Chapter 5 #2
I’m not a booty call, Peris.
I smirk at my phone.
Me:
Sure you are. I’ll see you in a little bit.
Maybe sex will help keep all the bullshit of the day… of my life… from my mind. Numb me just enough.
“Peris… It’s okay. If you want—”
“Shut the fuck up,” I snap, and okay, I feel a little bit bad about it, but fuck! I have a pretty, naked girl in front of me, and I can’t—I release a growl and yank my fingers through my hair, surely tugging out strands with it.
I shove up off the bed and grab my briefs from the floor. I step into them and pull them on swiftly, needing to get away. I jerk open the door, uncaring how it bangs into the wall and probably causes a dent as I stomp across the hall and down the stairs, needing liquor now.
But as I roam through the kitchen, I don’t find anything.
“What the fuck?” I growl as I slam another cupboard closed.
“What are you looking for?”
“Jesus!” I shout and whirl around to find Skylar leaning against the counter, fully dressed once more. I should feel ashamed. And I think maybe I do, a bit. But I’m mostly just pissed at myself for my stupid idea and thinking it was going to work.
I should’ve known.
“Hey,” I say because what else is there?
She just lifts a perfectly done brow, and I know I’ve fucked up, but I still have to ask.
“Can you get me a bottle?” I ask shamelessly, not breaking eye contact.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Peris?” she asks, affronted, and for good reason. I left her high and dry, and now, I’m asking her for something. Typical me shit.
“Please,” I ask, dragging my fingers through my hair and looking up through my lashes, blinking a few times. And that’s when I see her waver—when her blue eyes find mine.
I know I’ve got her.
She sighs loudly and rolls her eyes, but her pink lips curve into a small smile. “What do you want?”
“Anything, I’m not picky.”
“Well, I like tequila,” Skylar says with pursed lips, and it’s an invitation. I figure after I left her without sex and an orgasm, it’s the least I can do since she’s buying me the fucking alcohol, too.
“Tequila is fine.” I lean back against the counter.
“Good. I’ll be back then?” she poses it like a question, tucking a strand of her brown hair behind her ear, and I nod as I drag a hand down my stomach, drawing her focus there.
“Yes. Thank you,” I add after she turns her back, and she throws her hand in the air in a half-wave.
“Whatever, Peris. I just want to get drunk.” That makes me laugh.
Oh, you have no fucking idea.
“Motherfucker…”
I wake, flushed from head to toe with sweat covering every inch of my skin, and I’m burning up.
“Mmph.”
“Wha…” I’m not sure how I manage it, but I crack open an eyelid and peer to my right, finding a body pressed against me. Dark hair is splayed across the pillows and tickling my face. I brush it away with a snort, which makes Skylar groan.
“Shut up,” I groan myself, the sound piercing my brain and making it pulse heavily.
“You shut up. My head’s killing me.”
“You’re telling me,” I complain, pushing her away from me as I roll onto my back, feeling like I can finally breathe. She grunts at the impact, but scoots over as well, and finally gets her damn hair out of my face.
It’s then I look down and notice we’re both naked. As fuck.
“Jesus,” I complain loudly, letting my head fall back on the pillow heavily. It jostles Skylar just enough that she weakly reaches over to shove me in a pathetic attempt.
“Stop. Talking.”
“Get out of my bed,” I tell her bluntly, needing to be alone. I don’t know what happened, and I can’t process that.
“Are you kidding me?” she asks sharply as she shoots into a sitting position, seeming to forget her hangover.
“No. And you know I’m not.” I drag my palm down my face and leave it there, refusing to meet her gaze. I feel her eyes on my face.
“What the fuck, Peris? After last night…” She trails off, and I sigh. This is what I was afraid of.
“Look, Sky…”
“Don’t ‘Sky’ me,” she quips.
“Okay, fine,” I acquiesce, my words coming out slightly muffled under my palm.
“You know who I am and how this works. Last night—whatever it was—doesn’t change shit.
I want to be alone, so I’d like you to leave now.
Thank you…” I let out awkwardly, unsure if that’s the right thing to say, but it’s too late to take it back now.
“Thank you?” she squeaks, and I curl my lips inward.
So, it was the wrong thing. Got it.
“Fucking thank you! Wow. You’re a prick.”
“You already knew that, babe,” I tell her easily as she jostles the bed, working her way out to get dressed.
I don’t bother looking—I’m not interested.
Instead, I wait until I hear the inevitable slam of the door, and when it resounds through the house—twice—I let myself fall back into a fitful slumber, seeming to dream of steely gray eyes and flashes of pink that haunt me like ghosts from the past.
“You’re looking a little green there, Baxter. Thought I told you to get some rest. Drink some fucking water?”
“What I drink is none of your goddamn business, bitch.”
“Yep, hungover,” Jordan says over his shoulder, and I see Gabriel nod his head like he already knew the answer.
“Since when the hell did you and my best friend get so…” I trail off, trying to find the right word in my muddled mind. This fucking suit is stiff and itchy, and it’s driving me nuts.
“So… so… what?” Jordan’s dark brow is raised in the seat beside me, and I want to punch it off his fucking face. Which makes no sense, but I don’t care.
“You’re a dick.”
“I know.” He grins brightly. “And you stink like tequila. Again, might I add. It’s like the shit is constantly leaking from your pores. Did you shower, or are you still drunk? Because if you are—”
“Trust me, I’m painfully sober,” I mutter, running my hand through my hair and pulling it back from my face. It’s kind of dirty, but it’s too late to do anything about that now. We’re on our way to the first game of the season, and we can’t afford to lose.
