Page 92 of Play Fake

There’s more yelling outside the door, and three more sharp knocks.

“Holly, I need you to get off me. You’re gonna cost me the girl I love, and I can’t lose her.”

“Love? I love you, Waylon. I’ve been in love with you for ages and you barely even notice me.”

“I’m sorry Holly, but I can’t.”

The door pops open, and Wren and East are standing there.

“Are you fucking serious?” Wren yells, turning to East.

“Yeah, I’m fucking serious. Your girl is a fucking menace. Both of them actually. He needs to get over it, and I gave him a push toward someone who wanted to help make him feel better.”

“A push is a little hint. A couple of words of encouragement. You don’t let him get locked in a room with a naked harpy.”

“What the hell did you just call me?” Holly screeches at Wren, and I wince because the sound reverberates in my skull.

“You heard me. And I heard him tell you no at least three times tonight, Holly, so go find your clothes and your dignity and get out of here.”

“Wow. You uptight fucking bitches are the problem, you know that?”

“Hey!” East yells at Holly. “Did he fucking tell you no already? You told me he said he was thinking about it.”

“He wasn’t clear.” She wraps her arms around herself.

“I was fucking clear, Holly. I said no. Multiple times, and I even told you why.”

She bursts into tears, and I almost feel guilty. I know standing there naked while the three of us yell at her probably makes her feel like shit, but frankly, she needs a wakeup call.

“You don’t have to humiliate me on top of everything.” She grabs her clothes off the floor and storms out of the room past Wren and East.

“Fuck, I am so sorry, man. She kept saying you wanted to, but you were just feeling guilty, and I thought…”

“You didn’t fucking think.” I glare at East. “And now Wren’s gonna tell Mac because they tell each other everything, and I’m never gonna fucking be able to get her to listen to me.”

I stand, and the room swirls, and I feel like I’m gonna be sick. I sit down again.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Wren’s voice fills with worry and she grabs a trash can and sits it in front of me.

My gut churns at the thought of Mac thinking I would do this to her, and all the vodka in my stomach comes rioting up. Wren swipes the stray strands of hair falling down and pulls them out of my face.

“Shit. You’ve had way too much to drink, Waylon.” Her hand is on my back, rubbing a little circle.

I cough and sputter at the taste of bile in my mouth.

“Please don’t fucking tell her about this.”

“Waylon, she is not gonna blame you for this. Trust me. I’m gonna make sure she knows exactly who to blame.”

“Fuck! I said I’m sorry, okay? What do you want me to do?” East protests.

“Go get a fucking washcloth and wet it down for starters. You guys just leave your boys alone when you get sick like this? Have some fucking class, rich boy.”

“Where do I find a washcloth?” He grits out in response.

“There’s some in that top drawer.”

I hear the drawer open, and a little grunt of interest come from East.