Hate the Game

by Holly Hall

  “Hey, what’s up? Has something happened?”

  Just a revelation that’s threatening to compromise the state of my heart, no big deal.

  “I, umm. I. . .” I chewed the inside of my cheek and decided I needed to get on with it. Purge my admission, so I wouldn’t have to be the sole bearer of the weight anymore. “I just needed to tell you I decided I like you.”

  The sentence came out jumbled, and I couldn’t look at him to see what he thought about it. I didn’t want to know if he was pleased or disappointed. Shit, what if he’d expected something lighter, and instead I’d just unloaded an earful of nonsense?

  “You ‘decided.’” I peeked at him and saw a smile. It was kept in the corner of his mouth, but it was there. “That’s what’s got you so torn up?”

  “Yes. I mean, no, I’m not torn up. I just wasn’t sure what you’d say.”

  “I thought someone died. I’m glad to hear nobody did.”

  He was avoiding my confession. I turned toward the door, meaning to leave while I could still save a little face, but he stepped into my path and caught me by the shoulders. Then he was sliding those hands up to my neck and tilting my chin back so I had no choice but to look at him. “You’re not just gonna leave after that, are you?”

  “That wasn’t an easy thing to say, and now I’ve made a big deal out of it and I feel like a fool.”

  “Who says you’ve made a big deal out of it?”

  “It’s kind of obvious.”

  “I know you’re fighting it. And that’s okay—it means you’ve thought about it a lot. It means you care.” He ran his thumbs over my cheeks. “You know I like you. I’ve been doing everything short of shouting it since I invited myself over to your place to fix your door.”

  “Really? Since then?”

  “Yeah, what did you think all this was about?”

  “I didn’t know, to be honest.” I bit my lip, my pulse stuttering. “I thought maybe you were taking pity on your single neighbor who’s a little too whipped by her career to have a social life outside of her best friend.”

  He opened his mouth like he was going to make one comment and thought better of it, then he said, “If only you could see yourself through my eyes. By the way, does this mean I can call what we’re doing dating instead of pretending I’m just helping you with work?”

  I shook my head in dismay, hardly believing the turn of events. “Yeah. I guess you can.”

  “Fuck yeah.” He thrust a fist in the air. “Suck it, Brianna Bradshaw.”

  “Who’s Brianna Bradshaw?”

  “The chick in seventh grade who said I’d never have a girlfriend because of my acne. She called me Pox. I sure showed her.”

  I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. “Should we send her a selfie?”

  “We should definitely take one on our next date,” he emphasized, tugging me into his chest. I wrapped my arms around his annoyingly narrow waist and inhaled a lungful of his scent. “Are you doing anything Saturday night? Can I show you what Texans do for fun?”

  “I think you gave me a sneak peek last Saturday, but no. As far as I know, I’m free.” I watched his eyes when he pulled away, and I couldn’t find even a hint of disingenuity in them.

  “Dust off those boots, girl. I’m taking you dancing.”

  Chapter 19

  Ava

  “You’re sure this is going to work?” Rebecca scrutinized me beneath thick eyelash extensions. I pushed my half-finished sushi roll aside and leaned in like I meant business.

  “I can’t guarantee anything, but based on our conversation, Gregory wishes he had more time to spend with volunteer programs. Specifically those having to do with early education. I’d suggest finding a mentor program, or something similar. Even partnering with a school to see what teachers are needing for their classrooms.”

  She sat back. “Mentoring some kids? That’s what it’d take?”

  I was slightly taken aback by her skepticism. Gregory had been more genuine and caring than she’d let on, and I felt a protectiveness toward him and what I was doing. Maybe Rebecca never had to dig this deep for a romantic interest. Maybe she’d never been willing. People are changed by what they hold in their hearts, and when you care about someone, you get to know what those things are. Chances are, they change you too.

  “I think what Gregory values most is selflessness. He fought to get to where he is, but he hasn’t forgotten where he’s come from. I think all he wants is to nurture those kids, the ones who remind him of who he used to be.”