I need to get my shit together.
“For now,” he adds with a grin, and I find myself nodding despite my irritation and vexation.
“For now.”
“Jesus Christ, Peris,” Gabe snaps from across the aisle, and my head jerks in his direction, causing my vision to swim and my stomach to clench. I grit my teeth and bite back the urge to vomit.
“What?” I snarl.
“You don’t even have your priorities straight. You’re hungover as fuck.”
“I can play just fine,” I retort, not even knowing if that’s true but hoping this shit passes before we get there. I really gotta stop with tequila. Nothing gives me a hangover quite like it.
Bad idea all around.
“You sure about that?” he counters, and I shrug as I drop back against the seat, knowing we’ll get to the hotel soon.
It’s not too far away, but because we’re playing our rival team, we get a hotel for the night, regardless, which is nice.
A little splurge of motivation—and a fucking bar that’s not going to I.D. me. A win-win.
“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”
“You better not fuck this up for the team, Baxter,” Jordan snaps from beside me, and I almost forgot he was sitting there. My mind reels with the surrealness of what’s going on.
“Don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself.
” And with that, I turn toward the window and watch the interstate roll below us until we’re pulling onto the off-ramp and through the city.
The hotel is huge and busy with parents and fans.
People are loud with their chatter and shouting, and I can’t stand it, but I manage to push it aside as I grab my bag and make my way inside.
Room keys are distributed in a chaotic fashion, and by the time I have mine and I’m making my way to the room with Gabe as my roommate like always. The walk is quiet and awkward, something I never thought would happen between us, but everything has changed.
I’m not sure what’s even real anymore.
“What’s going on with you and Bates?” I ask as we ride in the elevator to the sixth floor.
“What do you mean?” he asks calmly. Too calm when I asked such a crazy question…
I narrow my eyes at him, brows furrowed as I stare at his face. The way his jaw is clenched and his hands are tucked into his pockets, backpack slung over one shoulder. His curls are chaotic today, but they seem more unruly than normal, like they’ve been raked through over and over.
“I mean… it seems like, I don’t know,” I huff. “You’re friendly.”
“Yes,” he says easily just as the elevator dings, and he steps from beside me and out into the hall, searching for the room. I follow him in a daze, blinking widely at him as my brain works to catch up to what he said.
I admit, it takes me far too long.
“What do you mean?”
“What?” he says distracted, eyes roaming over the number plaques.
“You’re friends with him?” I question.
“Yeah.”
“When the fuck did that happen?”
Gabe blows out a breath so strong, it dislodges a curl from his forehead. “I don’t know, Peris. Sometime this year,” he says absentmindedly. But I don’t buy it. “Here we are,” he adds, pointing to the door in front of him.
“What?” I ask, blinking a few times.
“Jesus Christ. Give me that. You’re going to lose them.”
Gabe yanks the keycards out of my hands, waves them in front of the door to open them, and then walks inside, nearly leaving me locked out when the door swings shut behind him. I follow behind with an indignant, “Hey!” which he doesn’t seem to give a shit about.
He drops his bag on the bed closest to the door and sits on it with a loud sigh, flopping back.
His maroon suit is perfectly tailored to fit him, clinging to every limb exactly as it should.
Mine, on the other hand, is slightly too big when it used to fit much of the same way.
It’s probably the lack of proper food and working out.
I do what I’m supposed to in terms of weightlifting and cardio for basketball, but that’s as far as I go these days.
I can’t be fucked to do any more. Not when other things are much more important.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask absentmindedly as I drop down onto my own bed, letting my stuff fall from my arm to the floor with a loud clank. I’m sure Gabe can hear the bottle in my bag, but I don’t care.
“That’s what I’ve been wondering myself, Peris.”
“Fair enough,” I mutter, staring up at the ceiling. A stifling silence descends upon us. The kind I’m not used to feeling with Gabe. It’s tense with something unnamed—something poignant that neither of us care to bring attention to at the moment.
“You think you can play in a little bit?” he asks after a while. I’m not sure how much time has passed. It’s all a low-lying buzz in my ears and in my head.
“Yes.” It might be a lie, but it also might not be. We’ll find out.
“Okay.”
“You don’t believe me.” It’s not a question.
“I believe you have a drinking problem.”
“I could stop at any point,” I argue indignantly. “I just don’t want to. I have no reason to.” I mutter the last part without really meaning to, but it’s out there now.
“No reason?” he asks softly, sitting up. I can feel his eyes roaming over me, taking me in, and it makes my skin crawl like a million tiny bugs are all over me.
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
“If you don’t—”
“Yeah, I know, Mr. Fucking Therapist.”
“Peris.”
“I’m going to take a shower.” And with that, I stomp into the bathroom and slam the door behind me, chest heaving with the force of his words sitting like a ton of bricks on my chest.
Because, of course, there are reasons I should stop. There always are. I just can’t care enough, and I don’t fucking know why. Something inside me is broken, and I don’t know how to fix it.
I don’t think I care enough to fix it.
I’m not sure how long I stand under the spray, but it’s long enough for Gabe to knock on the door and tell me we have to leave soon. I turn off the water and dry off, redressing in my lackluster suit, and yank open the door with a bitterness I don’t really feel.
I’m just tired.
“You look even worse, if that’s possible,” Gabriel says conversationally, and I snort.
“Awesome. Thanks for that, buddy. Fuck you,” I grit out as I shoulder check him. That’s when I notice we’re not alone.
“I’m just saying,” he starts, but his voice is drowned out because Jordan fucking Bates is sitting on my bed, and I see red.