Skyler
My mother told me about Murphy’s Law when I was seventeen.
I still remember that day — how I’d woken up late, missed the bus to my field trip and had to stay back while the rest of my classmates went to a local museum, then I’d broken my sandal, having to use duct tape to temporarily fix it for the day.
When I got home, thinking that the bad day was over, I discovered that I had lost my wallet somewhere between school and home — and it had all my babysitting money in it.
The final straw was when Mom brought me my laundry later, showing me one of my favorite shirts with a rip in the side from the washing machine.
That’s when I’d lost it.
Mom held me as I cried, soothing me as she told me about Murphy’s Law, about when you just have a day where nothing can go right. But, she said the best thing about it was that I would go to bed, and the day would end, and I’d wake up to a fresh new start tomorrow.
I’d thought that was the worst day ever, thought I knew how bad Murphy’s Law could get.
But today proved me wrong.
Kip is on my heels as I storm toward a waiting cab outside the downtown casino, and I slide in without a word or a glance in his direction. My eyes focus somewhere beyond the glass, on nothing in particular, as I try and fail repeatedly to calm my racing heart.
I blew it.
I blew a tournament that I should have easily won, not only missing out on the opportunity to stack up my savings for the entry fee in Vegas, but also giving the tabloids plenty to write about. I can already see the headlines.
Skyler Thorne on Tilt at Local Tournament — Pressure Too Much?
I sigh, leaning my head against the back of the seat. It bounces a little as Kip climbs in next to me, and I’m reminded that now I have to share a ride home with him, with the guy I want to blame for everything tonight, even though I know it’s my fault.
I can’t look at him when he shuts the door behind him. I can’t do anything but sit there and wonder how the hell this all happened.
Last week after my breakfast with Clinton, I’d gone straight to class to find Kip waiting for me in our usual spot — with a coffee for me in hand.
It had become a running joke between us, him trying to guess what kind of coffee I drink — which is ironic, considering I only drink hot chocolate.
But after the dance, I figured that would stop.
Hell, I figured he wouldn’t even look at me, let alone invite me to sit next to him.
But he’d been there, and he’d acted like nothing was wrong. In fact, he’d apologized, told me he understood my feelings for Adam and respected them, and asked if we could be friends.
Friends.
I laugh a little, my breath hitting the cool glass at the fog. How na?ve I was to believe I could go back to being Kip Jackson’s friend after having his tongue down my throat.
But for some idiotic reason, I’d agreed — and not just to being friends.
He’d also asked me to do the tournament tonight, telling me it would be good practice, and a great way to make some cash for the entry fee.
He wasn’t wrong, but honestly, this tournament wasn’t even on my radar until he suggested it.
I’d said yes as if I had nothing to lose.
Maybe it was because I didn’t want to lose him.
Selfishly, I wanted to hold onto him — however I could, even if it wasn’t the way I wanted to. I told myself this was better than nothing, that being with him in any capacity was better than not having him at all.
Wrong.
So, so wrong.
If I hadn’t figured it out when my stomach rolled every time he came to the house for Erin over the past week, or how I felt like throwing up when I saw her name pop up as a text message on his phone, then I definitely got my reality slap to the face earlier today at the gym.
There I was, just minding my business on my way to spin class when I saw Kip in the weight room.
He was already dripping sweat, his arms and chest bulging as he did reps, and for a while, I just stared.
That’s when I first realized it. I felt a rolling wave of something unfamiliar, yet something I placed immediately.
Mine.
The thought had crossed my mind unashamedly, and I didn’t even take the time to process it before I jogged over to him, ripping his headphones out of his ears and making light conversation.
That’s what we’d been doing since we had our truce.
The conversation stayed surface level, nothing deep, nothing too emotional.
But he’d flirted with me.
His eyes couldn’t stay off my cleavage in my workout tank, and I’d felt that heat of his gaze all the way to my core.
Trying my best to shift the conversation into safe territory, I’d asked him if he wanted to take spin with me to get in some cardio.
He’d smiled, that same sexy smirk I’d come to love, but his words were delivered like a bullet to the chest.
“I got in plenty of cardio earlier, trust me.”
