Hate the Game

by Holly Hall

  “Fine, ya buzzkill. Although, I do want to see who’s got you all hot and bothered.”

  I gripped her arm and yanked her the rest of the way in, before shutting the door firmly behind her. “Can you keep it down? I already can’t string a sentence together in his presence without blubbering. I don’t know what I’d do if he found out I’ve been talking about him.”

  Holland slid the greasy pizza box onto the counter. “I’m sure he’s used to it, and anyway, what’s the big deal? You’re exposed to clients and their dating disasters all day long.”

  “Yeah, but this is so far from being the same thing.” I waved a finger in the direction of his place.

  “Is it?” She gathered plates and cutlery, already having made herself at home in my apartment. Holland may have been standoffish at first, but once she was in my life, she infiltrated all aspects of it. Namely the refrigerator, which she was currently raiding. “Do you have any beer?”

  “Yes, I picked up a beer habit since I last saw you. No, I don’t have beer.” I opened the box, freeing the cheesy, saucy aroma of paradise in pizza form, and started serving our favorite deep-dish pie. Our waistlines may have suffered, but our souls rejoiced.

  “Okay,” she released a heavy sigh, “what’s the least froo-froo thing you have?”

  “Probably tequila, but. . .”

  “Yikes. It’s only Wednesday.” She’d moved on to the pantry, and she was elbow deep when her eyebrows shot up and she pulled a bottle of amber liquid out. Whiskey, no doubt shrouded in dust and dating back at least eight months. That’s when my last relationship ended. “Yes!”

  “Your face says finding that was a good thing. The contents of the bottle say otherwise.”

  “Oh, come on, live a little. I’ll doctor it up for you so you can’t even taste it.”

  “Whatever.” I’d started on the garlic knots, pulling them apart and dividing them between our plates. As was tradition, we settled at the coffee table to eat, criss-cross applesauce on my fluffy rug. Holland always complained it shed on her leggings every time we sat there, and I always told her it was her fault for wearing so much black. I liked the way it felt on my bare feet, and it gave my punchy, bright living room a glam look.

  While we ate, Holland interrogated me about the specifics of her party. She had a way of fixating on things, and once something—or someone—became a target, she didn’t back down easily. So I humored her because anything was better than her grilling me about Theo. I’d mistakenly told her I’d never been in love once, and she’d been obsessed with remedying that ever since. Thank goodness I hadn’t admitted to never having an orgasm.

  “Okay,” she said on a sigh. “I feel a little better now. I was convinced you were going all out, balls to the wall for my birthday.”

  “I wanted to, don’t get me wrong, but I know how you are. And if you don’t want it to be a big deal, it won’t be a big deal. It’s your day.”

  “I just know how you get about entertaining.” She patted the stack of books about that very subject.

  “Don’t worry, my dreams of throwing my best friend the birthday party of the century died long ago. The second I met you, actually.”

  “I don’t mean to be difficult.”

  I rose from the floor and carried our plates into the kitchen while she brought the glasses. “You’re the opposite of difficult. So much so that it’ll be a problem one day. Sometimes, you have to put—”

  “Myself first,” she interrupted. “I know.”

  I beamed, reaching up to pat her on the head. We were like sisters, if it were possible for sisters to be nine inches apart in height and almost completely opposite in every way. She got the height, and I got the hips. She tanned easily, and my skin burned with just the mentioning of the sun. She’d grown up with three older brothers, and as a result of her tomboy-ish ways had a hard time making female friends, and I was a total girls’ girl.

  Holland was someone who internalized all her problems for fear of burdening other people, and I was someone who couldn’t help but talk a complete stranger’s ear off about mine. But, the man upstairs knew what he was doing when he placed us next to each other in that bathroom line. Our friendship was the perfect balance of give and take.

  “Fear not, my friend,” I said, loading the dishwasher. “One day, we’ll throw a party for the ages, but it will not be this day.”

  “Thank you. Anyway, I should go.” She shouldered her tote. “You get the leftovers. I got to keep them last time.”

