Текст книги "Shredded"
Автор книги: Tracy Wolff
Соавторы: Tracy Wolff
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
Chapter 3
Z
I can’t sleep.
I should be able to. I drank enough tonight—last night, this morning, whenever—that I should be passed out cold with the rest of them. But my buzz wore off sometime in the last couple of hours, and without it there’s no chance I’m going to be able to sack out. At least not anytime soon.
I push off the couch, pick my way through Luc, Cam, Ash, and some random girl Ash brought back here with us after the party. Usually I’m the one with the random hookups, but tonight I wasn’t interested in anything but getting good and fucked up.
Not knowing what I want to do, knowing only that if I stay in here much longer I’m going to flip the fuck out, I head to the mud room. Pull on some boarding pants and a ski jacket before moving into the garage and take one of my favorite boards off the wall. I should wait until someone’s awake to spot me—boarding on your own is a suicide mission, especially with the effects of last night’s binge drinking still making my head a little foggy. But boarding while I’m a little drunk is nothing I haven’t done before, and besides, I just don’t have it in me to wait. Not right now. Not today.
Not to mention the fact that if I wait for Cam or one of the others, they’re just going to want to talk about shit, and I definitely don’t have it in me to do that. Touchy-feely crap makes me break out in hives.
After slipping into my boots, I head out to the side of the house, where I had a half-pipe built pretty much the second the snow started sticking to the ground. It’s a far cry from boarding the backcountry, but it’ll do for now. Maybe if I do enough runs, I’ll finally be able to sleep.
With no one around to watch, I don’t put on a practice helmet. Don’t check my board to make sure it’s solid before strapping in. Don’t do any of the things I know I should when planning to try a new trick. Instead, I climb to the top of the pipe and lock into place.
Part of me wants to start big, to just bust out and see what I can do, but the tricks—and the big air—will come easier if I’m warmed up first. So that’s what I do. I lay down a few lazy runs, little more than carving up and down the sides of the pipe with a few 360s and 540s thrown in to keep me from getting too bored. Not great for getting me out of my head, but good enough to get the blood pumping, which is enough for now.
After my fourth run, I pause at the top of the half-pipe and look up at the sky. It’s midnight black streaked with purple and gray; even the thought of dawn is a good hour away. There are some stars in the sky—not too many that aren’t obscured by the clouds or drowned out by the lights over the half-pipe, but I can see a few. They’re beautiful. Bright. And clear, so clear. Like there’s nothing cloudy or foggy or fucked up about them.
I don’t know why, but looking at them makes me think of Ophelia. Which is stupid, because she’s a lot of things—hot and tough and obviously smart—but she’s a long way from clear. In fact, something tells me that she’s just as messed up as I am. She didn’t say or do anything to give me that idea, besides dumping a drink all over me, but the way she holds herself and the look in her eyes tell me there’s a lot more to her than she’s got on display.
Which is exactly why I’m going to back the hell off, and fast. I don’t have the effort to invest in her, not when there are a million other girls out there who aren’t as much work, and who’ll be a hell of a lot easier to forget. I’ve got more than enough crap in my own life to deal with without worrying about what she’s got going on, too.
That probably makes me a creep, but to be honest, I don’t give a shit. That’s the way it is. The way it has to be.
This time when I shove off, I decide to go for it. I push myself, aim for big air, and catch it the second time I hit the top of the half-pipe. I use it to propel me faster down the pipe, and the next time I reach the top I let loose with a cab double cork 1260. There’s no way I’m going to land it—it’s pretty much impossible—and I brace for the fall. For the pain that’s as much a part of me as the guilt.
It doesn’t come.
Instead, I land the trick—the first time I’ve ever managed to stick it—and keep going. Up the pipe into a quick front flip 720 and then back down again. This time when I reach the top I do a triple back rodeo. It’s a crazy thing to do, especially without a spotter and in the dark, but I don’t give a shit. Because those moments when I’m spinning—when I’m flying—make everything else worth it.
I manage to complete the rotation, but I’m coming down fast and hard. Again I brace for the pain, anticipate it. Again it doesn’t come. I hit hard but manage to stay on my feet and ride backward to the end of the half-pipe.
A muffled shout sounds behind me, and I turn to see Ash standing there watching me, his fist in the air. Then he’s running toward me and I’m bending down, unlocking my board. Pretending to be busy so I don’t have to make eye contact with him.
“Holy shit, man! That was fucking amazing.”
