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Story: Anti-Hero
1
Idon’t have many problems.
My biggest one? She’s standing forty feet away, wearing a silk dress that’s either blue or gray. I’ve spent the past ten minutes deliberating which color the flawless fabric is, and I still haven’t chosen one.
I’m not an indecisive person.
Except around Collins Tate.
I talk to—fine, flirt with—her; she rolls her eyes and walks away. I say nothing; she walks away. I’m trying to avoid thewalking awaypart, so my dilemma on how to act around her is obvious.
What is she doing here? Last I heard from Lili, her former college roommate was living in Chicago with a boyfriend. But my sister sniffed out my interest in Collins a long time ago, so she’s stingy with details about her friend when she’s annoyed with me about something. Since Lili’s annoyed with me a lot, I haven’t gotten an update in a while.
“Don’t you think so, Christopher?”
“Mmhmm,” I murmur, then swallow a sip of scotch so Joseph Thorne knows not to expect a more verbose response. Expensive alcohol soaks my tongue and burns a smoky trail down my throat, but I barely register the rich taste.
Who knows what I’m agreeing to? And I don’t really care. This conversation doesn’t matter. Joseph simply wants to be seen with me so he can brag we have a close association later.
My gaze returns to the redhead in the blue-gray dress. Collins’s hair isn’t really red though. It’s more of an auburn—a warm brown, russet, or mahogany—that changes color depending on the light. Copper, in direct sunshine.
If Ieverconfessed I’d spent a single second contemplating the shade of her hair, I’m certain the woman in question would laugh in my face. Collins categorized me as Lili’s irritating little brother the first time we met, and nothing I’ve done or said since to change that perception seems to have made any difference. Not for lack of effort either.
I drain the remains of my scotch and clap Thorne on the shoulder, cutting him off mid-sentence. “I need another round. Can I borrow some cash?”
Joseph blinks at me. His mouth is open, stuck on whatever he was in the middle of saying. Another slow blink. His eyes are flat brown,a similar shade to the ancient wood paneling the walls of the hotel ballroom.
“Oh, uh … um …” Thorne flounders for a few seconds before he glances around, hastily flagging down a waiter. Joseph sets his tumbler on the silver tray and digs through his pockets for his wallet. Very carefully, he slides out a crisp hundred.
I keep a polite smile fixed on my face for the entire excruciatingly long process.
“It’s, er, I believe it’s an open bar?” Sweat shimmers on Joseph’s forehead as he tentatively offers the bill to me, the wealthiest person in the room.
“I know,” I confirm cheerfully. “Nice talking to you.”
Joseph blinks again, the motion reminding me of a sleepy owl, before I spin and stride toward the bar set up in the opposite corner of the ballroom. With a little luck, I’ll be able to avoid him the rest of the night.
“Talk later, Chris!” Joseph calls before I’m out of earshot, shouting the last word the loudest. No doubt an attempt to advertise our false chumminess.
My fist clenches, crumpling the brand-new bill in my grip.
Joke’s on him really. Idespisebeing called Chris. Anyone who knows me at all is aware of that and calls me Kit instead.
“Macallan. Neat,” I request from the bartender—the same floppy-haired guy who served me and Joseph earlier—stuffing the wrinkled hundred into the tip jar, which only contained a ten, when he turns away to pour my drink from one of the assorted bottles behind the makeshift bar.
“What’d you do to Thorne?” Flynn Parks—my best friend—appears beside me. He glances toward the spot where Ileft Joseph, amusement written across his face. “He looks more … confused than usual.”
“I asked him for a favor.”
“That’ll do it. What the hell for?” Flynn questions.
I rest my elbow on the counter, narrowly missing a stack of cocktail napkins, so I can look to the left less obviously. “To play Robin Hood.”
Flynn shakes his head once. “Thank fuck you came. I was worried this party might be dull.”
“Itisdull,” I reply.
Flynn talked me into coming tonight because he wanted a final romp with a summer fling who worked at the reception desk here. Up until I spotted Collins, I was thoroughly regretting agreeing.
