Page 34 of Dark Little Game

Weston is good at it.

He gets the grades and performs everything to his father’s standards.

But it causes him a mountain of pressure.

“Our dad is more of a tough-love type than a hugs-and-smiles type,” Wes tells Ollie.

I’m unable to keep a bitter tone from my voice. “I think Hunter inherited more of that than you did. Ever since the dart incident, Hunter’s been pissing me off.”

Weston pauses before taking another bite, turning to look right at me. “My brother is bothering you?”

I wave a hand through the air. “It’s not a big deal. Don’t sweat it, Wes.”

I turn over the memory of the locker room this afternoon like I’m holding a dark secret in my heart.

Your brother went completely fucking feral on me before my shower earlier, actually.

Not that I didn’t kind of provoke it.

By shoving my hand down his pants.

I put my fork in another strawberry, refusing to make eye contact with Wes for a moment.

“Let me know if I have to handle it,” Wes finally tells me, turning away.

I hum. “Hunter’s trying to help me, which is nice, I guess, in his own way. Even if his version ofhelpis literal stalking. He said he wants to make sure I’m not attacked.”

“Don’t tell me you’re actually believing my brother’s bullshit, Rayne,” Wes says.

I glance across the table at Ollie, who clearly feels a little awkward with the sudden shift in conversation. Thecomplex dynamics of Wes and Hunter’s lifelong rivalry isn’t exactly easy to explain to a newcomer.

I barely understand it myself, most of the time.

“Hunter doesn’t matter,” I say even though it’s not the truth. “But whatdoesmatter is that I saw Ollie talking to a blonde girl on the quad earlier. You already find some action, freshman?”

Oliver puffs out a laugh, already a little relieved. “She was in my first class of the day. Asked me about the old hockey shirt I was wearing. Nice girl, but she has a boyfriend already.”

I dig into my chicken stir-fry, which may as wellbestraight from heaven.

I need a fucking break like this.

To finally decompress.

To justexist, like I used to. Happily.

Wes asks Oliver all about his high school hockey team, and for the first time all week, I’m not dwelling on the attacks or on Hunter Knox.

It’s a blissful ten minutes until I look up from my bowl of strawberries to see a second plastic tray being put down next to Oliver’s.

I look up and see Hunter’s face.

His eyes, looking right into mine.

Ignore him.

Just fucking ignore him.

He’s not actually sitting down here, is he? Hunter would never choose to sit with his brother, let alone me?—