Hate the Game - Winter Renshaw Page 0,57
a pretty bad falling out in the end,” he says, leaning in like it’s some kind of secret between us. “Always wondered what happened to her. She left Iron Cross after graduation and never came back. Always wondered if it had to do with me.”
I flatten my lips to keep from saying what I really want to say, and the cake line moves ahead.
“Honestly, I’ve known her for years and the first time she ever mentioned you was last night,” I say.
He chuffs, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, right.”
“Why would I lie to you about that? I don’t even know you. And honestly, I don’t know why you’re talking to me right now. If I were you, I’d be staying as far away as I could.”
His self-satisfied smirk vanishes. I can only assume he’s spent the last four years fantasizing about how much she was missing him, relishing in the fact that he thought he had the upper hand in the break up. I bet not once did he imagine her showing up to Lauren’s wedding completely smitten with someone new.
Leaning in, Trey sniffs. “You don’t scare me.”
I scratch at my temple before crossing my arms, sizing him up once more, examining a loose thread sticking out from the shoulder of his cheap suit jacket.
This dude is all for show.
He doesn’t care about being a decent person as long as he looks the part. On the inside, he’s just as fake and rotten as the nasty cologne he drowned himself in before he came here.
The line moves once more.
“Hey,” Irie’s voice calms the moment and I turn to my right to find her standing next to me. “I got us a table. Just seeing if you needed some help. Aunt Bette wants a piece of—”
Her eyes widen when she notices Trey.
“Hey, Irie,” he says, his mouth sliding into a slick grin … one I’d love nothing more than to smack off his self-righteous face. “Been a long time.”
I don’t know if Irie is verbally paralyzed in his presence or if she’s simply trying to take the high road by not engaging with this jackass, but she turns her back to him, like he isn’t even there, and for some reason I find it fucking hilarious.
I slip my hand into hers and the line moves once again.
And then I hear the word “slut” … clear as day … from Trey’s mouth.
It happens so fast—my balled fist coming into contact with the midline of his perfectly straight nose.
One clean slice of a punch and the jackass falls to the floor.
A woman screams.
Two men rush to his aid.
Irie slips her hands around my bicep, tugging me away from the scene as her uncle sprints across the crowded room.
There’s blood everywhere. Apparently the fucker bleeds easily. Someone yells for ice, another person yells for towels.
“We have to get out of here,” Irie says as her uncle pushes and shoves his way through the gathering crowd of worked-up wedding guests.
“You two!” he points at us—like she’s equally to blame for what just happened.
I lift a hand in protest as we back away. “We’re leaving.”
Irie takes me past the table where Aunt Bette is saving our spots and grabs her phone and little black clutch.
“What’s going on?” Bette asks, squinting across the room toward the circle of people trying to help poor, defenseless Trey McAvoy.
“Talon punched Trey,” Irie says. “We have to go.”
Bette’s face lights up and her hands clap, and before I know it, she’s rising from the table to give me an actual standing ovation. “Bravo, Talon. Bravo. I knew I liked you.”
“Bette, I’ll call you later,” Irie tells her before navigating us out of the fellowship hall, up the wooden stairs, and out the back door to the parking lot, where our Nissan chariot awaits.
My fist throbs, and my heart ricochets the way it does during the final seconds of the fourth quarter.
“I can’t believe you did that,” she says, breathless, her palm splayed across her forehead.
“I’m sorry. After what he said, I couldn’t stand back and—”
“No, don’t apologize,” she says, waving her hand. “That’s not what I meant. I mean … I’ve been fantasizing about punching him in the face for years and you did it!”
Irie throws her arms around me, bouncing on her toes.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her face buried against my neck. A moment later, she kisses me, soft and slow, her lips curling against mine. “Take me to your hotel. I don’t think I can wait any longer …”
Chapter 33
Irie
My