Idon’t have many problems.
My biggest one? She’s standing forty feet away, wearing a silk dress that’s either blue or gray. I’ve spent the past ten minutes deliberating which color the flawless fabric is, and I still haven’t chosen one.
I’m not an indecisive person.
Except around Collins Tate.
I talk to—fine, flirt with—her; she rolls her eyes and walks away. I say nothing; she walks away. I’m trying to avoid thewalking awaypart, so my dilemma on how to act around her is obvious.
What is she doing here? Last I heard from Lili, her former college roommate was living in Chicago with a boyfriend. But my sister sniffed out my interest in Collins a long time ago, so she’s stingy with details about her friend when she’s annoyed with me about something. Since Lili’s annoyed with me a lot, I haven’t gotten an update in a while.
“Don’t you think so, Christopher?”
“Mmhmm,” I murmur, then swallow a sip of scotch so Joseph Thorne knows not to expect a more verbose response. Expensive alcohol soaks my tongue and burns a smoky trail down my throat, but I barely register the rich taste.
Who knows what I’m agreeing to? And I don’t really care. This conversation doesn’t matter. Joseph simply wants to be seen with me so he can brag we have a close association later.
My gaze returns to the redhead in the blue-gray dress. Collins’s hair isn’t really red though. It’s more of an auburn—a warm brown, russet, or mahogany—that changes color depending on the light. Copper, in direct sunshine.
If Ieverconfessed I’d spent a single second contemplating the shade of her hair, I’m certain the woman in question would laugh in my face. Collins categorized me as Lili’s irritating little brother the first time we met, and nothing I’ve done or said since to change that perception seems to have made any difference. Not for lack of effort either.
I drain the remains of my scotch and clap Thorne on the shoulder, cutting him off mid-sentence. “I need another round. Can I borrow some cash?”
Joseph blinks at me. His mouth is open, stuck on whatever he was in the middle of saying. Another slow blink. His eyes are flat brown,a similar shade to the ancient wood paneling the walls of the hotel ballroom.
“Oh, uh … um …” Thorne flounders for a few seconds before he glances around, hastily flagging down a waiter. Joseph sets his tumbler on the silver tray and digs through his pockets for his wallet. Very carefully, he slides out a crisp hundred.
I keep a polite smile fixed on my face for the entire excruciatingly long process.
“It’s, er, I believe it’s an open bar?” Sweat shimmers on Joseph’s forehead as he tentatively offers the bill to me, the wealthiest person in the room.
“I know,” I confirm cheerfully. “Nice talking to you.”
Joseph blinks again, the motion reminding me of a sleepy owl, before I spin and stride toward the bar set up in the opposite corner of the ballroom. With a little luck, I’ll be able to avoid him the rest of the night.
“Talk later, Chris!” Joseph calls before I’m out of earshot, shouting the last word the loudest. No doubt an attempt to advertise our false chumminess.
My fist clenches, crumpling the brand-new bill in my grip.
Joke’s on him really. Idespisebeing called Chris. Anyone who knows me at all is aware of that and calls me Kit instead.
“Macallan. Neat,” I request from the bartender—the same floppy-haired guy who served me and Joseph earlier—stuffing the wrinkled hundred into the tip jar, which only contained a ten, when he turns away to pour my drink from one of the assorted bottles behind the makeshift bar.
“What’d you do to Thorne?” Flynn Parks—my best friend—appears beside me. He glances toward the spot where Ileft Joseph, amusement written across his face. “He looks more … confused than usual.”
“I asked him for a favor.”
“That’ll do it. What the hell for?” Flynn questions.
I rest my elbow on the counter, narrowly missing a stack of cocktail napkins, so I can look to the left less obviously. “To play Robin Hood.”
Flynn shakes his head once. “Thank fuck you came. I was worried this party might be dull.”
“Itisdull,” I reply.
Flynn talked me into coming tonight because he wanted a final romp with a summer fling who worked at the reception desk here. Up until I spotted Collins, I was thoroughly regretting agreeing.
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