current LARP theme since we’re not doing the Mad Max thing, but it was too badass to resist trying them on.
“I think we’re ruining the pictures with our umbrellas,” I joke.
“I’m not getting this baby wet,” Blake replies.
“Just take the damn picture already,” Fred shouts at Sylvana, the coordinator of our LARP group, who also happens to be his cousin.
“Stop talking and strike a pose, dumbasses,” she fires back.
We have fun for about ten seconds until Sylvana demands to be in the pictures too. I remove my headgear and then trade places with her. Despite the rain, the sun hasn’t set yet, and the clouds are scattered, so it’s not as dark as it could be. I wait for them to get in position, aiming the phone in their direction. I only manage to take one photo before a splash of cold water drenches the back of my pants.
I yell and then turn around to curse at the driver who sped over the puddle near the curb. The four-wheel-drive truck stops not too far from us at a red light. I can’t see his face, but the license plate says it all—ALXNDR7. It’s Troy’s fucking truck.
Son of a bitch.
He lowers his window and waves at me before speeding off as the light turns green.
“Who was that?” Sylvana asks.
“Troy Alexander, Rushmore Rebels’ quarterback,” I reply.
“Did he run over that puddle on purpose?” Fred asks.
“Sure looks like it.” I pat my butt, confirming that it’s soaking wet, underwear included.
Shit. I have to go home.
“What an ass,” Fred replies.
“You know what?” Blake chimes in. “Fuck him and the football team. I’m running the article you wrote.”
“What about not using the paper for revenge?”
He looks straight into my eyes. “That fucker just made it personal. No one messes with my staff.”
TROY
“Dude! I can’t believe you did that. Ruthless!” Andreas laughs from shotgun.
“Shit, man. Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Danny pipes up from the back.
I tighten my hold on the steering wheel while I wrestle with the immediate guilt that followed my impulsive act. I’m not an asshole, and I usually don’t hold on to grudges. I thought I was past my anger with the little reporter until I found her tweet about me. She called the experience of meeting me akin to attempting a conversation with a Neanderthal and said she’d have more luck with the caveman from the Geico commercial.
Once again, I let her get under my skin, and the result was me acting exactly like she’d said I did. It’s my fault for cyberstalking her. I learned her full name from the email Ludwig had sent me. Charlie Fontaine. I was quick to find all her social media profiles, and that included her tweet about me. She didn’t mention me again, but that one judgmental paragraph was enough to set me on edge.
“Accidents happen. It’s her fault for standing near a puddle.”
“Sure, like you didn’t accelerate on purpose.” Andreas chuckles.
“Can we drop this? Charlie is taking too much airtime.”
“Charlie? So, you learned her name finally?” Danny makes that annoying remark.
“You’d better shut your piehole before I make you walk back to campus.”
“Gee, relax.”
“Are you coming to the Pike party?” Andreas finally changes the subject.
“A frat party? Not in the mood to hang out with that crowd. Besides, I have plans.”
“Oh yeah? A hot date, or are you back to eating old porridge?”
“Man, you have to stop with the bad food analogies,” Danny retorts.
“I couldn’t agree more,” I grumble. “And no, I don’t have a date.”
“It’s old porridge. I knew it. You have to stop sleeping with your ex, man. It’s not healthy.”
“For the thousandth time, I’m not sleeping with Brooke,” I grit out. “We just chatted after that one game when she came to visit—that’s all. Besides, she lives in New York, remember?”
“Okay then. If you say so,” Andreas replies sarcastically.
“Whatever. Believe what you want. I promised Grandma I’d have dinner with her. That’s my hot date.”
“Ah, cool. Is Jane going too?” Andreas looks out the window casually, but his left leg begins to bounce nervously.
What’s up with him?
“Yeah. I have to pick her up in thirty.”
“Where are you heading for dinner? I could eat.”
I peel my gaze from the road for a second to glower at him. “Did you just ask to tag along to a family dinner? Are you for real?”
He shrugs. “What? We’re friends, and your grandma loves me.”
“Sorry, buddy, but I have to get back home,” Danny interjects. “I have a major test tomorrow