  “My skinny jeans hate you right now.”

  “Whatever. I wish I had your shape.”

  “Clearly you’ve never had to wrestle on pants that fit your hips but not your waist, or vice versa, in a cubicle-sized fitting room.”

  “No, just high-waters.” I let her out, and she dug through her bag in the hallway as if making sure she didn’t leave anything. “I’ll see you Saturday?”

  “Nine o’clock. Don’t be early.”

  Cocking a hip, she pursed her lips. “You didn’t order a stripper, did you?”

  “Yeah, it’ll pop out of a giant birthday cake.” I mimed smacking my forehead. “Oops, ruined the surprise.”

  “I can’t with you.” Holland enveloped me in a bone-crushing hug. Just as she was turning to leave, the door across the hall opened. The door revealing a barefoot Theo, dressed in a muscle shirt and gray joggers that clung to his form.

  Gray.

  Sweatpant.

  Joggers.

  The thing your mother doesn’t tell you about gray sweatpants on men is, they leave nothing to the imagination. And I mean nothing.

  “Evening,” he greeted, looking between us a few times before his eyes fixed on me. It was then I realized he was holding a towel, which he ran over his buzzed head. “I thought that was you I heard.”

  “You heard her mention the strippers, didn’t you?” Holland said, and by her tone and expression of revelation, it was clear she knew exactly who he was. Fan-flippin’-tastic.

  “I was more worried about the cake,” he countered, and his crooked grin was enough to tie my stomach in a knot. All it took was his lips slanting up to one side like that and I was a goner.

  Lace panties, lace panties, lace panties.

  “What was that?” Theo asked, leaning a naked shoulder against the doorframe, and I realized with horror that I’d been whispering it to myself like a prayer instead of reciting it in my head.

  “Oh, what? Nothing. We’re having a ‘nice party’ on Saturday. Right, Holland?”

  She shot me a scrutinizing look, and I narrowed my eyes to telepathically warn her not to do anything stupid. Then her lips settled into a wry grin, and she turned to Theo. “We are. My birthday party, in fact.”

  “Just an intimate gathering between a few close friends,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “You two are friends, right?” Holland continued.

  “Just a step above strangers,” I said at the same time as Theo answered, “You could say that.”

  “Seeing as how it’s my very important, twenty-fifth birthday, I imagine I can invite who I want.”

  “I don’t know, we might be pushing capacity.”

  “With your ‘intimate’ gathering?” Theo said to me, playing along. Somehow, he’d already caught on to Holland’s and my dynamic.

  “Would you like to come? It’s on Saturday night. Nine PM,” Holland announced.

  I watched with breath bated as he pretended to think it over for all of two seconds before saying, “You know what? I haven’t been out in forever. I’d love to come.”

  “Perfect. You’ll have to get with Ava for the details.” She grinned at him and then gave me a wink that was not at all inconspicuous before making for the elevators.

  And then it was just Theo and me, in a standoff across the hall. We were both in our respective doorways, but I felt him everywhere. It didn’t help that he was freshly showered—the scent of springy-smelling soap had migrated across the hall—and dressed
in loungewear. Never in my life had three-dollar body wash made me drool like one of Pavlov’s dogs. Was it hot in here, or was that just my embarrassment?

  “I’m supposed to be getting with you for the details,” he said, breaking the silence.

  “Yes. Right.”

  The mirth smoothed from his face, and his voice lowered. “I’m kidding. I was only messing with you.”

  I folded and unfolded my arms across my chest. It could’ve been my imagination, but Theo seemed interested. And if he came, I wouldn’t have to mingle with Cade’s football friends alone. Messing with me was a hobby of theirs, and although they were good-natured about it, it would be nice to have someone show up just for me.

  “It could be fun,” I finally said, and when his smile stretched, I felt that knot in my stomach pulsate.

  “It could be very fun.”

  “It’s at Al’s Brews and Cues, on Niall Street.”

  “I’ll look it up.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, then.” I rolled my lips inward and released them with a pop. “See you.”