I shrug, flip my board over. Do the check I should have done forty minutes ago. Everything’s solid, but I kind of wish it wasn’t. Then I’d have something to do with my hands, with myself, when he claps a hand down on my back.
“Seriously. What the fuck? Cam told me you busted out with an inverted double cork yesterday, but she didn’t say anything about a triple back rodeo. When the hell did you figure out how to do that? And how the shit did you get air like that off the half-pipe?”
“That’s the first time I ever landed it.” The first time I ever attempted it, too, but I’m not about to tell Ash that. If I do, he’ll try to get all up in my head and demand to know why I’m trying shit like that out here by myself. And telling him I was expecting—not trying, just expecting—to fuck it up and add a few more scars to what is an already impressive collection is out of the question. He’d tell Cam and Luc, and then I’d never get a second to myself again.
“Well, it was sick. You think you can do it again?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure how I did it this time, to be honest. I thought I was overrotated.”
“You were. I was sure you were going ass over teakettle. But somehow you always manage to land on your feet when I least expect it.”
He starts hiking up the half-pipe, his mouth going a mile a minute. For a second I think about staying right here and waiting for him to wind down. Ash is an awesome guy and the best snowboarder I know. Smart, dedicated, and crazy talented, he’s always thinking about the next ride, the next trick, the next step to get himself to the top of the Olympic podium. Whereas the Olympics are the last place I want to be. The X Games, maybe. But the Olympics? So not my scene. And it’s not like a guy like me belongs at the top of a podium anyway.
“Are you coming?” he calls down to me. Eventually I nod and start the trek back to the top of the half-pipe. He’s still talking about the triple I just pulled off, but in an effort to stay sane, I’m only half listening. Ash has a tendency to take all this shit too seriously, and he is way keyed up right now. I’ll be lucky if every boarder in North America doesn’t know I landed that trick before breakfast. Guess I’m lucky he doesn’t have a video camera on him.
We ride for hours. Ash throws down a couple of switch 1080s, then spends the rest of the time trying out different positions to get the biggest air out of the pipe. I, on the other hand, just fuck around, pull some 360s or 720s. Do a few back rodeos, but nothing like what I was doing earlier. When I do that shit, it’s never for an audience.
Eventually Cam and Luc come out to join us. They’re both looking a little worse for wear, but then neither of them holds their booze as well as Ash and me, so that’s a pretty regular thing. We take turns on the pipe, Cam and Ash being totally methodical, working on every little thing, while Luc and I goof off. At one point the girl Ash brought home comes out and whines about being bored. I ignore her—she’s Ash’s problem. Only he’s too wrapped up in his boarding to pay any attention to her, either. Finally she gets the hint and takes off.
Then it’s just the four of us, exactly how it’s always been. Exactly how I like it. I don’t give a shit about much—my family’s pretty much a joke at this point and since I came into my trust funds this year, boarding is more of a hobby than anything else, despite my numerous sponsors—but I’d do anything for these three people. Know they’d do anything for me, even if I don’t deserve it.
I’m hanging with Luc at the bottom of the pipe, watching as Ash does the most boring run ever, when Luc glances over at me. “So, you really ate it with that girl last night.”
Against my will, Ophelia’s dark green eyes flash into my head—along with her really fantastic rack. I shove the images right back out. “Whatever.”
“No, really. I’ve never seen a girl react to you like that. In fact, you still smell a little like coffee.”
He’s laughing now, and when Ash coasts to a stop beside us he demands, “What’s so funny?”
Luc shrugs. “Just thinking of Z’s face last night when that chick dumped the drink on him.”
Ash starts laughing, too, just as Cam pushes off for her run. She does a nice double cork right off the block, but I can’t concentrate on what she’s doing when my two best friends are giving their best impressions of hyenas.
“I know, right?” Ash agrees opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.
“I did not look like that.”
“You so totally did. It was awesome.” Luc’s grin is so wide it might actually split his face. When I don’t respond, he goads, “You must be losing your touch. Usually girls can’t wait to drop their panties around you.”
“Right,” Ash agrees. “First Ophelia, and then he comes back here by himself last night. Maybe we should check, make sure the pod people haven’t gotten to him.” He pretends to look for a chip at the back of my neck.
I shrug him off, wish I could shrug off his words as easily. But that’s the second time in the last twenty-four hours someone’s said I’m losing my touch. It’s annoying, because it’s not true, and because if I don’t have sex to lose myself in, what the fuck do I have?
