Cameron
GROUND CENTRAL IS PRETTY busy, being dinner time and all. They have some decent signature sandwiches.
I sit with nothing in front of me, though, as Mom shook me down for more cash than normal this morning, and Cassie is too irritated with me to buy me a Chai latte.
She sits across from me with her blue eyes zoned in on her own coffee, her body language telling the entire table that she’s not as happy-go-lucky as normal.
Kim is telling our little group a story, embarrassing Michael with mentions of his acting like a brat at home.
“You make me sound so childish,” Mikey counters, rolling his eyes to hide his blush. “Keep it up and you’re banned from the game on Sunday.”
“You can’t do that,” Kim says dismissively. “Only Carl can, and as far as I’m concerned, your rag-tag group of testosterone-pumped men needs my five dollars.”
“Ouch! You gonna let her bash us like this, Cam?” Michael asks, turning his attention to me.
I shrug, forcing a smile. “I have no control over Kim; no one does.”
“Damn straight!” She grins, taking another sip of her coffee.
“Are you guys excited?” Hailey questions, her kind eyes flickering between us men on the other side of the table.
“Yep,” Michael answers cheerfully. “We’re going to kick ass.”
I only nod along because that’s better than lying. I am, in fact, not excited.
Right now, the only thing circling my mind is how easily Atticus turned me away, and how disgustingly pliant I was when his alter ego showed up that night.
I’m not sure what he—it? Jesus, this is complicated—is. But I do know that if I can’t have the real Atticus in broad daylight, I’ll take what I can get.
I’ve seen the alter ego once more since that night, a few days ago, and just like the first and second times, he muttered sweet things to me as he made me come, then I passed out.
For some reason, I can’t seem to stay awake after. As if he takes all my energy when he’s done or something. And weirdly enough, I never find proof of his release either, so he must not be coming too.
Which, to be honest, makes me feel a little bad about myself. Like, what’s the point then? To get me off? I doubt it.
And I can never understand him! Half of what he says to me is in another language, and that’s driving me crazy. Though I have used context clues to understand yes and no.
Anyway, the more I sit on it, the angrier I get; it’s not like I murdered someone or cheated. I talked shit, which Atticus refuses to understand the context of, and he caught me.
That’s literally it.
Sure, the guilt is crushing me, and seeing how it’s affected him makes me sick. But come on! Can’t he forgive this one time? I literally confessed to loving him!
Whatever. I have friends and I have a decent-paying job; I can’t really ask for more, though I would be happy to receive a nicer mother.
And since Atlas’s party, Cassie has been avoiding me. I’m sure once she got upstairs and talked to Kim, she realized I lied, but can she blame me? That girl would have sent me on a wild goose chase if it meant being alone with Atticus Chastain, and we both know it.
So, in conclusion, I’m very irritated lately. And no, I’m not looking forward to the basketball game. I’m looking forward to seeing the alter ego again, if not just so I can imagine it really is Atticus and I can get off with him.
Or alone, it seems.
My phone suddenly buzzes, drawing my attention from my spiraling thoughts as I pull it from my pocket.
And I stop breathing.
Atticus 6:34 p.m.
Tell your little friend to stop messaging me. I don’t want to hear from her.
Um, what? For one, he unblocked me! For two, assuming he means the only female friend of mine he had the contact information for, then he never blocked Cassie? What the fuck!
What is she saying to him? Why does she always get special treatment when I’m the one coming down his throat and being visited by his body double?
Rage overcomes me, and after sending Cassie an unseen glare, I type back.
Cameron 6:36 p.m.
Who’s this?
He’s the one who told me to leave, to never come back. Fuck this. It might look petty, and sure, it makes me very immature, but it feels good, and I’m tired of begging and pleading.
I told him I loved him, and he told me to leave. I’m done trying to reconcile with him.
I’ll just keep his alter ego.
It takes a few minutes for Atticus to respond, not that I’m counting or anything.
Atticus 6:40 p.m.
Are you looking to be taught a lesson in respect?
My stomach does a thing, flipping and tensing and pooling something hot and needy in the pit of it. How dare he text me something so sexy? How dare he assume I’d still let him teach me anything?
It takes me a while to respond, as I’m not sure what to say to that without sounding like a dick or too desperate. Either way, I lose. All of the power is in Atticus’s hands.
It’s not until we’re leaving the café, all without Cassie saying a word to me, that I do message him back.
It’s simple. Efficient. Just enough to bite back without asking for anything at all.
