The End Game

by Kate McCarthy

  “I didn’t think—”

  “That’s exactly right,” she cuts me off, jabbing her fork in my face. I flinch. “You didn’t think.”

  “Hey, Jordan.” Two guys walk by our table that I don’t recognize. Both give me the once-over. I’m being appraised like a prize cow. This is the point where I realize I’ve been thrown to the wolves. I can’t even blame Brody. I agreed to this in a moronic, tequila-induced moment that now appears too late to take back.

  I force a tight smile and with gritted teeth turn back to Leah. “Can we go? Please?”

  “No way.” She grins as she forks up a mouthful of eggs. “I only just started eating, and this is too much fun.”

  “I’ll do your laundry for an entire month,” I plead.

  Leah pauses and says, “That’s pretty tempting … but no.”

  “You’re a sucky friend.”

  I give up on my pancakes. Wiping my mouth with my napkin, I set it on the table and reach again for my tea.

  “So you bumped into him on campus and then what? You dropped all your books and he picked them up for you?”

  “Yes!” I pounce on her suggestion. “That’s exactly what happened.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know, right?” I nod. “Wow.”

  Leah sits back in her seat, coffee in hand as she eyes me shrewdly. “So then what happened? He looked into your amazing eyes, was dazzled speechless, and then it was on?”

  I shake my head, pretending amazement. “How did you know? Gosh, Leah. It was like you were there.”

  “Shut. Up!” she shrieks and tosses a half-eaten piece of toast at me. I’m wearing a short-sleeved blue knit top, and it attaches itself to the threads like a decorative broach.

  I peel it off my chest and drop it on my plate.

  “Give it back here,” she commands, stretching her arm across the table.

  I hand it back over. “You’re not actually going to eat that after you threw it at me, are you?”

  “Of course I am. It didn’t drop on the floor, and your shirt is clean.”

  I glance down where crumbs and butter now smear the thin blue wool. “Not anymore it’s not.”

  Leah takes a huge bite and waggles her eyebrows. Around a mouthful of toast, she asks, “So did you two get it on last night?”

  “What? No!”

  Her eyes round in genuine shock and her smile drops away. “No?”

  I spend the rest of breakfast dodging Leah’s probing questions. When she finally announces she’s done, I stand and race for the door. The morning sunshine hits me right in the eyes, and I slide my sunglasses down to block the glare.

  Leah catches up to me, linking her arm in mine. “What are we doing today?”

  “Hibernating,” I answer quickly. This morning gave me insight on how bugs feel under a microscope. The scrutiny is wearing and my right eye has begun to twitch. I reach beneath my lens and rub it, trying to make it stop. “I have reading to do.”

  “Wow. Study. You’re super fun. I’m not sure my heart can take it. Let’s go shopping first.”

  I recoil. My bank account is reasonably healthy, but it needs to stretch my entire senior year. Not to mention my mode of transportation is already close to falling apart. “You’ve seen my car, right?”

  “Hon, everyone has seen your car. It’s the eyesore of Texas. The CIA are tracking it on satellite, waiting for authorization to take it out.” Her eyes light up as we walk along the pavement. “Maybe Brody will buy you a new one now that you’re dating. He can’t have his girl driving a death trap, can he?”

  “I’m not his girl. We haven’t even gone on a single date yet. Technically that means we aren’t really dating at all.”

  That was probably my first real truth of the morning, and Leah completely ignores it. Instead, I’m dragged from shop to shop, trying on outfits I can’t afford. It’s midday when we both declare we’ve had enough. With my stomach growling, I leave Leah inside the store and order two fruit smoothies from a nearby vendor.

  I turn around while I’m waiting and get shoulder-checked by a redhead with an attitude problem. “Hey!” I cry out when I stumble and land on my ass with a painful thud.

  The girl beside the redhead giggles, but the glare I get from the girl who knocked me down is scalding. I remember that glare from the party last night. Lindsay, I think Jaxon said her name was.

  Leah charges out before I get to my feet. “What the freaking hell is your problem?” she screeches, getting right in Lindsay’s face.

  The sweet Asian man making our smoothies races around his cart toward me. He helps me stand while Leah and Lindsay yell obscenities at each other. My stomach rolls the moment I put pressure on my left leg. My ankle is beginning to twinge, sending out a mayday that something is seriously wrong.

