anymore. I need to keep myself fit for Peter.

  Or healthy. Healthy is what he called me. I can deal with healthy. As long as he doesn't think I'm fat, I'm good.

  I'm desperate to know exactly what Peter and Caleb said about me. I check the time that Caleb sent me the text. Then I wait for an hour before I start pacing in front of my apartment door. His personal training appointments typically only last an hour, so he should be home soon.

  My timing must have been a little premature. I end up waiting for Caleb for another thirty minutes before he finally makes an appearance, looking exhausted. I practically leap out of my apartment at him, wanting to catch him before he disappears for the night.

  “Can we talk?” I clap my hands together, having a hard time containing my energy.

  He gives me a weary glance while shoving his key in the lock. Max barks on the other side of the door. “Can it wait until tomorrow?”

  “Nope.” I shake my head. “I need all of the details about what you and Peter talked about right now.”

  He unlocks the door but doesn't open it, perhaps anticipating that Max will try to bum-rush him. “We didn't stay and talk for long. He just said that he had fun hanging out with us and that he thought you were a cool girl. The text pretty much said it all.”

  “Oh.” I'm admittedly a little disappointed that there wasn't more, but still happy about what Peter did say.

  Caleb turns to me finally. “Listen, Willow. I did my part. I got you guys together outside of work. It's up to you now.”

  “Alright.” I nod. He seems kind of grumpy, so I don't want to press the subject.

  “Now that the two of you have something in common, maybe you can start hanging out. I don't know. Good luck with that.” He waves me away before going inside and shutting the door.

  I screw my face,
wishing I wouldn't have waited around for him. He could have told me all of that later, but I was just so hopeful that there was more. Oh well.

  I go back to my own apartment and take a shower. Part of me doesn't want to wash my arm because it will erase Peter's touch. That's just silly, though. Besides, it's not like I actually got to feel his real fingers. Just the scratchy, somewhat soft napkin. Still, the memory of him trying to dry my arm off makes me shiver all the way down to my core. I can imagine more sensual contact with him, and that makes me feel completely scandalous.

  It will happen someday, I just know it. For now, I have to figure out how to get Peter to hang out with me again, a feat that's way easier said than done.

  I wake up in just as great of a mood as I went to sleep in, and when I go to work the next day, I wear a smile on my face. Nothing can bring me down. I had the most amazing night ever, sans the pit stains, and I plan to hold onto the memory like it's all I have in the world.

  Becky sits next to me, and she stays blessedly quiet until Peter walks over to answer a question for her. The day couldn't be going any better, and nothing special or unusual has happened. Wow, my mood really is stellar.

  “How was your date this weekend?” Becky asks Peter once he's done helping her.

  He glances at me, looking slightly uncomfortable. “I didn't have a date this weekend.”

  “Oh?” She seems surprised. “I had heard that you did.”

  Bitch. Trying to get under my skin. I'll show her.

  “Mister Burgett and I played tennis together this weekend,” I inform her with the same syrupy sweet smile that she serves me when she says something she knows will probably hurt me.

  “I just happened to run into Miss Stroop this weekend when I was hanging out with a friend,” Peter quickly adds.

  Becky turns to me. “I didn't know you like sports.” Then her gaze goes back to Peter. “I like tennis, too. I used to play in high school.”

  “That's nice.” Peter straightens himself and walks off.

  I glare at Becky, pissed at her attempt to move in on my territory. I know exactly what she was doing, trying to get an invitation from him. If murder was legal...

  I face my screen, silently brooding. Maybe I should work on hooking her up with Caleb after all. If I do, she'll leave Peter alone.

  I stew over the short interaction all the way up until lunch.

  When I exit the double doors, I see Peter standing outside texting on his phone. My anger drops by several degrees as I think about how handsome he looks. Maybe I should talk to him. It's so rare that I can find opportunities to get him alone.

  I muster up all of my courage and walk over to him. Nervously, I try to brush a strand of hair behind my ear before realizing that I cut it all off for him. A worthwhile sacrifice if things do eventually pan out.

  “Hi,” I say to get his attention.

  “Miss Stroop,” he greets me, slipping his phone into the pocket of his suit jacket. It must be seventy degrees outside. I'm surprised he's not sweating to death.

  “I just wanted to say that I had fun playing tennis with you on Saturday and apologize for not being very good.” For as much as I stare at him in the training room, I can't seem to force myself to look at him now. His presence is so imposing, his work persona so serious and stiff.

  “You just need to practice more.” He smiles at me.

  I decide to ease into my plan, hoping that it will work. “It would be nice if I had someone to practice with.”

  Peter slides his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Why don't you practice with Caleb?”

  Damn it. I knew he would bring up the obvious choice. He knows that Caleb lives right next door to me, and he knows that we're comfortable hanging out together.

  “He has a weird work schedule. I never know when he's going to be around.”

  “Ah, yes.” He nods. “He does have a wonky schedule.”

  We stand there in silence for several moments, and I can't help but get the feeling that he just wants me to leave. My mood sulks as I silently submit to defeat. My great plan has failed. “Well, I just wanted to come tell you all of that. Sorry to bother you.” I bow slightly before turning to walk away.