Cameron 7:01 p.m.
Game on.
The gymnasium stands are only partially full. Some locals have come to show support, and the rest are here supporting the out-of-town team.
We’re on the court, with only one minute of the second half to go. Port Orford is winning by two points, thanks to Michael. He’s kind of a layup god.
On the bleachers closest to the court on the home side, the girls sit together as they cheer. Even Cassie is smiling, giving me a wide grin every time our eyes connect. We haven’t even seen each other since Thursday at the café, let alone spoken. I guess she’s over it.
I’m sweating like crazy, my shirt and shorts damp as I pant. I love basketball; it’s a good workout and a great stress reliever. It gives me purpose. I should have been more excited for the game—I really needed this.
While on the court, it’s hard to focus on Atticus or his body double, constantly having to watch the other team or make a move. Sneakers squeak against polished hardwood, bodies are constantly slamming together, and the thrill of winning trumps everything else.
Or, it has been; for the past 39 minutes of gameplay, I have been blissfully locked in. But now, as I turn slowly to face the small crowd, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
He’s here. I can feel it.
But why? Atticus himself wants nothing to do with me, and I didn’t even tell him about this game.
My eyes search the crowd as different players on both teams rush past me, but I can’t find him.
And then movement at the very top of the bleachers catches my eye, and as I tilt my head up, I see him there. Standing tall in his button-up and slacks, with his hands tucked into his pockets, Atticus watches me.
I can’t make out his expression from here, but he’s unmoving, face turned in my direction like a daunting angel sent to watch over me.
The buzzer sounds throughout the gymnasium, and my gaze snaps up to the scoreboard.
We’ve won by those two points Michael scored for us a few minutes ago, and the whole building erupts in cheers. A few feet away, the team has gathered around Michael, cheering and landing soft punches on his arms and chest.
They’re celebrating our win, completely ecstatic even though it doesn’t really mean anything.
“Cam! Congrats!” Cassie shouts, leaping into my arms as everyone runs onto the court.
It’s nice—the familiar weight of her body, knowing she’s not upset with me anymore. Sure, I’m irritated that she’s tried contacting Atticus, but I’m no better. I literally tried breaking into Chastain Castle, so…
“Thanks, Cas,” I reply, giving her a small grin.
“Checkers?” Hailey asks, coming up beside us with Kim in tow.
My eyes flicker back up to the top of the bleachers, but Atticus is gone. He’s disappeared into thin air.
“No Checkers,” Michael interrupts, breaking off from the team to join us. “Carl is throwing a party in honor of our win!”
“You can’t even drink,” Kim deadpans.
Michael just wiggles his brows. “Oh, but I can party.”
“Ew,” his sister complains, scrunching her nose up at the sexual implication as everyone else just laughs.
I follow the rest of the team, listening to their chatter as we shower and change back into our regular clothes. But my mind won’t leave Atticus and why he would have come to watch the game. Who even told him about it?
Don’t tell me… Fuck. I have to find Cassie. Like, yesterday.
We flood out of the locker room, and upon not seeing Cassie, I head to my Mustang and drive to Carl’s house for the party she’s most likely already attending.
Carl is older than everyone on the team, and he owns his property and actually has a decent job outside of coaching us assholes, so it’s nice. He even has a pool that rarely gets used in this little piece of Oregon.
As I pull up, followed by several of our team members, I see Carl unlocking the front door and letting a bunch of people inside.
This motherfucker had to have planned this in advance, counting on our impending win. Risky.
Once inside, I peer around the growing group of people until I find Cassie standing by one of the coolers with Kim and Hailey.
“Hey,” I call out as I approach. “Can we talk, Cas?”
Her eyes widen, and she peeks between our friends and me before she smiles brightly, nodding.
“Be back, ladies,” she purrs, following me into the backyard.
We can still hear the music that Carl has just switched on, but otherwise the space is empty, and the dim light of the back porch keeps us shrouded in partial darkness.
“What’s up, Cam?” Cassie asks nervously, but before I can respond, she adds, “I know things have been tense since Atlas’s birthday party. Sorry if I’ve been weird.”
Her apologizing isn’t new; Cassie is normally pretty good at taking accountability. But this time, I was technically the one who offended her, so her words must be meant to placate me and stem from somewhere else.
She looks… happy.
“Cassie,” I interject, clearing my throat. “You don’t need to apologize. I actually asked you out here because I have a question. Have you been talking to Atticus?”