“Ophelia’s not important,” I tell them. “She’s nuts.”
For some reason, Luc only grins more widely. “You remember her name.”
“It’s Ophelia. Kind of hard to forget Hamlet’s crazy girlfriend.” But again, a picture of her, all tough and smart and sexy, forms in the front of my mind. Again I try to ignore it, to shrug it off. I can’t quite manage it, though, especially with Luc and Ash riding me about her so hard.
“You manage to forget all the other girls pretty easily,” Luc taunts. “Guess this is what happens when a girl hands you your ass in front of everyone.”
“She didn’t ‘hand me my ass.’ ”
“Sure looked that way to me,” Ash said.
“Me too,” Luc agrees. “Admit it. You got owned.”
Cam finishes her run and comes to stand next to the rest of us. “Are you guys going to stand here gossiping all day or are we going to ride?” she demands.
“We’re going to ride.” I pick up my board and start the hike back up to the top of the half-pipe.
“Yeah, well, looks like that’s all you’ll be riding for a while,” Luc crows. “Since Ophelia saw right through you.”
It’s the wording that gets to me, the idea that Ophelia could have seen anything other than what I wanted her to. I turn back around, glare at Luc. “You’re nuts. I can have that girl in bed anytime I want to.”
“Sure you can,” Luc tells me.
“I can,” I insist. She might have told me off, but I felt the heat between us. Shit like that doesn’t just go away if you ignore it. It gets bigger, wilder. Hotter. Until the only way to put out the flames is to give in to them. “I can have her anytime I want.”
Luc snorts. “Dude. Way to sound like a rapist.”
The words hit me like a blow, and before I can try to pretend they don’t matter, Cam elbows him. Hard. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she whispers. “What’s wrong with you?”
I know she doesn’t mean for me to hear, but I do, and that just makes everything more awkward. The only thing worse than living with all that shit with my sister is having my friends tiptoe around it. Like I’m some kind of pussy who can’t deal.
Then again, maybe I can’t, because there’s no way I’m touching this conversation. Not right now, when it’s all I can do not to throw myself off the fucking half-pipe.
“Yeah, right,” Ash says, going in for the rescue like he always does. Usually I don’t put up with it, but today I don’t say anything as he continues, “When have you ever known Z to have to do more than crook his finger to get a girl to take her clothes off?”
“I think you’re all delusional,” Cam snarls. “Z can’t actually have every girl he wants.” I can tell she’s thinking about those moments at the top of the half-pipe when I almost kissed her, almost used her, just because she was there. And available. And willing.
That just makes me feel worse, though. This conversation—this whole morning—is getting way too serious. Time to lighten things up and remind them that I can deal just fine. “Maybe not,” I say with a deliberate smirk, “but I can have Ophelia.”
I sound like a total douche, but better that than a pussy.
Except Luc calls me on it. “Oh, yeah? You so sure about that?”
“Absolutely.” No backing down now. A guy can only take so much sympathy before he goes insane. “Give me a week and I’ll prove it.”
“Are you seriously betting on whether or not you can fuck a girl?” Cam demands, looking outraged. “What is this, high school?”
“No, not high school. The stakes are higher,” I tell her, warming to the idea. She looks pissed, which isn’t a bad thing. Because if Cam thinks I’m an asshole, then she won’t be throwing herself at me anymore and I won’t have to worry about fucking up and taking what she freely offers. “I bet my Burton Landlord against Luc’s Flow Darwin that I can get Ophelia out of her panties before the competition next weekend.”
Luc whoops. “You’re on!”
“Dude?” It’s Ash’s turn to elbow Luc. “Are you sure you want to take that bet?”
“Damn straight. I’ve been wanting to get my hands on that board since he bought it.”
“As if. We both know I’ll be adding your Darwin to my collection sometime in the next seven days.”
“Whatever,” he shoots back. “I saw the way she looked at you. But a guy can dream, I guess.”
Cam interrupts the bragging contest with a disgusted snort. “You guys are so gross. I can’t believe I’m friends with you.” Then she’s off, storming up to the top of the half-pipe even though it’s totally my turn.
Luc watches her go, and though he tries to hide it, Ash and I can both see how he feels about her. Thank fuck I never have to worry about being that whipped.
Cam slams through her run, catching some big air and hitting a couple of tricks she’s always struggled with. Losing her temper always makes her a better rider.
Once she clears the end of the pipe, it’s my turn. I plan on taking it easy—I’ve already been at this for hours, doing some pretty strenuous stuff—but just as I push off, April’s face flashes through my mind.
