Hate the Game - Winter Renshaw Page 0,14
settling behind the kitchen island and designating herself bartender. “What are we drinking tonight?”
The men—whom I recognize as Tigers—call out their orders and like a seasoned natural, she hands out drinks—and flirts. The guys seem to enjoy it enough, though I suppose it gets old after a while … always having girls throw themselves at you, having people notice you everywhere you go.
They leave the room, drinks in hand, and Brynn is all smiles as she mouths, “OH MY GOD.”
Pretty sure they just made her entire college career just now.
“Where’s Nick?” I ask her. “The guy who invited you?”
She checks her watch, tapping through some text messages. “Oh. He just texted me and said he’s here. Somewhere. I should go find him.”
“Yeah. You should.” I wink at her before returning to my pet project. “Since that’s why we came.”
Organizing the cutlery drawer takes all of four minutes, and once I’m finished, I exhale, take a generous sip of my drink, and lean back against the island counter. The room around me sways. Or maybe I’m swaying. It’s all the same at this point.
Pulsing and pounding music from another room rattles the window above the kitchen sink, and when I glance up, I fully expect to see my reflection staring back at me—only it isn’t me.
Gasping, I grip the counter’s edge and spin on my heels, coming almost face-to-face with none other than Talon.
His full mouth curls at one end. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Composing myself, I reach for my drink and stand back as he scans the array of beverages I’ve recently organized.
“You do this?” he asks, pointing.
“Maybe.”
Talon smirks before selecting a Corona. He twists the cap and tosses it in an open-topped garbage can nearby. “Have to admit, kind of surprised to see you here. This doesn’t seem like your kind of scene.”
“It isn’t.” I shrug one shoulder before taking a sip.
“Then why are you here?”
I don’t see how that’s any of his business, but since he asked …
“For a friend,” I say. “She asked me to come.”
“And then she ditched you?”
“I’m perfectly capable of walking into a party and finding something to do on my own.”
He scratches at his temple. “It’s just that most girls travel in pairs or packs or whatever.”
“I’m not most girls.”
“I know,” he says without hesitation.
There’s a vibration rattling in my chest, and it takes me a second to realize someone simply turned the music up.
Talon keeps his gaze trained on me and while he’s distanced himself a few feet away, the walls around us continue to close in.
Heat prickles at my hairline and my skin flashes hot. With my stomach in knots, I drop my drink on the counter and make a beeline for the back door in desperate search for air.
The metal door slams behind me and I find myself on a small wooden deck with rotted floorboards and party lights hanging from above. Empty and over-turned red plastic cups litter the area around me and if I were feeling better, I’d stack them up and throw them away.
I can’t stand a mess. I can’t stand disorganization or chaos.
They say a frenzied childhood will do that to a person.
I take a seat on one of the steps leading to the back yard and rest my elbows on my knees.
Deep breaths …
The creak of the door demands my attention a second later, and I turn back to find Talon standing in the doorway, his expansive frame blocking the light from the inside of the house and framing him in an ethereal glow at the same time.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Just needed some fresh air,” I say. The night air is verging on bone-chilling, at least by SoCal standards, and I’m not sure how long I’ll last out here, but I’m quite certain if I hadn’t left the kitchen, I’d be standing in a pool of my own vomit right now.
“Mind if I have a seat?” he asks.
“Are you usually this polite when no one’s looking?” I ask, scooting over.
“What do you mean?” He takes the spot beside me. The steps are narrow, maybe three or four feet wide if I had to guess, and our outer thighs are pressed against one another.
I rest my head against my hand, turning to look at him. “You have a reputation. And it isn’t a nice one.”
He laughs though his nose. “What have you heard?”
“That you’re a dick,” I say, recalling the time I watched him body slam another guy outside the Econ building. It was the Monday