  Her jaw went slack. “You got that much out of him in five minutes?”

  “All I did was ask him what he cares about. Once I got him talking, he offered more than enough for me to get a feel for who he is.”

  I fetched a sheet of paper from my notebook and slid the typed list across the table. “I did some research and compiled a list of organizations he’s shown a lot of interest in—events he’s attended the past few years as well as what causes he’s donated to. His assistant was more than helpful when I called, although you probably shouldn’t mention that part to him. I said I was writing an article.”

  Rebecca’s eyes roved over the list, widening with each line she read. “I don’t know. This is all just. . .”

  “A lot. Yes. People are complicated, are they not?” I took a breath, reminding myself not to get defensive. There was a self-promotional aspect to modern dating, I was aware of that, but I didn’t want anyone to be outright taken advantage of by someone who wasn’t who they said they were. “Rebecca, I’ve been working with you for months now, and I’ve never seen you so serious about anyone. I know it’s hard to find yourself in this city. If you really care about Gregory, showing initiative in the programs he’s interested in would not only benefit your relationship, it might give you some fulfillment as well.”

  “Yeah.” She chewed her lip, not yet sold on the idea.

  “But. . .?” I prompted her.

  “I guess this is all moving so fast. This,” she tapped the paper with a fingernail, “is serious.”

  “No more serious than marrying him, right? What happened to the ‘ring by spring’?”

  “I guess, I don’t know, I didn’t think he valued me as anything more than a tight body and a pretty face.”

  I tilted my head. It wasn’t tricking Gregory that she was concerned about. She was falling for him. The nails, the hair, the makeup: it was all part of her armor, and she was used to being taken at face value. She hadn’t been forced to peel that away and bare her soul. But Gregory was different than the other men she’d been with, and it would take more than a pretty face for him to know she was serious.

  “I’m guessing most of your past boyfriends were satisfied with this.” I gestured to her overall appearance. “And that was fine, for a time, but now you’ve found someone you want to let in, past all that, and you’re scared. I get that. Boy, do I get that.”

  Maybe it was crossing the boundary between professional and personable, but I covered her hand with mine. I wanted her to know I was genuinely invested in her happy ending. “I’m dealing with the same thing myself. But your concern about this shows where your heart lies. Try it. You might learn more about yourself, and Gregory, in the process.”

  Rebecca swallowed audibly, but after giving me a curt nod, her pink-slicked lips hitched into a smile. “Okay. I’m going to try it.”

  “And, Rebecca? Don’t be afraid to talk to him. Really talk to him. I can’t wait to hear how it goes.” I took one last sip of water before gathering my things.

  “Where are you off to?” Rebecca asked, shouldering her bag. “More consultations?”

  “Actually, I have to find a pair of cowboy boots.”

  When Theo came by to pick me up, I felt more giddiness than dread. I was about to go dancing with a Texas boy in my new boots, and if you’d told me that a month ago, I’d never have believed you.

  I extended my toe so he could see my new kicks in all
their glory.

  “Look at you! I didn’t know you had those up your sleeve.” He pulled me to him and gave me a hello kiss.

  “A few days ago I didn’t. But look, they’re legit! The place I got them from had hats, shirts with pearl snaps, and why are you holding socks?” Focused more on his green eyes, the kind of stubble I imagined other men pined for, the way he looked in his own boots, I’d only just noticed what he was holding.

  “Because I’m guessing you’ll need ’em.”

  “I’m already wearing socks.”

  “Mhmm. Show me.”

  I pulled one foot from my brand-spankin’-new boot and rotated it, waiting for his approval. But Theo just shook his head. “You girls and your tiny socks. Here.” He held out the pair again.

  “Does it really matter that much?”

  “Oh yeah. You need thicker socks with those boots. You’ll thank me tomorrow when you can still walk.”