  “We could go together,” he called. I froze in the process of closing my door. “I mean, we both live right here, it would make sense.”

  “I have to go early to set up. They use the second floor for parties, and since there’s only a couple pool tables and a bar up there, I don’t have much to work with. I’ll have balloons and cake and all kinds of stuff.”

  “In that case, I’ll help you. Deal?”

  “Deal,” I said.

  He crossed the hallway in three strides and held out his hand. I looked at it expectantly, debating whether to give him a high-five, when he said, “Phone?”

  I slid it out of my pocket and handed it to him. Good thing I didn’t give him the high-five.

  Theo input his number and handed it back. I had a new addition to my contact list. “I sent myself a message so I have your number,” he said.

  “Okay, I’ll talk to you then.”

  “Enjoy your evening, Ava Wynn,” he said with a knowing grin, and I wondered if he assumed I’d be thinking about the swells of his shoulders, the ridges of his abdomen, the way he looked with water glistening on his neck where he hadn’t dried it off.

  I closed my door and slapped a hand over my head, feeling flushed and slightly nauseous. By his presence, by the fact that we’d be going together to Holland’s party.

  And because that assumption—about the shoulders, the abs, all of it—would’ve been correct.

  Chapter 9

  Ava

  Something came up at the gym and I won’t be able to ride with you there. I still want to stop by tonight, if that’s okay.

  He wasn’t coming. Even though he’d added that last part, I didn’t put much stock in the words. I was no stranger to excuses, broken promises, and canceled plans, and in my line of work, I was well aware of the absolute bottom-feeders of the dating world. I shouldn’t have been surprised. But that didn’t make me any less disappointed.

  Perhaps Holland had put him on the spot Wednesday night and he was too nice, or too cowardly, to say so to my face. It was a toxic habit, but it was what I did best: overthink, and worry, and overthink some more.

  The rest of my getting-ready routine was dismal as a result, but I refused to let that message set the tone for the evening. I knew what I had to do. After drying my hair smooth and curling it under at the ends, I dug to the depths of my makeup bag for the items I needed. There was nothing, in my opinion, that couldn’t be handled with winged liner and lipstick. It was a classic combination that’d never go out of style, and I was willing to use all the weapons in my arsenal to ensure this night was a success.

  After dressing in my best pair of high-waisted denim, a polka-dot top that tied in the front, and my leopard flats, I wrangled an obscene bunch of balloons along with the cake box and bags of party-related supplies and headed downstairs to meet the car I’d ordered.

  “Are you bringing those with you, miss?” the driver called through his car window.

  “Uh, yeah, I’m bringing them.” I wasn’t very well going to release these bad boys into the sky after paying an ungodly amount for them. Pretty and photogenic, yes. Thrifty, no.

  “I cannot take you with those.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Too dangerous.” As if to prove his point, the balloons drifted into my face and I had to bat them aside. “Look, I won’t be able to see.”

  I felt my shoulders slumping, my purse strap sliding down my upper arm. All I needed were the storm clouds to roll in for this to be the cherry on top of a dismal week. “Please. It’s my best friend’s birthday, and I have to be there early.” I checked my watch, knowing this was the epitome of first-world problems. “I’m going to be late if I don’t get going.”

  He shook his head adamantly. “Sorry. No way can I do this. It’s not safe.”

  “Okay.” I turned away, feeling a lump growing in my throat, and began walking up the street. Get it together. I’d spent too long on my eyeliner to let tears mess it up.

  The Division stop was up ahead, but if I took the L, I risked annoying the other passengers with my brood of supplies, and I couldn’t handle more snide remarks. This night was going from bad to worse. Theo was busy, and there was no one else I could ask to help.

  Or was there?

  I chanced one more call and relayed my story over the phone in a rush. Then, with my transportation finally sorted out, I settled on the front stoop to wait.

  It was another half hour before a silver Range Rover slowed to a stop at the curb. “Your chariot awaits!” Cade called out the window. One of his friends—Jalen, maybe?—jumped out of the backseat to help.

