35 Nico
35
You First – Paramore
‘And it’s an unexpected first win at Wimbledon for Scottie Sinclair. She won in two sets today against—’ The voice from the TV of the sports commentator disappeared into the noise of the packed hotel bar, the rest of his words lost, but the screen already had my attention.
I’d been nursing a glass of whisky for ten minutes waiting for Scottie to arrive. A tequila old-fashioned I had ordered for her sat untouched, swimming around a large ice cube. After her first victory earlier today, I promised her a drink on me. And after a raised eyebrow from Jon, I promised just the one drink, but stopped short of inviting him along.
The screen held my attention as I watched the replay. I’d missed it with my own match playing at the same time. I’d won, but the after-match dip in the ice bath had been both tortuous and heavy on my knee, the joint throbbing. It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. I smiled as they showed her final point, her joy palpable as she celebrated. It was almost too easy for her, tracking down each ball like her life depended on it, hitting every serve with an exact precision.
It had been a week since the gala and the cupboard and her father, and things had been … different. Like the tension between us had both broken and grown. Now I’d had a taste of her, I wanted more. More of the noises she had made, the needy movement of her perfect hips.
My head turned as another person walked into the bar, eyes assessing to see if it was her yet. She was late, of course, which normally I’d hate, but I didn’t mind waiting for her. I took a sip of the amber liquid, enjoying the burning at the back of my throat.
I grinned to myself, feeling the heavyweight of the whisky glass in my hand. Jon had told us that he had never bought Alister a drink at the gala, instead escorting him out and shoving him in the back of a cab. I’d made sure to order the Highland Park, the distillery Jon had promised him, and very much enjoyed tasting something Alister had been robbed of.
‘Nico,’ I turned to my left, hearing my name come from a strange man who had taken it upon himself to sit at the bar next to me. ’Got a moment for some questions?’
My eyes narrowed on him, scanning his face before I figured out where I’d seen him before. The press conference from a few days ago, asking Scottie frivolous questions.
‘No.’ I turned, staring straight ahead.
‘Come on, my editor will kill me if I don’t get something on the record.’ He stuck his hand out to signal the bartender.
‘Tell your editor to go to hell.’ I took another sip of my whisky, hoping it would wash him away too. Instead, he ordered us both a drink. My hand gripped my glass. As if getting me drunk would help his cause. The second whisky arrived quickly, the reporter placing it in front of me.
‘I’ll charge it to the newspaper. Call it a business expense.’ He laughed, the smell of the cigarette on his breath forcing me to bend away from him slightly. How long had he been stalking this hotel for somebody to harass?
‘Who do you even work for?’ I sighed.
He sounded almost proud as he announced, ‘The Daily Tea.’
‘Then you can get fucked.’ I pushed the drink back over to him, refusing to take anything from him. If I hadn’t known to avoid his cheap tabloid before working with Scottie, I sure as hell knew it after seeing the crap they wrote about her.
‘Aw, that’s not fair,’ he crooned, before placing his phone out on the bar and tapping the screen. I glanced down at it long enough to see the microphone icon, the phone clearly recording audio. I fought the urge to hurl it at the mirror opposite me at the bar. ‘Can you confirm or deny for me if you and Scottie are sleeping with each other?’
‘No comment,’ I grumbled, my finger tapping the red button on his screen.
‘What about dating? Can you give me that?’
‘No comment.’
‘There’s nothing? Absolutely nothing going on between you both?’ He dug further, obviously deciding to irritate me into an answer. He’d sooner irritate me into a brawl.
I took another sip of my own whisky, the ice cubes clinking together as I put it back down on the bar. ‘No comment.’
He tried again. ‘It must suck having to tarnish your spotless career record by partnering with somebody like her. I mean, doping? Who would’ve thought it, eh?’
‘No comment.’ I said between gritted teeth. It took tensing every muscle in my neck to prevent myself from swinging towards him, fist raised.
‘Of course, the ass you’re getting on the side must be pretty nice.’
I flinched. One irritating muscle spasm that told him to go on, let him see the anger building inside. I kept her pretty face in my head, her gorgeous smile, blue eyes. Getting into a bar fight now would do nothing but get me kicked out of the competition and possibly arrested for assault. And judging from his employer, that would only mean a good news day for them.
He let his words settle before he poked again. ‘I wonder … is she around? Maybe I’ll take a shot. After all, she’s got a lot to thank me for. My editor gave me my first byline when I came up with the nickname Slutty Scottie.’
‘That was you?’ I sneered. I hadn’t thought I could get more disgusted and yet …
He smiled, the expression more snake-like than human, before he raised his glass as if to say cheers. ‘What about her dad? He’s back in town, right?’ He let the question hang unanswered in the air. ‘Sources say they were seen outside the gala a few nights ago. Is there a family reunion in the cards?’
‘You don’t know what you are talking about.’
‘Wanna clear it up for me, then?’
I sucked in a breath, turned back to the bar, and took another sip of the smoky liquid, trying not to fall for his questions again. This is what he wanted, what this man prayed on for headlines and bylines and clicks.
‘No?’ he sounded almost overjoyed at my silence. ‘Okay, back to you and Scottie. How does it feel to be sleeping with your former rival’s daughter? Must help that she’s an easy lay. Or what? Has she been in every other man’s bed but yours? I bet I could have her in mine in no time.’
‘You really want to go there?’
‘I mean, is a slut like her even worth it?’
I was on my feet before I realized it, using my full height to loom over him. My hand gripped the now empty glass, accidentally turning it to the side, the half-melted ice cubes scattered on the bar.
My chest heaved as I spoke, as anger boiled up inside of me. ‘Don’t.’
I could only get the one word out, the edges of my vision turning blurry as I focused on this asshole who dared to call her that. Who said it so casually. Who fucking came up with it in the first place. Years of disrespect boiled down to this snake sitting in front of me, and I wasn’t supposed to do a damn thing about it.
‘Don’t call her that.’
He smirked back, taking a sip of his beer as if totally unaffected. But I could see it, that trickle of fear in his eyes. I knew I was playing into his trap, but I was done caring. There was a low hum playing in my ears, drowning everything out but his sneaky voice.
‘Can I put that on the record?’
I gritted my teeth, staring him down. I wanted to throw the glass. At him, at the bar. I wanted to watch it smash and see if this anger dissipated. ‘Do what you want.’
Apparently unsatisfied with this, he decided to push his luck once more. ‘Do you want to comment on the rumours that you and Scottie Sinclair are in a relationship?’
I grabbed the drink he ordered me, downed the amber liquid and took a moment to enjoy it, looking at the empty crystal glass before placing it back on the counter, the so-called journalist watching my every move, hopefully out of fear.
I didn’t bother looking back at him. If I did, I might not leave at all.
‘No comment.’ My eyes found the bartender, who had been watching the entire exchange. ‘My drinks are on him.’
And then I left, grabbing the drink I ordered for Scottie before storming out of the bar and straight into the elevator.