  I didn’t foresee a pair of boots giving me so much trouble, but he knew more about cowboy footwear than I did. I begrudgingly tossed my rejected ankle socks over my shoulder and slid on Theo’s longer ones. They were cozy and enormous. “Anything else need amending?”

  His eyes slid from mine down to my tank top with the faux buttons down the front, which he hooked a finger into. “Do these buttons work? We could loosen a few,” he said.

  I steadied myself with my hands on his forearms. The novelty of his flirting hadn’t worn off. “As wonderful as that sounds, I don’t think we’d ever make it to the honkytonk.”

  “Later, then. I made you a promise.”

  “That’s the problem with being a stand-up guy.” I poked him in the chest while butterflies took flight in my stomach at the promise of later. “Now let’s go, cowboy. Time’s a wastin’.”

  “Is that how I talk?” he asked, catching my back pocket when I skipped ahead of him down the hall. I thickened my accent and started singing the only country song I knew, something about straight tequila, in lieu of answering.

  When we arrived at the Quick Draw Saloon, I was taken aback by the full parking lot adjacent and the line of cars awaiting valet attendants. The aging brick was splashed with light from a flashing marquee sign that hinted at the fun to be had through the double doors.

  The interior was even more dazzling, with pulsating music and neon beer signs reflecting off the polished wood of a large dancefloor. Theo laced his fingers in mine as we weaved through clumps of bargoers. Tables were situated around the outskirts of the cavernous room, but it was essentially standing-room only. I had a feeling if I sat I’d be trampled.

  Theo met my eyes while we waited for an opening at the bar, and his joy was so palpable that it didn’t matter that I was rubbing shoulders with a sweaty guy twice my size or being whipped by an overenthusiastic girl’s hair extensions. The atmosphere was electric.

  Once a spot cleared, Theo bracketed me between his arms and the bar, acting as a shield. “What do you want?” he asked next to my ear, and blame it on the setting or my present company, but I ordered a whiskey and Coke from the bartender.

  “Whiskey, huh?” I felt his smile rather than saw it.

  “You’re a bad influence, Theo Hartley!”

  Glasses in hand, we stationed ourselves against the slim drink-rail bordering the dance floor. It was a blur of motion and complex steps. Intimidating was an understatement.

  “This is nothing like Footloose,” I called, and Theo emitted a laugh I could barely hear over the din. “You want me to do that?”

  “Not that,” he said as a guy flipped—literally flipped—his partner right in front of us. Her black bra flashed for all to see, but the way they effortlessly transitioned into the next set of steps told me she didn’t care. “More like that.”

  I looked to where he was pointing and noticed another pair making a slower circuit. The girl was laughing hysterically while the guy stared at his feet the entire time and tried his hardest to avoid stepping on her. Both there to have a good time, I noted when they stopped beside the rail, where two drinks rested, and took swigs before continuing.

  “Except I’ll be the one stomping on your toes.”

  “That’s what the boots are for.”

  When that song ended, Theo said, “Are you ready?”

  “No!” My words said one thing while my body did another, migrating to the polished wood floor.

  “We’ll start with a basic two-step,” he called over the music, demonstrating with his feet.

  The way these people were dancing, each couple narrowly missing the other while they stepped and spun, honoring some unspoken code of dancehall conduct, I was surprised there wasn’t an ambulance parked outside. I hoped they had enough ice on hand for when I inadvertently kicked someone. Or was kicked by someone.

  “Hey.” Theo tipped my chin toward him. “Don’t worry about them. I’ll be your eyes, okay? Trust me.”

  I inhaled a giant breath and nodded. I was going to do this or die trying.

  “Here we go.” Theo pointed us toward an opening and took off, and I stumbled along with him. “One, two. One. One, two. One.”

  I did my best to keep up, but once we were out on the floor, with the music pulsating overhead and the mass of bodies around us, remembering the steps was hopeless. Looking at my feet made it worse; they seemed to disobey my commands before my very eyes.

  Theo’s voice somehow cut through the noise, octaves lower. “Keep those pretty blue eyes on me. Feel the steps. Looking at your feet can be confusing.” I let out a growl of frustration, but he only nodded encouragingly. “Count with me. One, two. One.”