  “You don’t belong here,” Lindsay hisses at me, her nostrils flaring. I don’t doubt she means what she says. “And I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you don’t belong with Brody either. You’re just a new toy that will soon lose its shine. Just give it a few days.”

  “Just like you wore off so fast he didn’t even look your way at all?” Leah interjects.

  “Look,” I say, swallowing around the worrying pain shooting up my leg. Damned if I want Lindsay to know she’s done some serious damage. “Maybe I do belong with Brody, maybe I don’t. Either way, it’s none of your business.”

  Lindsay scowls. “This isn’t over.” With her pleasant threat delivered, she stalks off, not even waiting for her friend to catch up.

  “Wow. I was wondering if I should envy you, getting to enjoy that masterpiece of male perfection,” Leah says as she stands there, hands on her hips as she watches the two girls disappear inside a store, “but I take it back.” She turns to me, doubt in her eyes. “How does it feel to be the most hated girl on campus right now?”

  “Is that a pep talk? Because you suck at it.”

  “Girls,” the vendor mutters from beside me, shaking his head like we’re an alien species he’ll never figure out. “You ok?” he asks me. “You still want smoothies?”

  “Yes, please,” I reply weakly. “But change the order to double chocolate.”

  I shift slightly and wince. Leah glances down and her eyes widen on my ankle. “Oh no. No, no, no. Please tell me you didn’t—”

  My eyes fill with tears faster then I can blink them away. “I did.”

  “That bitch! I’m going to rip her apart.”

  Leah whips her phone out and stabs a finger at the screen.

  “What you are doing?”

  “I’m calling Hayden. We need to get you home and get some ice on that ankle.” Leah presses the phone to her ear and stares down at my swelling ankle. “Maybe it’s nothing serious. Rest it a couple of days and it’ll be completely fine.”

  I shift some weight on my leg to test it. An explosion of fireworks shoots up my calf. I suck in a sharp breath, wincing.

  Leah tries for a reassuring smile but it looks grim. “It’s gonna be okay.”

  I spend the afternoon on the couch, my ankle elevated and regularly iced. Hayden keeps me company. With a nice dose of painkillers under my belt, I thrash him at baseball on the PlayStation while Leah ducks out on a mysterious errand.

  Vengeance was a fire in her eyes when she left, and it’s only when I’m distracted—worrying she’s out on some one-woman vigilante mission—that Hayden manages a win. He leaps up off the couch with a roar and the entire apartment damn near shudders.

  “Enjoy the moment while it lasts, He-Man,” I tell him when he starts rolling his hips and arms in a victory dance.

  Halting mid-step, Hayden points his controller at me, his excitement palpable. “Let’s go again!”

  He slams back on the couch with force, and it jiggles my ankle.

  “Arrghhhhh!” I shriek.

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he chants, tossing the controller to the side and readjusting the ice that slid off to the floor.

  Leah chooses that mo
ment to return. Her arms are laden with glossy shopping bags, and there’s a bright, determined gleam in her eye that makes me nervous. The last time I saw that look, I was dragged to a frat party in a purple ‘fuck me’ dress and look how well that turned out.

  “What’s in the bags?” I ask.

  Retaking his seat beside me, Hayden eyes her loaded arms with the hopeful eyes of a kid at Christmas. “It’s bags and bags of black lacy underwear.”

  Leah’s grin is smug as she dumps them on the kitchen counter. “Nope.”

  His smile falters a little, but hope remains. “Red lacy underwear?”

  “Nope.”

  “Pink?”

  “Nope.”

  Hayden rattles off all the colors of the rainbow while she digs inside one of the bags.

  “Nope, nope, and nope,” she replies.

  All his hope slowly dies out, leaving behind the wounded expression of a kicked puppy.

  What she plucks out is a stretchy black piece of fabric, and instantly I know what it is. The dress she tossed over the fitting room door when we were trying on clothes. It’s a deceptive piece of material. It looks like a bit of scrap, but after tugging it on I almost didn’t recognize my own body. It has a high neckline, but it shows a mile of leg, gives me a waist, and dips so low at the back it’s almost obscene.

