Playing with Fire
“Sorry, pal, this truck’s not Bumble. Care to evacuate yourself before we get more customers?” My tone was casual. Bored.
Easton shrugged. “My bad, man.”
“Don’t come back unless you want to buy something.”
“Duly noted. See you at home?”
“Where the fuck else can I go after work?”
“Yikes. Someone’s touchy.”
“Get the hell outta here.”
He did. I slinked back to the grill, knowing damn well Grace’s burn-in-hell gaze was scorching holes in my back.
My self-restraint lasted three minutes, after which I offered her my unsolicited input.
“Shit, Tex, didn’t peg you for the naïve type.” I let out a sardonic chuckle. “Easton Braun only does casual, in case you didn’t know.”
“Who says I don’t do casual?” She rolled down the window, closing shop. Was it that late? Guess time flew when you fantasized about new and creative ways how to kill your childhood friend.
She still had her back to me. “I did casual with you, and lo and behold, I’m alive and intact.”
“Texas,” I warned.
She whipped around, the wounded look on her face gutting me like a rusty hook.
“Don’t call me that. Don’t you dare act like we’re cool with each other.”
“Tell me what it’d take to change that.”
I couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. I wasn’t supposed to care. Caring wasn’t on the menu anymore.
Not about my parents, my hookups, my so-called friends …
“Be a decent human?” she offered sarcastically.
“Anything within my capabilities?” I cracked a joke, testing my audience. She slammed her gloved hands over the toppings bar, starting to clean each individual container.
“Why did you say yes?” I asked. I should’ve just let her stay for coffee when Mom had been here. Bit the bullet. Had my secret spill out. Then spent the rest of my life trying to win her approval back when she realized what I’d done.
“Why not?” she huffed.
“You don’t like Easton.”
“I didn’t like you either. Then I did, for a while. Opinions change. Constantly.”
Something weird and unwelcome happened in my chest when she said that.
Candy apple dipped with poison.
Good news: She liked me.
Bad news: I’d fucked it up.
“You’ll regret it,” I warned. But I didn’t know that. East could step up this time and take her seriously. Then what? I couldn’t watch them together. I couldn’t even imagine her holding hands with someone else.
“Maybe.” She bypassed me, holding a silver container as she headed for the trash. “But I regretted ever knowin’ you, too, and know what? I still survived.”
West
“It’s confirmed—Appleton wants a rematch.” Max plopped down in front of me in the cafeteria, clutching his lunch in his greasy fingers.
I was trying to figure out what the fuck was in the sandwich I’d purchased five minutes earlier from the canteen. I’d spent a good portion of my time on earth hating on Easton’s soggy omelet sandwiches; I hadn’t considered cafeteria food was far worse.
But Easton’s sandwiches weren’t on the menu for me anymore. Having them would require talking to Easton, and as of the last three days, we were officially beefing.
At first, my ex-best friend had the audacity to act like nothing had happened.
He’d tried to talk to me about football, then about a few campus rumors, then about how Tess had been going around telling people she got her Tarot cards read and apparently, she’d been told she’d marry a guy from Maine.
I adopted Grace’s strategy and treated him like he was air.
I’d live off mud and ingrown nails before speaking to the traitor. Even when he pointed out that I’d given him explicit permission to date Tex, I didn’t relent. He’d obviously pursued her to piss me off.
Mission accomplished—I was toeing the line of decapitating him.
“A rematch?” I elevated an eyebrow, scanning Max like I needed to scrub him off of the bottom of my boots. “Last time we fought, he and his friends blackmailed you, if I’m not mistaken.”
I was never mistaken.
Max chuckled, ruffling his mane of fuzzy red hair, which reminded me of those metal pads people used to clean industrial skillets.
“I mean, yeah, but I still made three times more than I would on a normal night. You win some, you lose some, right?”
I slam-dunked my sandwich into the trash, opting to pluck a bag of Cheetos from Max’s hand. He made no move to reclaim it. I popped it open and threw a Cheeto into my mouth, eyeballing him.
“Asshole tried to claw my eyes out.”
“Yeah, he was a little desperate to win. Had something to prove.” Max stroked his pimply chin. “But the pay would be at least double this time. Emotions were running high last time. Word of mouth alone would allow us to up our charge on the tickets, and that’s without concessions.”
I did the math in my head. The number made my mouth water. It was high enough for me to be able to pay off my parents’ loan, which was currently suffocating the hell out of them.
I’d finally get them off my case and give them what they’d always wanted—enough money to start over. Bonus points? I’d be out of their lives for good.
Sure, Kade Appleton was about as honorable as a used thong, and I was pretty certain he’d been following me around town, or at least sending someone else to do the dirty job for him, but I’d taken down guys three times his size, while I was in various levels of intoxication.
“Heard he’s been running his mouth about me,” I said.
“Can’t say he hasn’t. Ever since he lost the Vegas gig, he’s been a bit of a Bitter Betty. Fighting is all he really knows how to do.”
He was pretty good at whining, too.
“What’s in it for him?” I jerked my chin toward my bookie.
“His pride,” Max crowed, throwing his arms in the air. “You annihilated him. Knocked his lights out for thirty seconds straight. Then he argued and fussed about it like a pussy.”
The ‘like’ had no business being in that sentence. He was a pussy. End of story.