Chapter 38
38
RHYS
“ C ome on, Rhys, wingman for us.”
I groan into the sip I’m pulling from my bottle of beer. “Why me?”
“Because you’re single, duh,” Sebastian explains.
“Yeah,” Carter seconds him, “we can’t ask Hudson or Tuck.”
It’s Tuesday night, but Sebastian and Carter both wanted to go out, and they somehow managed to drag me, Lane, Tuck, and Hudson along with them. We’re at Loser’s Luck Tavern, our favorite bar in Cedar Shade and a popular spot for Brumehill students. Even on a Tuesday night, the crowd is pretty good.
Sebastian and Carter have been going out to pick up girls together pretty often lately. Guess it’s their thing this semester. Right now, they’re eyeing up a group of three girls and need a third man to make it work.
“Why don’t you ask Lane?” I say. “He’s single, too.”
Honestly, though, the idea of me being single just sits so wrong in my head. I sure as hell don’t feel single. And my balls are so dry from what Maddie did to me earlier this afternoon that I can’t summon any energy to pretend to be interested in or attracted to any other woman right now.
“Because we want our wingman to go for the girl with the tattoos,” Sebastian explains, tilting his head toward the group standing at the other end of the bar. “Look at her, she’s got that sort of gothy, alt style to her. She wouldn’t spare a clean-cut pretty boy like Lane a second glance. It’s gotta be you, Rhys.”
“Hard to argue with that,” Lane chimes in.
I scowl at him, but he just flashes me a red-carpet-worthy pearly-white smile and takes a sip of his beer.
“Come on, Rhys. You’ve been in a dry spell all semester, time to snap out of it,” Sebastian urges.
“Come to think of it,” Lane ponders, “Sebastian’s right. I haven’t seen you with a girl since last Spring.”
My chest tightens. The guys are prodding too close to my secret, and I don’t like the feeling.
“Just focusing on the season,” I lie. “Don’t want distractions.”
“You’re playing good, Rhys. And the team’s record is great,” Lane says. “You can cut yourself a little slack.”
Carter’s face lights up. “Listen to your team captain, Rhys.”
“Yeah,” Sebastian adds, “at this point, your balls must be bluer than the weird fruity drink Tuck ordered.”
“There is nothing weird about my Blue Lagoon cocktail,” Tuck retorts. “It’s delicious and refined.”
“Come on, Rhys, wingman us!” Carter pleads.
“ Wing-man ,” Sebastian says in a low, chanting voice.
“ Wing-man ,” Lane joins in with the same cadence.
Suddenly, all the guys, even fucking Hudson, are chanting Wing-man at me like I’m in the middle of some damn cult ritual.
“Fine!” I snap. I sigh and down the rest of my beer in one swing, ordering another one before heading over. I’m really not in the mood to pretend to give a shit about any girl other than Maddie, but I feel like if I resist any harder, suspicions might be raised.
My chest sinks as I walk over with Sebastian and Carter, and we introduce ourselves. A sort of guilty feeling wraps around my stomach, that I’m going to be taking up another girl’s time, not even able to work up the ability to pretend to be interested in her.
In less than sixty seconds, Carter and Sebastian are locked in on their respective girls, who clearly reciprocate the interest.
The girl I’m talking to is named Charlotte—and I’m honestly relieved by the fact that she seems as unenthused to be here right now as I am.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” she says to me, an icy undertone to her voice, “my friends dragged me out, and I just wish I were home right now.”
I grin, relieved. “We’re on the same page, then. I got dragged over, too. My two friends are on the prowl and didn’t want to enter a two-on-three situation.”
A shadow of suspicion hangs in her gaze. “Don’t just say that thinking you’ll ingratiate yourself, hockey boy.”
I bark out a laugh at her nickname. She might recognize who I am, but she doesn’t seem impressed by it, which is refreshing. “Not at all.”
“Because I’m taken. Well, not exactly taken, but …”
“It’s complicated?”
She rolls her eyes. “Something like that.”
“Trust me, I get it.”
“Are you it’s complicated , too?”
I huff a laugh. “Something like that.”
She snorts and holds out her beer bottle. “To complications and being forced into unwanted positions by our friends.”
I clank my beer against hers. “Here, here.”
We’re both able to let our guards down and chat a little bit as our four friends engage in more intimate conversation.
Turns out Charlotte is training to be a tattoo artist. We end up talking about our tattoos, our best and worst tattoo experiences, and how much more art we want to have done in the future.
It ends up being a pretty decent time.
After a little while, Charlotte suggests, “Think if we walk out together and go our separate ways home, our friends won’t give us shit about it?”
I drain the last of my beer and set it down with a thud on the bar counter. “You’re a genius, Charlotte.”
I hold the door open for her and give her a nod and a smile as it closes behind us. “Good luck with your tattoo apprenticeship. And with your complication , whatever it is.”
“Back at you,” she answers, and then she turns to head to the bus stop.
I’m sinking my hands into my pockets for my walk home in the crisp air, when Hudson’s voice shocks me. “Struck out?”
I jump with a startle. “Hudson, what the fuck? You’re teleporting now?”
He pushes off against the outside wall of the bar that he was leaning against. He holds up the phone in his hand. “Stepped out for a phone call.”
“Stealthy motherfucker,” I grouse.
He grunts. “It’s funny.”
“What is?”
“Normally, when a guy strikes out and goes home alone, he looks disappointed rather than relieved.” There’s a knowing tone in his voice that I don’t like.
“Like I said, I don’t want to get distracted.” The twinkle in his eyes, the one that’s so often in Tuck’s lately, the one that tells me he can smell my bullshit, turns my voice tight.
“That’s funny,” Hudson says. “Because distracted is exactly how you’ve seemed lately.”
“Is talking in riddles going to be your thing now?” I ask, impatience and annoyance swirling together in my voice.
He grins. “Let me give you some advice. Don’t fight against something you know is right.”
My brow lowers. “What are you talking about?”
His grin carves higher, and he clasps a hand on my shoulder as he walks past me back to the door. “Have a good night, Rhys.”
My chest deflates as he steps inside, and I’m left alone in the chilly autumn air. I guess he can see through me, too. Just how many people can? Maddie and I thought we were being careful. Have we left enough breadcrumbs for people to follow?
If Tuck and Hudson can tell something’s going on, even if not exactly what it is … can Lane tell, too?
No, he can’t. Because it wouldn’t even cross his mind. Because he trusts me.
With an anvil of guilt in my chest, I head home.