  “You didn’t,” I breathe.

  Lean grins, victorious. “I did. I also…” she pulls out item after item after item, “…did this, and this, and this.” Out comes tiny, cuffed shorts the color of ripe lemons, two blouses, a white maxi-dress that cinches at the waist with a brown leather belt, and more.

  Tears prick my eyes. She must have spent a fortune. “You can’t, Leah,” I protest while my internal voice screams at me she can, she can! “Take it all back.”

  Opening the kitchen drawer, she comes out with a pair of scissors. I watch as she neatly begins snipping off tags and cutting through receipts. “Oops. I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “Leah …” I trail off, speechless.

  “That crazy bitch doesn’t think you belong with Brody? We’ll show her just how much you do, and then her eyes won’t be the only part of her that’s green. The second he sees you in that black dress for your date, he’s going to swallow his tongue.”

  My stomach sinks like lead as she folds all the clothes in a neat pile. It doesn’t matter what I wear because I don’t belong with Brody. I never will. Not even if I wanted to. I’m only here for senior year and then I’m gone. Everything I’m making here—this little life inside an even smaller apartment, new city and soccer team, friends I’m growing to love harder than I thought possible—is all temporary.

  After we have dinner, Leah helps me hobble to my room. My painkillers are wearing off, but I don’t take anymore. I just want to sleep. Stretching out on my bed, I open my laptop to check my emails first. What I find is over a hundred Facebook friend requests, emails inviting me to parties, and emails calling me a whore. With a shaky hand I slam it shut and shove it away.

  It takes over an hour for me to find sleep. The moment I do, Brody wakes me with his phone call, drunk and belligerent. I want to care that they lost their game, but he’s being a dick. After the day I had, his attitude is like the cherry on top of a shit cupcake. When I hang up, I’m glad that Monday is still two days away. It will give me time to calm down.

  The next two days are spent at home resting my ankle. It’s not until Monday night rolls around and Brody’s a no-show that I realize the battery on my phone is dead. After charging it up, I try calling him, but he doesn’t answer. Brody set about this whole dating farce and now what? He gives up on being tutored before we’ve even started? I’m fuming mad.

  It’s not until Tuesday that I see him next. I’m seated in the quiet study section of the library. He stalks past, carrying a stack of lecture notes in his hand, noticing no one. He’s wearing a Colton Bulls cap that hides his eyes, and his skin is damp from the outside heat. For some reason my heart starts slamming in my ribs and it gets hard to breathe. Rage. It’s all that anger oozing from my pores like lava. In fact it’s an exercise in restraint not to stick my good ankle out and trip him up, or toss the heavy text on my desk at his head.

  “Brody,” I hiss loudly when instead I should just let him go. If he doesn’t want to be tutored I can’t force him, but sometimes I can be a dog with a bone. Winners aren’t quitters, though I’m not sure I’d classify this as winning.

  Brody halts at my voice and turns. I suck in a sharp breath. His left eye is a rainbow of purple and red and so swollen it hurts just to look at it. A split brow is held together with butterfly tape and his bottom lip looks busted.

  “Oh my god, Brody.”

  “Jordan,” he says quietly and presses his lips together like he has no idea what to say. The move makes him wince, and he touches a hand to his mouth before meeting my gaze.

  The teasing sparkle in his eyes is missing, and my anger disappears like vapor. “What happened to your face?”

  Brody shrugs. “Training.” He puts his sheaf of papers on the desk and crouches next to me, bringing me a little higher than eye level. He has to look up a little bit. “It can get a little rough.”

  I don’t believe a word. I have a brother. I know the difference between training and a fistfight. My gaze drops to the knuckles on his right hand. They’re swollen and red. “Just a little rough, huh?”

  Brody puts a hand on my knee. The touch is intimate and sends my pulse rocketing right through the ornate ceiling of the library. “Sorry about last night.” He waves a hand briefly at his face. “I was a bit sore. I should’ve let you know I couldn’t make it, but I thought you were avoiding me. I tried ringing you yesterday but it kept going to voicemail.”

  “Oh. Well I admit I needed some time to cool off after your phone call on Saturday night, but I wasn’t avoiding you. My phone was flat.”

