Page 23 of Play the Part (Marsford Bay #2)

HUXLEY

I t’s the end of another woodworking class, and I’m packing up my bag when Whit walks up to me, his typical crooked smile fixed on his face.

“That’s a really cool idea you got there,” he says as he points to my workstation. “And your execution is flawless.” His smile widens and with a proud laugh he adds, “You’re a natural.”

I’ve been attending his classes for two months now, and Whit has been incessantly encouraging me with every little thing. I haven’t gotten used to it. I don’t think I ever will. His words prickle against my skin anytime he opens his mouth.

At least, I’ve gotten used to simply nodding and smiling.

In a way, he reminds me of Ozzy.

They’re both trying too hard.

I look over to the project I’ve been working on and feel embarrassed. I don’t even know why I had the idea in the first place.

Waste of fucking time.

I look back to Whit.

“Thanks,” I grunt as I swing my bag over my shoulder, getting ready to leave.

“Have time for a beer?” Whit asks.

I stop in my tracks and narrow my eyes. “With you?”

He barks a laugh. “Yeah, with me.” He points behind him with his thumb. “There’s a bar just around the corner from here. The place sucks but the beer is cold.”

His invitation smells like pity. Like I’m a charity case that needs his attention. Why else would he invite me out for a beer? I almost say no, but something stops me.

Maybe it’s loneliness that has me nodding my head and agreeing. Or maybe it’s the fact that I lost all my friends when I went to prison. And that my only friend now is not even a friend at all but my sister Sophia.

Pathetic.

Whit’s face brightens at the sight of my half-hearted nod.

“Great! I’ll grab my coat.”

Whit was right, Stanley’s is a dive bar. It’s dark and dingy with a couple of pool tables in the back and a jukebox near the bathrooms. The bartender looks like he would rather die than be here serving us.

It’s perfect and exactly what I like.

We sit at the sticky bar, and Whit orders us a round of beers. After a quick clink of our bottles, we fall silent as we take our first sip.

I don’t know what to say so I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “My brother used to work around here.”

“Yeah? Where?”

I feel stupid even to have brought it up but answer his question anyway. “Orso — it’s a restaurant on Miller.”

Whit gives me a toothy smile. “Oh yeah, I know that place.” He takes a swig of his beer. “Fancy.”

I wordlessly agree and suddenly feel awkward as if I’ve completely lost the art of small talk. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever known how.

“Older brother?”

I nod, swallowing a mouthful of beer. “Younger brother and sister too.”

“Big family,” he muses.

“Yeah.” I chuckle dryly. “Always the ones who shouldn’t have kids that end up having too many.”

Whit laughs softly as if he’s relating to what I said. “Don’t I know it — I grew up in Pecket, shitty parents were the norm for most of us.”

I fall silent, studying Whit as I pick at the label of my beer.

“What?” he asks casually.

“You grew up in Pecket?”

His laugh is slightly dejected this time. “Unfortunately. Born and raised.”

“Me too.”

Whit’s eyebrows raise in surprise. We share a look that only people forced to grow up in the city’s poorest and most dangerous neighborhood could ever understand.

I’m suddenly put at ease, less guarded, as if we instantly share an unspoken history even though we just met a few months ago. Whit raises his beer and grins.

“To surviving that shithole.”

I’m home from the bar, watching TV with Sophia. DK is purring on my lap as I pick at my lip, staring at my phone, lost in thought. It’s the third time I’ve watched Connie’s stories today and I’ll probably have watched them a fourth time by the time I fall asleep tonight.

A picture of her coffee. Another of the cast rehearsing. Then a selfie. She took it during golden hour. The sun’s rays look gold against her flaming hair, her hazel eyes almost green against the sunlight. I hold my finger on the screen, lingering on the picture.

“Is that Connie ?”

I lock my phone and throw it across the couch as I hear Sophia’s voice over my shoulder. Like a fucking idiot, I didn’t realize she was behind me coming back from the kitchen.

“No,” I say with a somewhat guilty scowl.

She snickers as she sits on the floor, resting against the couch. “That was totally Connie.” She lifts her head to look at me, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “I didn’t even know you followed her.”

“Mind your fucking business,” I mutter.