I don’t let myself think of her often. It hurts too bad. But this time of year, this week, it’s hard to think of anything else, especially when my friends are making such a point of not saying anything about her at all.
So I close my eyes and think of how she was the last time I saw her. Her dark hair banded into two long pigtails. Her purple jacket a vivid splash against the snow. Her—
I cut the thought off before it can form.
Push off before I can sink too far into the memories.
I hit the first trick hard, but it’s not enough. I need more. More challenge. More rush. More—
I launch myself into a 1440 to make the shit in my head disappear. It’s too soon, though, and I know it even as my board leaves the pipe. And still I push it, still I go for the extra rotation.
I get it, but I’m too low. I come down too fast, hit way too hard. Ash’s shout mingles with Luc’s and Cam’s, and the last thing I hear before blacking out is the sound of their footsteps running straight for me.
Chapter 4
Ophelia
I shrug out of the hospital gown, trying to ignore how freaking cold it is in the stupid clinic. How freaking cold it is everywhere in this godforsaken city. It’s like no one in Park City knows what heat is or something. Or maybe it’s just that my blood is too thin from all those years of living in a place where the average temperature is eighty degrees and the average humidity level is about a thousand percent.
Either way, I’m freezing. I reach for my turtleneck, slide it on, then follow it with my jeans, sweater, jacket, and scarf. None of the layers seem to help, though. I’m still one degree away from having my teeth chatter and my fingers turn blue.
There’s a knock on the door and I turn to see the nurse from earlier standing there. She’s got that I’m-so-happy-I-must-be-on-really-good-drugs smile on her face that so many of the people in this town seem to wear all the time. “The X-rays all turned out, Ophelia. You’re free to go.”
Thank God. I slide my feet into the thick socks and Uggs I just spent too much of my first paycheck on, then snatch my purse out of the visitor’s chair. This place gives me the creeps.
The nurse’s eyes widen at my full-out charge for the door, and she quickly steps aside to avoid getting run over. Smart woman. I have no intention of stopping until I’m out of this damn place—even the snow outside looks good in comparison.
To be fair, there’s nothing wrong with the clinic per se. Just the memories that being here brings up. But if the X-rays show what the doctor thinks they will—that the screws from the last surgery are healing exactly as they should be—then I won’t have to come back here for a long time. That’s something, anyway.
“The doctor will call you later today or tomorrow to let you know the results of the X-rays,” the nurse calls after me.
I lift my hand in a wave to let her know I heard her, but I don’t stop. The ball of nerves that’s been inside me since I got off the bus this morning has grown to epic proportions. I’m nauseous and dizzy and desperate to escape, as much from my past as from this damn clinic.
I take a wrong turn, end up racing down a long hallway. I make another turn when I get to the end of the hallway, and then another one, all the time getting a little more frantic, a little more freaked out. I feel stupid, weak, ridiculous, but I swear if I don’t get out of here I’m going to lose it completely.
The sign at the end of the corridor says the exit is to the right, so I make another turn and end up plowing full speed into what feels like a brick wall.
I stumble and probably would have fallen—like a complete idiot—except the brick wall reaches out and grabs my shoulders. “Hey there. You okay?”
If possible, my stomach gets even tighter. I know that voice. I look up from a chest encased in a tight black T-shirt into blue eyes that somehow manage to look both wicked and concerned. “What are you doing here?” I demand, the words popping out of my mouth before I can think better of them.
Z isn’t offended, though. He just gives me that yes-I-can-get-you-to-drop-your-panties-with-just-a-look grin of his even as he makes sure that I’m steady. When it becomes obvious that I am—or at least as steady as I’m going to get—he pulls his hands away. But not before rubbing his fingers gently up and down my arms.
There are three thick layers of fabric between his hands and my skin, and yet I swear I can feel the heat of his touch. It’s crazy, but it’s true. My arms still burn where he was touching me. I try to shrug it off, to pretend I don’t feel it, but I never have been very good at lying. Even to myself.
Z points at his forehead, and the stark white bandage that covers the left corner of it. “Hazard of being a snowboarder.”
Something about his voice and demeanor—soothing, solid, sexy—settles me. The panic recedes, and my brain cells start firing again, not a moment too soon.
“What? Having to wear really ugly Band-Aids? Or having to catch girls who all but throw themselves at you?”
He laughs. “A little bit of both, actually.”