  Brody grimaces. “Sorry about that. I was an asshole.”

  “You were.”

  He gives me a rueful grin. “Well at least we can agree on something. So can we reschedule the tutoring?”

  I should say no, but I can’t. I’m his tutor. The whole point of this is to help Brody in any way I can. And we both need to start taking it more seriously. “Thursday night,” I tell him. “My apartment.”

  Brody exhales sharply. Rescheduling was obviously a chore he’s happy to be done with. “Great. Now will you tell me what Lindsay said to you on Saturday?”

  “She didn’t say anything I can’t handle.”

  His jaw ticks. Obviously it’s not the answer he wants. “Tell me what she said, Jordan.”

  I shift my leg from underneath his grip and his hand falls away. “Brody, you’re a popular guy. There are a lot of girls who aren’t going to be happy with the idea of you dating me. They’ll get over it, so just let it go.”

  Brody stands slowly, his wide shoulders looming over me. “I’ll let it go. For now. But if anyone ever threatens you, you tell me and I’ll handle it.”

  “I can handle myself. Don’t treat me like I belong to you.”

  He leans over and takes my face in his hand, the other he props on the arm of my chair. His palm is calloused and scrapes my cheek, but his touch is gentle.

  When he speaks, his voice is low and his eyes dark. “How should I treat you?”

  Want makes me shake. I have to fist my hands so they don’t reach for him. “Like your tutor.”

  Brody’s palm slides away, but his gaze on me remains, eyes hungry. The heat in them swamps me like a blanket, so thick and heavy I can’t get any air. “That’s no fun at all.”

  “Neither is pretending to date someone.”

  “Speaking of, maybe we should drop the pretense and make it real.” He straightens and takes a couple of steps back. “See you Thursday.”

  There’s only one thought flying around in my head as my eyes follow him from the room.

  I’m in trouble.

  Big trouble.

 
Brody

  “Hat and sunglasses, Mr. Madden.”

  I slouch back in my seat and glare at my uncle as I take them off. I set them on the desk and when my gaze returns to the front, he’s staring hard at my bruised eye, his expression grim. Thursday afternoon and it’s still a riot of color, but at least the swelling has gone down some.

  He gives the room his back and shuffles some papers on his desk before pausing for a moment. When he faces his class again, he speaks quietly, beginning his lecture.

  Jaxon passes across the attendance sheet, and I scratch out my name with a quick hurried movement. The desk beside me is empty. Has Jordan forgotten where the room is again? Already my lips begin to twitch. I hang on to the sheet so she can sign it when she arrives.

  When I realize I’m sitting forward in my seat like an eager student, my eyes on the doorway, I sit back and fold my arms. Totally cool. Abso-fucking-lutely.

  “Miss Elliott.”

  My eyes cut to the door so fast I get whiplash. The fact that she’s rushing through the entryway with flushed cheeks and a harassed expression doesn’t surprise me. She must feel my hot and heavy stare, because her eyes make immediate contact with mine across the room. Jordan Matilda Elliott is ice cream in the middle of a heat wave. I want to lick every golden inch of skin I can get my tongue on. Her cheeks redden further, and I know everything I’m thinking is written on my face for the whole world to see.

  Jordan looks away and I draw a breath, feeling lightheaded. All the blood in my body has headed south, and from what … seeing her walk in a room? I’m toast. Cindered, charcoal-covered toast. What happens if I actually manage to touch her for more than just a second? Will I pass the fuck out? I need to get a hold of myself.

  “Sorry, Professor,” she begins. Her hair is freshly washed. It keeps falling like a shiny, damp curtain in her eyes. She tucks it behind her ear with impatience. Is it really as soft as it looks? “I got—”

  “Save your excuses and take a seat,” he interrupts.

  My pretend girl has not learned her lesson from last class, but our Professor has let her off easy. I catch her eye again, and jerk my head at the free seat beside me. Her gaze sweeps the room and my brows furrow. Is she planning on sitting somewhere else? There are only two other seats in the class. One is three rows down by the window, next to a girl tapping a pen in time with her foot and drinking a can of Red Bull. The other is in touching distance of Kyle Davis. So help me God if she sits there I will cause a scene.