Page 4

4

LANE

“ I feel like I’m being used.”

“You are being used,” Scarlett briskly answers.

My dick twitches behind my zipper. The idea of being used by Scarlett isn’t at all a bad one, even if I’m imagining a very different context than the one we’re in right now.

But the night is young, and there’s plenty of time for us to find ourselves in different contexts before it’s over.

It’s Saturday night, and I was just walking to a house party I was invited to by one of the guys I’m working with at the camp. On the way, my peripheral vision snagged on someone trying to mount a fire escape, and even at a distance, I was hit by a jolt of recognition that drew me closer.

Seeing Scarlett again felt like winning the jackpot on a lottery ticket.

I texted into the group chat I have with the guys I’m working with at the camp that something came up I’ll be skipping the party this time.

The moment I realized I’d run into Scarlett just days after she threw that if it’s meant to be line at me and sauntered away without giving me her number, all interest in doing anything else with my night other than spending it with her evaporated.

Now we’re in a convenience store, a block away from the club she got kicked out of, brainstorming how we’re going to get her back inside to find her friend.

Specifically, we’re brainstorming how she’s going to use me as a distraction.

She rubs her chin between her fingers, perusing a display carousel of hats and sunglasses. “What about a disguise?”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Disguise? The guy already doesn’t know me.”

Somehow, I’m supposed to distract the bouncer long enough for her to sneak in behind his back.

“Like, what if you wore some stupid hat and a pair of gaudy sunglasses and demanded not to have to wait in line, claiming to be some kind of local celebrity or something?”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “I don’t think I could pull it off. I’m not a good actor.”

She gives me a sidelong look of disappointment that has the edges of my lips ticking.

“What if I pretended to have a heart attack right in front of him?” I propose. “I’m strolling by, suddenly I grab my chest and I’m on the ground. You can sneak behind him while he checks on me.”

“I thought you weren’t good at acting,” she retorts.

I shrug. “Grabbing my chest and falling down is easier than carrying on some entire conversation pretending to be someone else.”

She angles her head doubtfully. “Frankly, he didn’t seem like the type who’d even give a shit if you had a heart attack in front of him. It’d just be someone in line checking on you while he sits on his stupid stool in front of the door with his beefy arms crossed over his chest.”

I click my tongue to the roof of my mouth, thinking. I turn around, taking in the surroundings of the convenience store and hoping something sparks an idea.

Then, I see it.

I grab a small bottle of mustard from the endcap closest to us.

“This bouncer guy. Definitely an asshole, right? Ornery?” I look at the mustard bottle, bouncing it up and down in my hand.

A distasteful sound pulls from Scarlett’s mouth. “Definitely.”

“So, if someone walked up to him and …” I point the top of the bottle at Scarlett’s chest, making a swirling motion with my hand, “sprayed his shirt with mustard, he’s probably not the type to let it go?”

Her eyelids retract. “No, he’d probably be so pissed off he’d chase after them.”

I smirk. “And I take it he doesn’t look like the fast type?”

“No,” Scarlett answers, but then concern paints over the excitement that was on her face. “But you never know … some people are deceptively athletic.”

I laugh, and I don’t deny that it’s a cocky one. “I’m faster.”

“You’d really do that?” she asks, her chestnut eyes shining with a mixture of amusement, incredulity, and appreciation.

The answer to that question should really be no .

I’m going to be captain of the team next season. I’m already the responsible one among my teammates, and I should be working on being even more responsible, not less so.

I should be setting a good example, even if no one’s looking. Certainly not getting wrapped up in the kind of scheme that I’d chastise my best friend Rhys or my teammate Tuck McCoy, two of the more trouble-making guys on my team, for indulging in.

But it’s not August yet. We’re not even back on campus yet, let alone preparing for the next season. I’m not team captain yet.

Maybe I can allow myself some irresponsibility. Especially if the end result is helping Scarlett—and spending more time with her.

So, I nod. “Let’s do it.”

Moments later, the paid-for mustard is still in my hand as we walk out the sliding doors of the convenience store and set off in the direction of Vortex.

We strategize. She’s going to hide at the end of the block while I stroll past the bouncer, spray his shirt with mustard, then sprint away; if he chases me, she’s going to take the opportunity to sneak in, find her friend, and then meet me at the other end of the next block.

It’s totally absurd. I’ve known this girl for a grand total of less than three hours, and she’s already got me agreeing to things I’d normally never even consider.

It should worry me. But the only thing I’m concerned with is increasing that grand total of time I’ve spent with Scarlett—by a lot.

“Good luck,” Scarlett says with a giggling smile as she positions herself behind the outer wall of the building at the end of the block, waiting for her moment to rush into the club.

I shoot her a wink. “If the guy catches me and beats the shit out of me, I’m charging you for my medical bills.”

“Deal,” she says, the effort to hold back her laughter turning her cheeks a bright red.

Before I turn from her to complete my mission, I give my gaze permission to rake over her.

She’s got on a red dress that isn’t tight, but still clings close enough to show off the curve of her hip and the gentle swell of her breasts. Her dark hair is tied back in a ponytail, and pink lipstick makes her heart-shaped mouth pop.

If I let myself appreciate her any longer, I know that my hard-on will grow to the point it affects my running speed, so I shoot her another wink and set off toward my target.

As I get closer, I only grow more confident in my ability to outrun the bouncer. He’s big and scary-looking, for sure. But his body is built to stand in front of a door and make it really hard to get past. It wasn’t built to spring up and chase after one of the fastest players in college hockey.

I pop the lid of the mustard bottle casually, walking down the sidewalk perfectly inconspicuous.

Finally, he’s next to me as I stroll past. I point the nozzle at him and squeeze.

A jet of bright yellow mustard sprays out in an arc and lands in globs on the front of his black shirt.

I stand still to give him a moment to react. To give him a moment to make sure he sees who did it. Who to direct his anger at. Who to chase.

Rage flashes in his eyes, and I move my legs. I don’t run at a full sprint at first. I want him to think he has a chance at catching up to me, so he’ll be away from his post long enough for Scarlett to get inside.

I gradually pick up my pace as he stomps after me. The long line of people trying to get into the club are gawking at us. They’re surprised, and more than a few of them are obviously pleased at the unexpected entertainment as they’re stuck queueing up on a humid Chicago night.

I glance over my shoulder. He’s still charging, but he’s far enough behind me when I’m only running at a fraction of my top speed, only confirming that he doesn’t have a chance of catching up.

My gaze ticks to the entrance to see Scarlett disappearing inside. The pinched expression of suppressed laughter I caught on her face while she scurried in is more than adequate reward for my efforts.

Now that I know our mission is complete, I turn on the jets, pumping my legs closer to my full-on sprint speed. It’s enough to drive home to the bouncer that his pursuit is futile. When I look over my shoulder again, his back is turned and he’s lumbering back to his place at the entrance.

I slow down as I approach the end of the next block, where Scarlett and I agreed to meet. Passing a trashcan, I toss the bottle of mustard into it. I round a corner and lean against the wall. Didn’t even expend enough energy to make me need to catch my breath.

But later tonight?

A smirk tilts my lips.

Maybe I will.