Chapter 9
Nine
Keene
I’m three beers and what must be close to eighty games of Call of Duty deep in my sad, little pity party when my phone starts buzzing on the coffee table. My immediate thought is to ignore it, not being in the mood to talk to anyone until Aspen is back from his date. With fucking Bristol.
But seeing as ignoring people, even when I should, isn’t my strong suit—case in point, the interaction I had with Pen earlier—I grab it and check the screen.
My brows furrow when the name of my left fielder is glaring back at me.
Kaleb: Dude. Come get your boy from Stagger. There’s no way he’s driving home after the way he’s been pounding back drinks.
I frown and text out a response.
Me: What’re you talking about?
Less than a minute later, an image pops up from him instead of another text.
I don’t know what I was expecting to see in the photo Kaleb sent me, but it sure as hell isn’t what I’m staring at on the screen. Because there’s Pen sitting at the bar in Stagger, a line of empty shot glasses set out in front of him.
My stomach rolls as I start counting them, and when I reach six, I stop altogether and text Kaleb back instead.
Me: Whatever you do, don’t let him leave. Be there soon.
All I get back is the thumbs up emoji, and I quickly pull up the Uber app to order a ride. Not even thirty minutes later, I’m flashing my fake ID to the bouncer and walking through the front door.
My eyes automatically dart to the back of the bar where Pen was in the photo, but my stomach sinks when I find the spot completely empty.
Fucking hell.
The bar’s packed because it’s a weekend, and it’s almost impossible to tell anyone apart in the swarm of bodies covering the dance floor between the door and the bar. Finding Pen in this mess will take forever. What was he wearing when he went out on his date again?
My eyes scan the crowd in search of his leather jacket I know he was wearing when he left, but a hand on my arm drags my attention to my side.
Kaleb.
“Hey!” he shouts over the music, pulling on my arm. I follow him over to a table on the side wall, and that’s when I notice a couple other guys from the team I’m pretty good friends with, like Castle and Reyes.
There’s also some I’m not all that fond of, including Reese and—unfortunately—Avery.
Of course, Avery happens to be sitting right next to Pen too. Something I’m sure isn’t a coincidence from the pissed off look on Pen’s face.
Well, fuck a duck. This can’t be good.
Pen’s temper is short when it comes to Avery on a good day, so I can only imagine what’s been happening since they’ve been sitting at the table together while Pen’s more than likely sloshed out of his mind. I’d honestly be surprised if punches weren’t already thrown, or at least attempted.
How did he end up over here anyway?
As if reading my thoughts, Kaleb yells in my ear, “I grabbed him about ten minutes ago when he paid and started for the door. Didn’t want him to leave before you got here.”
Letting out a long sigh, I give him a nod of gratitude. “Good looking out, man. I appreciate you texting me.”
“No problem.” He claps me on the shoulder as we stop in front of the table before taking his seat.
The second Avery’s eyes land on me, he gives a delighted jeer and shoves Pen’s shoulder. “Look who’s here to be your knight in shining armor.”
I ignore him, instead letting my eyes rake over Pen’s slightly disheveled appearance. His hair that was perfectly styled before is now a mess from him clearly raking his fingers through it, and the top button on his dress shirt is undone.
“Date go that well?” I can’t help but ask. And because I’m petty, I don’t bother to hide my sarcasm.
He glares at me with sapphire eyes. “Perfectly.”
It’s barely enough to even be considered a conversation, but the tension between us would be obvious to the blind, and it fills Avery with an obscene amount of joy.
“Aw, are the love birds fighting? Someone stepping out and looking for a new butt-buddy?” He leans back in his chair as he gives Aspen another shove before wrapping his arm around the back, behind Pen’s shoulders.
“You really should be more considerate of my teammate, Kohl. Can’t have him crying over you when we get to the playoffs. ”
Is this dickhead serious?
Between the shit with Pen earlier, having to pick him up drunk, and Avery acting like a tool, my patience has long since left the building. So I can’t be held at fault for the slightly violent way I push Avery’s arm off Aspen’s chair.
“Touch him again, and I’ll fucking deck you, Reynolds,” I say, painting on a fake smile before turning my attention back to Pen. “It’s time to go.”
As expected, Avery makes another comment, but I’m too busy watching Pen’s bloodshot eyes roll so hard, I wanna smack him upside the damn head just to see if they get stuck like that.