It was a casual enough response, but the implication behind it was murderous. He’d been with Erin this morning. I knew because she’d come in from seeing him high as a kite and giddy as a lottery winner. If he’d gotten in cardio, I was pretty sure I knew exactly how he’d done so.
And that was it.
That stupid, ridiculous scene was what threw me for the rest of the day.
I bailed on spin class early, dodged across campus, and let myself stew.
Then, when it was time for the tournament, I’d dressed in my classic jeans and black hoodie and I’d settled into my pre-tournament rituals like I had a shot in hell of getting out of my head and into the game.
Fat chance in hell of that.
Kip didn’t even glance at me in the cab as he told the driver the address, and I couldn’t blame him.
I’d been nothing short of sassy to him all night long.
From him trying to coach me before the tournament to him slipping up and saying my name in the bar, getting me roped into an interview with a reporter who overheard him, I made it clear that Kip wasn’t welcome in my head that night.
Or in my heart.
It’s only when I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to reconcile with the fact that the tournament is over and there’s nothing I can do about it, that I realize which address Kip gave the driver.
My eyes pop open.
“Wait,” I say, turning to Kip. “She needs to take me home first. It’s on the way.”
“You’re coming home with me tonight.”
My cheeks betray me in a blush, but I use the heat to fuel my anger. “What? Um, no,” I correct him. “Not happening.”
I lean forward, ready to spout off my address to the driver when Kip’s hand reaches for my elbow.
“Damnit, Skyler, you’re coming home with me or I’m going to call that reporter and tell her I was the guy from the bonfire.”
My eyes widen, stomach sinking at the headlines that would run with that.
Lacy, the reporter from earlier, had asked if Kip was the guy I’d been caught kissing at the bonfire.
We’d played it off, me making a joke about it being cute that she thought I was only kissing one guy.
I told her I didn’t even remember his name, and Kip played along.
If only that were actually true, maybe I wouldn’t be in this mess.
“And I can tell her way more fun stories about you than what she got earlier,” Kip finishes, his threat clear.
My mouth pops open, something between disbelief and intense hurt passing through me. He wouldn’t do that to me, would he? I mean, I knew I hurt him at the dance, but he wouldn’t put my career on the line…
Right?
“You wouldn’t do that,” I challenge.
Without so much as a second of hesitation, Kip pulls Lacy’s business card from his pocket, holding it like a weapon between his fingertips.
I just stare at that little card, wishing I could set it on fire with my gaze, and then I throw myself against the seat like a child throwing a tantrum.
“You’re a Class A douche right now.”
“You can insult me all you want, but you’re still coming home with me.”
“Why do you want me to come home with you, anyway?” I argue, crossing my arms over my chest. And before I can stop myself from the pettiness, the next words slip out. “Wouldn’t you rather call Erin?”
Kip isn’t phased in the slightest.
“I’m not asking you to come home with me for sex, Skyler,” he chastises, like I truly am a child throwing a fit. “I’m your friend, and whether you want to let me or not, I’m helping you get ready for May and we need to talk about tonight.”
I barely register the last of his explanation, because I’m too busy focusing on the first blip that came out of his mouth.
I gave him a chance to prove me wrong, to ask me what the hell I was talking about when I referenced how Erin should be the one he’s calling for a late-night booty call.
Instead, he’d only proven my suspicions right.
He’s had sex with Erin.
That bullet from before is lodged somewhere in my throat, making it impossible to swallow. Bile rises anyway, my stomach churning. But as much as I want to break down and sob, my poker face is in full effect.
We pull up to Kip’s apartment, and I whip around to face him fully as the driver brings us to a stop.
“You aren’t asking me anything,” I remind him. “You’re blackmailing me.”
I throw open my door, the weight of it bouncing off the hinges before I stand and slam it shut again. Leaning down to glare at him through the window, I steady my voice as much as I can to deliver my final blow.
“And it’s so nice to know that if it were Erin here, it would be for sex. Sorry I’m cock-blocking your cardio plans.”
Then, I storm off toward his apartment, realizing I’ve just cornered myself and admitted I’m affected by who he has sex with.
Fuck.
So much for my poker face.
***
Kip is hot on my heels when I reach his apartment door. I try but fail to open it, huffing like my flagrant annoyance and anger will save me from the fact that I just put my foot in my big, stupid mouth.