  I swallowed and began murmuring under my breath. To my relief, saying it aloud helped. “Hey, I got it!” As soon as the words were out, I tripped over someone and pitched hard to the right, but Theo snatched me seemingly out of thin air.

  “I was trying to take us around them,” he said as he righted me. “They’re getting a little wild.”

  The couple in question was a blur of limbs and hair and fringed clothing. I instinctively shied away when the guy threw out the girl and spun her back to him.

  “I’ve got you, okay?” Theo’s steady tone brought my attention back to him.

  I nodded. “Trust. Right.”

  “Right.” We started again.

  Theo kept the moves basic for the remainder of that song and another, and just when I was feeling confident, he said something and ran the hand that’d been on my waist to my left hand.

  “What?” I hollered, but he was already rotating me to where I was facing away from him for a beat. His hands held mine behind me, and then he passed my arm back over my head so we were facing each other again. “Let’s try a spin,” he annunciated, louder.

  “Oh, thanks for the warning,” I shouted.

  In response, he released one hand and spun me like a top. One, two, three times. I was breathless and giggling. The room tilted, and I was reminded of a child’s senseless love of merry-go-rounds and the unbalanced feeling after.

  The night continued like that, me feeling secure in my steps until Theo threw me out for a spin or that whole arm-over-head thing, and even when I expected it, I couldn’t contain my laughter or the occasional squeal when it happened. I couldn’t help it. Once I somewhat had the hang of it, my inhibitions fell to the wayside and I kept up with the rest of them.

  We sucked down our drinks followed by cups of water, catching our breath at an empty table in the corner where it was quieter. I lifted my hair off the back of my neck while the sweat dried. When Theo asked if I wanted to try something different, my eyes bugged and I shook my head.

  “You’ve nailed it, though!” he exclaimed.

  “And a master doesn’t pull all the tricks from her sleeve on the first try,” I teased.

  “So,” Theo said more seriously, propping a foot on the lower rung of my chair. “About the other night.”

  I visibly cringed. Fessing up to my feelings hadn’t been my finest nor smoothest moment, but then, I di
dn’t have many of those. “Hmm. That,” I said.

  “How long had you been holding that in?”

  “What, telling you I liked you?” A nod. “I never wanted to tell you. But it was hard not to like you from the moment I met you.”

  “You never wanted to tell me?” He let out a low chuff. “What, were you just gonna hope I didn’t notice?”

  “Yeah, basically. I didn’t want to be let down, and no offense, but guys like you are always a let-down.”

  His hand slapped over his heart. “Guys like me?”

  “Guys who look like you. I’m usually better about ignoring pretty faces, but you just wouldn’t go away.” Humor glimmered in his gaze at that. “Your type seems to come with expectations. Like girls should be crawling to you, and when they do—because they always do—it’s not long before you’re bored of one and on to the next.”

  “That’s a bit of a generalization.”

  “I’m just basing it off experience.”

  “Tell me about that—your experience.”

  “Dancehall Theo is very therapist-like,” I said with a forced laugh. He was prodding old wounds I’d successfully ignored for months. The ones that now ached just as much as they always had.

  “You might say a lot, but you don’t tell me much. I want to know where you came from. What you came from.”

  “Me?” I scoffed.

  “You keep saying things like that, like you’re somehow disappointing. I can confidently say you’re not. You’re fascinating. And I could tell you right now I want to know the story behind everything, every little milestone or pain you’ve experienced, but that would be pushing my luck. So, start small. Tell me about who hurt you.”

  “That’s starting small, huh?” I slid the toe of my boot along the floor, biding time. Theo waited patiently.

  It’s not that I didn’t want to be honest with him, it was my doubt that he could understand how someone, especially me—bubbly, bright me—could become entrenched in something so toxic. How I couldn’t tell what was true and what was false, and how all the things my ex said made me second-guess my confidence in everything.