“Yeah, I bet.” I take a deep breath and a step back. Then regret both. The breath because he smells really good—like pine and cinnamon and, randomly, oranges—and the step back because now I’m far enough away for his eyes to skim over me. Which they do. Not in a rude way, like he’s trying to get a look at my body, but in a hey-what-brings-you-to-a-medical-clinic kind of way. And since that’s the last thing I want to talk about, I find myself tensing up all over again as I wait for the inevitable questions.
In the end, he doesn’t ask them, though. Instead, he points down the hall to a red-and-white Exit sign. “Is that what you’re looking for?”
The fact that he reads me so easily has me bristling. “How do you know I’m looking for anything?”
“Believe me, I know the look. You’re as desperate to get out of here as I am.”
I can’t stand that he can see through me that easily, especially when I pride myself on my ability to hide my emotions. “Maybe I was just looking for the bathroom,” I tell him, annoyed.
His indigo eyes narrow suspiciously. “Were you?”
“No.” I don’t know why I admit it. At least not until he smiles and the damn thing lights up his whole perfect face. For the first time, I actually get why the women line up to throw themselves at him. The knowledge only makes me more wary, and I take a second step back.
“So,” he says, brows raised. “Are you ready to blow this pop stand?”
I start to turn him down, to make something up to get away from him, but the fact of the matter is that I’m breaking out in a sweat despite the cold. If I don’t get out of this clinic soon, they’re going to have to carry me out—after medicating me into a drug-induced stupor. “More than ready,” I finally admit.
“Me too.” Z puts his hand on my lower back, starts to guide me toward the door. I shrug him off, shoot him a glare, but he just grins. “I had to try.”
“Yeah, well, don’t.”
We push the door open and walk into the waiting room. Before I can do more than take one step forward, we’re surrounded.
“What did the doctor say?” Cam demands, poking at Z’s forehead. He winces but other than that tolerates her concern.
“Tell me you don’t have a concussion, man. You’ll be out for weeks.” Ash looks miserable at the very idea.
“I’m good,” Z answers. “Just a little bump.”
“A little bump? You were knocked out for three or four minutes!”
“I’m fine, Cam.” He reaches out and pats her head. “I swear.”
“Excellent! X Games invites are going out soon, and with the Olympic trials next month, it would totally suck if you were grounded,” Luc tells him, then glances at me curiously. “What are you doing here, Ophelia?”
“I had a doctor’s appointment. Z was just showing me the way out.” I pull out my cell phone, glance at the time. I’ve got fifteen minutes before the next bus leaves for the resort, which means I need to move it if I want to get to the bus stop in time. “Thanks,” I tell him before heading toward the door. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Hey, wait!” Luc says, jogging after me.
I don’t stop until I hit the sliding glass doors at the front of the clinic. The second I step outside, the tension leaves me in a rush. I take a few gulps of air before turning to look at Luc, who is watching me curiously.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Where are you rushing off to?”
“Back to the lodge. I’ve got things to do.”
“Are you working today?”
I pause for a moment, consider my answer. But since I haven’t gotten any better at lying in the last five minutes, I opt for the truth. “No.”
“Awesome. Then you can come with us. Since Z’s okay, we’re going to catch a late lunch and a movie.”
“I don’t think—”
“Don’t think,” he says. “Just come on. It’ll be fun.”
I know I should say no, but I haven’t been to a movie in months. Haven’t done anything fun in months, if I’m being honest. And Z’s friends seem nice enough, even if he is a total hound.
“What movie?” I ask as I study him through narrowed eyes.
He names a thriller I’ve been dying to see, and my resistance drops another notch. Still, I’m no pushover. “What’s in it for you?”
“What do you mean?” He’s wearing a butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-his-mouth expression.
I cross my arms over my chest, refuse to give an inch. “You know exactly what I mean.”
It’s his turn to study me. Finally he says, “I don’t care what he says. Z took a pretty hard hit today. If we don’t distract him, he’ll be right back on the half-pipe, and honestly, I don’t think he’s up for it.”
“What do I have to do with that?”
“He’s interested in you. If you come along, he won’t be in any hurry to rush off and try to kill himself again.”
His words are light, but there’s an underlying grimness to them that tells me there’s more going on here than meets the eye. “So I’m bait?”
“Pretty much, yeah.” He grins engagingly, and despite myself, I’m suckered in.
“Fine, I’ll go. Only because I want to see the movie. Not because I want to spend time with Z.”
“Of course not.”