Thankfully, he follows without argument, sliding out of his seat and allowing me to practically drag his drunk ass out the bar.
Once in front of the Impala, I hold my hand out. “Keys.”
Even though he’s plastered, he must be able to sense my irritation, because he hands them over silently and moves to climb in the passenger seat.
Moments later, I’m pulling out on the road for the ten-minute drive back to our dorm, my favorite rap station on the radio to keep me from losing my cool on him for trying to drive home like this. It’s the only sound in the car besides the hum of the engine until Pen decides to break our stalemate.
“Turn that shit off in my baby,” he mutters from the passenger seat.
I send up a prayer to whatever God exists that I don’t murder my best friend tonight before I roll my eyes and turn up the sound of Post Malone. Ignoring him might be childish, but he’s just looking to pick a fight with me, and hell if I’ll let him.
Plus, he lost his right to have an opinion on my music selection when he decided to be a dumbass by getting shit-faced with no way home.
He grumbles some more before letting out a disgruntled sigh and starts digging in his jacket pocket. I know what he’s doing the moment he starts to roll down the window, but the second his cigarettes are pulled free from his jacket, I slap them out of his hand.
“Not when I’m in the car,” I snap, knowing full well he’s aware of my distaste for the nasty habit he picked up last year.
His lip curls into something of a sneer before he looks away to stare out the window until we park. Which, thanks to the hour of night, there’s shit for parking and we end up having a good half-mile walk back to the dorm.
A fucking blast to do when Aspen can barely walk straight.
Of course, getting the asshole home when he’s plastered is no easy feat ever, so I’m not surprised tonight isn’t any different. He’s stubborn and more than irritable as I drag him through the door of our dorm, letting the lock fall in place behind us.
“C’mon,” I say, grabbing his arm and moving him in the direction of his room. “Let’s get you in bed.”
Instead of following suit, and once again, showing his stubborn side, he rips his arm from my grip and glares at me for a solid ten seconds. No words, just glares.
Whoa.
My blood boils when he brushes past me like I’m not even there, and that’s all it takes for me to let my control over my temper snap completely.
“What the hell is your issue?” I snap, crossing my arms. The way he stumbles across the living room of our suite is slightly endearing and makes me want to laugh, but my frustration with his crap attitude wins out in the end.
“Nothing. I just don’t wanna go to bed,” he says, grabbing the remote to the TV.
Then he plops onto the couch and starts surfing through Netflix aimlessly.
He’s going so fast, I don’t even think it’s possible for him to read the movie titles.
Then again, I doubt he has any intention of actually watching whatever he puts on. He’s just doing it to be a dick.
I’m exhausted, and I really don’t have it in me to fight with him right now. Or go digging for answers as to why he’s in one of his moods—though I’m almost positive it has to do with his date. But neither of those things would be worth my time when he’s drunk, so I let it slide.
“Fine.” I sigh, moving over to slump down on the opposite end of the couch.
“You can go to bed. I don’t need a babysitter.”
Yeah, you really proved that tonight.
“I’m fine right here. Just pick something.”
It takes him thirty minutes to decide on some documentary I have no interest in watching. So I lean my head against the backrest of the couch and let my eyes sink closed as the droning coming from the TV starts to lull me to sleep.
I’m not sure how much time passes, only that I’m startled awake by a foot kicking me in the thigh. My eyes shoot open to find Aspen sprawled over the couch, his feet now on my lap.
“What the—”
“You were snoring,” he mutters, giving me a quick glance before turning his attention back to the TV. A look over to the clock on the microwave lets me know it’s only been about an hour since we got home, and well past the time I’d like to go to sleep, so I let my eyes fall shut once again.
“Thank you,” he says a few minutes later, his voice gruff and low.
I’m assuming it’s for making sure he didn’t do anything stupid tonight and got home safe, so I just say, “You’d do the same for me.”
“No, that’s not…” He trails off, and it has me leaning up to look at him. When I do, I see mixed amounts of apprehension and tension on his face. Like he’s almost nervous to be here with me, and it’s putting him on edge.
Okay, what the fuck?
“Then what is it, Pen? I’m not a mind reader.”
He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me in the dim flickering light casting off the television.
His eyes float between mine, studying me like it’s the first time he’s ever looked at me.
It’s not, obviously, since we’ve known each other for years.
But I absolutely believe this is the first time he’s looked at me and actually managed to see me.