  “Miss Stroop.” His voice catches my attention. When I look back to him, he's gazing up at the sky. “What are you doing after work today?”

  “Nothing.” My heart drums in my chest as I try to process what's going on.

  “I can practice with you if you'd like.”

  “Really?” My face lights up with the brightest smile.

  “Yeah. How about I see you on the court at 7 PM? The same one we were at on Saturday.”

  “Yes. That would be great. Thank you.” I continue walking to my car, wanting to get away from him before he changes his mind. As soon as I'm behind the wheel, I squeal and flail, nearly hyperventilating from excitement.

  My plan actually worked. Maybe I don't need Caleb's help anymore after all.

  After work, I run to Walmart to pick up my own tennis equipment so that I don't have to borrow any from Caleb. This time, I make sure to dress appropriately before I drive to the tennis court. I will not make the same mistake twice. I wear something light and breathable and sweat stain resistant. Tonight, I mean business.

  I show up at the tennis court promptly at 7 PM. Peter is already there waiting for me, and I curse myself for not arriving earlier.

  “I hope you weren't waiting long,” I say as I climb out of my car.

  “I just got here a few minutes ago,” he informs me, making me feel better.

  This is almost like a date, I think as we walk towards the court together. I have Peter alone for the first time ever. My palms are clammy, and my heart is beating rapidly. It feels like there's a lump in my throat. I'm so damn nervous that I can barely form words.

  We take to opposite sides of the court, and he shows me no mercy. It quickly becomes apparent that this is less practicing and more a skewering...and not in the kinky way that I'd like. Still, I'm happy to be around him, so I try to smile until I'm so breathless that my mouth muscles can't contort in an upward direction anymore because they're too busy helping me pant.

  “Do you think you can hit the ball a bit softer?” I ask, slowly realizing that I'm not actually having a whole lot of fun.

  Peter does a practice swing with his racket while he waits for me to catch my breath. “You'll never learn if I go easy on you.”

  I submit to his will and the next thirty minutes of torture that follows. If I'm on one side of the court, he'll hit it on the other side so that I have to run across to try to return his shot. On the rare occasions that I am able to hit the ball back to him, it's going so fast that my hand stings from the impact against my racket. He's being brutal, but at least he seems to be having a good time.

  I wish I could say the same. I'm just...worn out. Still, I press on, playing until I start getting lightheaded and nauseous from all of the exertion. How he and Caleb were playing so intensely the other day, I'll never understand. It's proof that they're both in far better physical shape than I am.

  “I'm...” I choke on my own words, practically crawling over to the bench. “I think I'm done.”

  Embarrassed about not being able to keep up is an understatement for how I feel. He must think I'm some out of shape loser.

  “I'm sorry. It's just...It's been a while.” I pick up my water bottle and down half of it in a few quick gulps. It feels like there's just as much fluid sweating out of me as I'm putting in, but at least I know I don't have armpit stains this time around.

  “It's fine. You just need to build your endurance.” Peter stands in front of me, not even winded at all. Handsome, athletic bastard.

  We walk back to our cars, and despite the fact that my lungs still burn and I feel like I might vomit at any moment, I'm happy. Peter seems a lot more relaxed around me. I would even go so far as to say he enjoyed himself. At least, if he didn't, I can't tell. He's smiling more than he does at work. That
has to be a good thing.

  I know that we're making progress, and that's what's important. Caleb was right. Engaging in an activity that Peter enjoys is working to bring us closer. Now I just need to get better at that activity. Hopefully, if we practice enough, I'll eventually get over my fatigue and start enjoying the game. At least, it gives me an excuse to be around him outside of work.

  I wake the next morning feeling like I've been hit by a freight train. I've hurt before. I hurt the days following practicing with Caleb. I hurt the day after playing with him and Peter. But I've never hurt like this. It feels like every muscle in my legs is ripped. I can barely move my arms without feeling pain running through them. It's so bad that I have to take over-the-counter painkillers just to get through the day.

  I'm admittedly thankful that Peter doesn't ask me if I want to practice with him again. Even though I want to spend more time with him, I think my body would shatter if I so much as attempted to hit one of his fastballs. I try to hide my aching, but it's hard to keep a smile on my face when the tiniest movement makes every part of my body hurt.

  After work, I drag myself over to Caleb's apartment and knock on the door. Just lifting my arm to knock makes me groan. I probably should have kicked the door instead.

  He opens the door, his eyebrows immediately knitting together. “What's wrong with you?”

  “I played tennis with Peter last night, and he didn't take it easy on me,” I inform him as I trudge past him and invite myself in.

  “I'm not surprised.” Caleb chuckles. “He never takes it easy on anyone. Did you think he'd go easy on you because you're a girl?”

  I toss myself down onto his sofa and try to shoo Max away. The thought of lifting my arm to pet him is unbearable. “No. I thought he'd take it easy on me because he knows it's been a while since I played.”

  “You mean since you never played before the other night,” he reminds me.

  “That.” I weakly wave at him with my hand but then immediately regret it as pain shoots through my wrist. “I hope I can learn to match him as quickly as I learned how to play.”

  “You only learned to play so quickly because I'm such a good teacher.” Caleb stands in front of me, beaming with pride.