“I’m serious. I’m not going to fuck him to keep him off the slopes, so if that’s what you’re thinking—”
“It’s not. I swear. In fact, I’m pretty much counting on you not fucking him. I—”
“Hey, are you two about done with your secret little exchange?” Z asks as he walks up to us, followed closely by Cam and Ash.
“No secrets,” Luc tells him. “I was just convincing Ophelia to eat and catch the movie with us.”
Z’s brows nearly touch his hairline as he turns to me. “Oh, yeah?”
I like that he’s surprised, though I have no idea why. “Yeah.”
He stares at me for long seconds, those cool blue eyes of his so intense that it takes every ounce of willpower I have to hold his gaze. But if I learned anything in the years I spent hanging on the streets, it’s that guys like this don’t respect girls who back down. So I don’t. Instead, I lift my chin and wait for him to speak first.
I expect a sexual innuendo, maybe an advance. Instead, when he finally does speak, all he says is, “Cool.” Then he brushes past me and heads for the parking lot without a backward glance.
I watch him go.
So much for fending off advances. Looks like he got the message yesterday after all. I breathe a sigh of relief—or at least that’s what I tell myself it is—as I follow him and the others to the car.
* * *
I’m in the bathroom at the movie theater washing my hands after eating entirely too much popcorn when Cam walks in, the restroom door bouncing against the wall as she pushes through it.
“Hey,” I say, smiling at her in the mirror.
She doesn’t smile back.
In fact, she ignores me completely—just as she ignores the stalls lining the back wall of the bathroom. Instead, she walks to the sink next to mine and starts washing her hands just as I turn to dry mine.
Silence echoes off the cool tile walls, and though it makes me uncomfortable, I’m not going to be the one to break it. I already tried that—both in here and at the table where she spent most of the evening playing I-can’t-see-or-hear-Ophelia—and I’m done. Sure, it’d be nice to have a friend here in Siberia, and last night I thought that she might be that friend, but hey, whatever. No skin off my nose if she wants to pull that whole I’m-a-bitch-who-hates-you-for-no-reason routine. She’s not the first to throw it at me and probably won’t be the last.
I toss the paper towel into the trash basket and head for the exit without saying another word to her. But just as my hand closes around the door handle, she says, “You’re nothing to him. You know that, right?”
For a second I think about just continuing to walk. But if I do, this thing is going to grow by epic proportions. She’ll think I am interested in Z, which will just lead to more drama. And if there’s one thing I do not need more of in my life, it’s drama. The last year has given me more than enough of it, thank you very much.
“Why should I care?” I finally say, turning around to face her. “He’s nothing to me.”
She snorts. “Yeah, right. I’ve heard that before.”
“I’m sure you have. But that doesn’t make it any less true coming from me. I’m not interested in Z.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yeah. Pretty sure. He’s not exactly my type.”
Cam laughs at that. “If there’s one thing hanging around with Z has proven to me through the years, it’s that he’s every woman’s type.”
“Even yours?”
She stiffens, looks away. “No. Not mine. We’re just friends.”
“You sure about that?” I deliberately echo the question she had just posed to me.
“Yeah. Pretty sure. He’s not my type, either.” This time when she looks at me, her scowl has been replaced by a genuine smile. “I think I might actually be starting to like you.”
I raise my brows at her. “Is that such a shock?”
“Actually, it kind of is.” She reaches over and pulls the door open. “I spend so much time hanging out with guys—between those idiots out there and my four brothers—I barely remember how to act when I’m with another girl.”
“Yeah, well, not glaring at her like you want to rip her head off is usually a good start.”
She laughs as she follows me through the door. “I’ll remember that.”
“Good.”
We’re almost to the lobby where the guys are waiting when Cam grabs my arm. I turn to look at her questioningly, and for the first time since I met her she looks uncertain. “I don’t normally rat out my friends, but I figure you should know. Z made a bet with Luc that he could fuck you before the end of next week.”
At first I think she’s joking, but the expression on her face is totally serious. “He made a bet?” I ask, completely blindsided, though I don’t know why. Z is exactly the kind of guy to do something like that. And yet I’m still surprised and disgusted and maybe even … hurt?
Ugh. Now I’m just being stupid. I can’t stand the idea that I can be hurt by such a douche bag—can’t stand the idea that I can be hurt at all, if I’m honest—so I push even the thought of it to the very back of my mind. Instead, I concentrate on the sheer ridiculousness of what Cam is telling me.
“I know, I know. It makes him sound like a total tool—”
