Page 112 of Deceptive Games

“No one slips and falls into a pussy unintentionally,” I pointed out, and I was pretty sure he was going to shoot me, so I added, “But maybe there’s a first time for everything.”

“If I could take it back, I would.”

“But you can’t,” I said sharply, giving him a dirty look.

“I know!”

“Then why are we having this conversation?”

“I don’t fucking know, forget I said anything,” he snapped, stalking from the room and slamming the door behind him.

Slash

I should’ve kept my fucking mouth shut. Who knew who Tyler would tell my sins to?

Why the fuck couldn’t I leave this damn house either? I wanted to, but my feet carried me out into the backyard to the garden instead.

Where was I going to go anyway? Back to my empty house? To the Shed where half my crew hated me?

I paced on the lawn for a few minutes as I tried to get my head on straight, the guilt suffocating me and drowning me alongside my feelings.

I hated Aurora Donovan, but a stupid piece of me wanted her too.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so messed up over a girl before,” Tyler observed, making me glance up to see him on the balcony that overlooked the yard, his face tilted up to the sky to watch the stars.

“You know I can’t have her anyway,” I scoffed, and he looked down at me with a shrug.

“Why not?”

“You know why. It’s too dangerous for women in our world. They’re supposed to have hot, filthy sex with guys like me, then settle down and marry guys like you.”

“I’d like the hot, filthy sex too,” he chuckled, shaking his head a little. “She must be hot if you want her that bad.”

I couldn’t exactly tell him it was the same girl he was in love with, so I just forced a smile. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Have you tried flowers?” he joked, making me groan.

“This isn’t funny, asshole.” I paused, considering it. “Do you think it would help?”

“No, I don’t think flowers would help in an apology for molesting someone,” he deadpanned.

“I need another drink,” I muttered, and he held up a finger to tell me to wait as he vanished inside, bringing a fresh bottle out and walking down to where I was, offering it to me.

“Look, we’re besties now, right? I’ll help you,” he stated, and I scowled as I took the bottle.

“I’m not one of your little high school boys. We’re not besties.”

“I know sensitive information about you. We’re besties now,” he said brightly, and I cursed.

“You’re blackmailing me?”

“I need a bestie, you need your secret kept. It’s a fair trade.”

“It’s blackmail.”

“Friendship,” he corrected, encouraging me to take a swig. “Buy her some flowers, let her beat you up or something, and apologize a lot.”

“I’ve never bought flowers before,” I admitted, and he laughed.