My threat falls on deaf ears as she continues to laugh. “You know people can see who watches their stories, right?”

My heart drops, still, I choose not to believe her.

I shove her head. “Sure they can, idiot.”

“They do,” she presses, still bleating like a fucking goat. “Look.” She grabs her phone, and pulls up her stories on Instagram, then swipes up. “See?”

To my horror, a list of profiles appears. I want to dig my own grave and throw myself into it at the realization that Connie has known I watched her stories this whole time. Worst of all, I don’t even follow her.

Real fucking slick. That’s what I get for being nosy—shit, am I sweating?

Sophia chortles at the sight of my shocked face. “Don’t worry she can’t see how many times you watch them at least. You’d know this if you posted on your stories like a normal person.”

I fall deeper into the couch, dragging my hand over my face and sigh. “‘Cause you’re a normal person?”

“More normal than you, weirdo,” she answers through a mouthful of popcorn. She falls silent while she chews. Then abruptly changes the subject. “I haven’t seen Selina around in a while, you guys still dating?”

I roll my eyes at her prying. She’s not being subtle but I answer her anyway.

“We were never dating in the first place.”

“So that’s a no, then.”

I give DK a little scratch on the head before answering.

The last time I spoke to Selina was the night of the cast party last week.

I don’t owe anything to Connie, but after our little face-off on the balcony, I felt weird continuing to sleep with Selina.

I broke it off with her that same night and went home alone.

Her ego was bruised, but I’m not worried about her.

I was just something to pass the time with, she’ll soon forget all about me. They all do.

“No,” I finally answer.

A few hours later, I check my phone while walking into my bedroom for the first time since Sophia caught me gawking at Connie.

Speak of the devil …

She texted me about half an hour ago.

We’ve been circling each other since the cast party, as if we’re both trying to see who’s going to fold first. Connie loves to play innocent, and it’s been four days of car rides where the tension is so thick I can barely think.

Everything out of her mouth sounds like an innuendo, and I just know she’s doing it on purpose.

I swear she’s getting off on the theatrics of it all.

I’d be a fucking liar if I said I wasn’t also.

I click on the notification, and my phone opens on our conversation thread. I nearly choke on my tongue when my eyes land on the picture she sent .

It’s a fucking nude.

A mirror selfie. She’s naked sitting on her knees, back straight, her ass resting on top of her pointed feet.

Her back is facing the camera but she’s twisted her torso just enough to take the picture so I can see the tantalizing curve of the side of her tit.

I don’t know what to do so I throw my phone for the second time tonight, on my bed this time.

My mind is reeling, and my cock is instantly hard, but I try to ignore it, pacing in short circles.

There’s no way.

Ain’t no fucking way.

I dive for my phone and look at the picture again. It takes me another thirty seconds to peel my eyes away from Connie’s nude to realize she sent a text right after.

Omg! That was not meant for you!! I’m so embarrassed.

It’s followed by a string of emojis that I can barely decipher except for the monkey covering its face. My stomach sinks reading her text.

She sent this by mistake? It was meant for someone else?

Jealousy curls tight around my throat. For that fucking DJ ?

My grip tightens around the screen and I’m about to throw my phone again—this time against the wall—when it suddenly dawns on me.

She’s fucking with me.

I let my head drop and groan out loud. But I can’t help but grin maniacally. She must be getting desperate to do something like this. My mind races thinking of ways to retaliate.

Send a dick pic? Or a video of me jacking off?

I settle on the bed, sitting up against the wall as I deliberate. I palm my hardened cock through my sweats, mindlessly groping myself as I stare at Connie’s naked body.

“Fucking tease,” I groan under my breath, memorizing the curve of her ass as I pull my cock out.

I realize then what to do in retaliation. My laugh is dark and twisted. It’s followed by a low hiss when my hand wraps around my hard shaft.

The best revenge is to ignore her. Connie thrives on attention.

The thought has me dropping my head against the wall, a quiet moan leaving my lips. I can stare at her picture all I want. I know she wants me to. Fuck myself dry staring at her perfect heart-shaped ass. I can do all of those things and more—she just doesn’t need to know.

She can’t win this round.

Not when I know I’ve already lost the game.