  “Thank you so much. My Uber refused to take me with the balloons, and it was either call you or take the train. I didn’t think anyone on the L wanted to give up a seat for this stuff,” I said with a giant exhale. It wasn’t until I slid in beside Jalen that I noticed a girl regarding me skeptically from the front passenger seat.

  Cade shifted into gear. “It’s no problem. We were planning to head out early for drinks anyway.”

  “Now we’re bringin’ the party with us,” Jalen added with a chuckle, smacking a balloon aside.

  Cade gestured to his silent copilot, introducing her as Alexia. I gave her my name and tried not to wonder how Holland would react when Cade showed up to her party with a new flavor of the week. It wasn’t my business, and Holland was coming with Lorenzo, anyway. Still, I couldn’t help but feel protective.

  When we arrived at the bar, we piled out and Cade handed the keys to a valet driver. “Sure you won’t fly away?” Cade teased when he handed me the flock of balloons. He and Jalen grabbed the rest of the supplies while Alexia waited nearby, then we all made the trek inside and upstairs to the room I’d reserved.

  I glanced at my watch. “Dammit, we only have, like, fifteen minutes.”

  “Tell us what goes where and we’ll get it done,” Jalen said, pawing through the bags. Say what you want about jocks, these guys knew how to take direction. They listened to my instructions and then started divvying up the rose-gold decor without a word of protest. Meanwhile, Alexia disappeared to go get drinks or fawn over her Chanel bag or something.

  “Have you known each other long?” I asked when Cade and I ended up in the same part of the room. I was tying groups of balloons in various places, and he was sprinkling confetti on the two-tops with careful precision.

  “Alexia and I? Couple months or so.”

  “Ahh.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, though his tone was easygoing.

  I shook my head. “Nothing.” Where I was utterly useless when it came to talking to most guys, Cade had a quiet, steadfast way about him that’d put me at ease as soon as we met. “I hadn’t heard anything about her and wasn’t sure if you were serious.”

  “You mean you hadn’t heard anything from Holland.”

  “No,
I meant I hadn’t heard anything, period.”

  “Sure. What kind of best friend would you be if you didn’t realize instantly that they’re not gonna get along?”

  “I don’t know Alexia enough to say that.”

  He made a face that told me he knew enough. “Anyway, I thought Holland said you had some dude coming with you tonight.”

  “My neighbor. Yeah. He should be coming later.”

  “Your neighbor, huh?”

  I knotted the last ribbon and planted a hand on my hip, nodding curtly.

  “Ian will be devastated.”

  “Ian’s coming? Man-Bun Ian?”

  Cade smiled, his expression knowing. “He’s a nice guy.”

  “He may be nice, but the only thing he talked about last time was craft beer.”

  “He was nervous. Give him a break.”

  “The only thing I hate in this world is beer!” I exclaimed. “Anyway, thanks again for helping. I just wanted tonight to be memorable and not like every other kegger Holland’s ever had.”

  Cade nodded, his eyes downcast where he was fiddling with the bag of confetti. “Of course. I’d do anything for her.” We were interrupted by footsteps on the stairs, giving us a few seconds’ warning before Alexia appeared. I took that as my cue to start on the rest of the décor.

  By the time Holland showed up with Lorenzo, I was sweating and almost certain I had mascara streaks beneath my eyes from my efforts, but it was done. Rose-gold and white balloons bobbed around the rectangular space, candles flickered dreamily on the bar, reflecting off the metallic confetti that dusted the tabletops, and a cake was set up on the bar top with the bottle of champagne I’d ordered. Even Holland wouldn’t turn down a glass of champs on her birthday.

  “Hiii,” she squealed, trotting over to throw her arms around me. “Oh my goodness, it’s so pretty!”

  “It’s not too much?”

  “Not at all!”

  “I did promise you,” I reminded her, exchanging a quick hello with Lorenzo. We’d interacted before, but he was mostly standoffish and aloof, a stark contrast to their obnoxious friend group.