Page 17

Chapter sixteen

Trayton

“ I ’m not seeing it,” Bray repeats, squinting at the faint lines on my skin as I pull up my sleeve to reveal the tattoo. I explain to him and Kal where their numbers will eventually be etched. Kal tilts his head to the side, his eyes narrowing in concentration for a moment before he nods. I know that nod. It’s his way of getting me to shut up.

He acts like I can’t read him like a book.

“Bray, what are you not seeing?” I snap, my frustration bubbling over. The outline of his number is right there, but he just shakes his head, looking confused.

“I’m seeing a lot of lines at the moment,” he replies, his eyes darting over the tangled design on my arm.

With an exaggerated sigh, I yank the sleeve of my top back down, rolling my eyes at both of them. “I’m done showing you this tattoo until it’s finished,” I mutter under my breath.

“Don’t sulk,” Brayden teases, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I’m not.” I cross my arms defensively over my chest.

“You are,” Kal chimes in, chuckling into his beer as he drains the last mouthful and sets the empty bottle on the table.

“Whatever. I want another one.” I slide my empty beer bottle across the table in Kal’s direction as he stands up and heads to the bar. Just then, Cope strides through the door, his voice booming as he calls out to Kal to grab him a drink too. He saunters over to our table, plopping down in Kal’s empty chair.

“Yo.” I greet him, glancing behind him. “No shadow tonight?” I ask, unable to resist the dig. Cope gives me a deadpan look before breaking into laughter, shaking his head at my persistence. He then turns to Bray.

“No, Trayton. He’s not here, clearly.” Cope spreads his hands wide, emphasizing his point.

“Good,” I say, a hint of relief in my voice.

Cope and Bray both swivel their heads in my direction, eyebrows raised in unison.

“What?” I ask.

They burst into laughter again, shaking their heads as if it should be obvious why they’re amused, but I’m left in the dark.

“He’s actually on a date,” Cope finally reveals.

“Good for him,” I reply. “With who?”

“Why do you care?” Cope asks, peering over the rim of his frothy beer mug that Kal just delivered. I open my mouth to deny that I absolutely do not care—I just like to know things. But before the words can escape, Kal butts in.

“Oh, he doesn’t. He hates him.” I narrow my eyes at Kal, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks.

“Why did you just do the air quotes? I do fucking hate him, you know I do,” I snap, frustrated.

Kal leans back in his chair with a knowing smirk, and Cope chimes in, “I think there’s a fine line between hate and want.”

The unexpected twist of his words sends my mouthful of beer spraying across the table in a sputter. Cope, Bray, and Kal leap off their chairs, dodging the spray.

“Tray, for fuck’s sake.” Cope groans, wiping his arm with a napkin.

“Well, don’t say absurd shit.” I set my beer down with a thud. “Fucking hate and want? You lot have been watching too many movies. There’s more chance of me wanting a girl than wanting Daxton Rivers.”

Kal rolls his eyes and hands me a napkin. “Clean up your mess, drama queen.”

I snatch the napkin and start wiping up the beer, glaring at Kal. “I’m not being dramatic. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Sure, sure,” Bray says, sliding back onto his stool. “Because you totally don’t obsess over everything Daxton does or says.”

“I don’t obsess,” I mutter, screwing up the wet napkin. “I just think he’s an asshole, and I like to point it out.”

Cope snorts. “Yeah, every five minutes.”

I open my mouth to argue, but Kal cuts me off. “Let’s change the subject before Tray has another outburst. How about we play some pool?”

“Sounds good to me,” Bray says, standing up.

I roll my eyes but follow the guys to the pool table, secretly grateful for the distraction. As Kal racks up the balls, I lean against the wall, trying to push thoughts of Daxton out of my mind.

“Teams or every man for himself?” Cope asks, chalking his cue.

“Teams,” Bray says quickly. “Me and Tray against you two.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Since when are we a team?”

Bray grins. “Since I decided I want to win. You’re the best player here.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” I say, unable to hide my smirk. “Fine, let’s crush these losers.”

As we start playing, I feel myself relaxing, the earlier tension melting away. Bray and I fall into an easy rhythm, calling shots and trading high fives.

After a few rounds, Cope’s phone buzzes with a notification, and a smirk spreads across his face as he glances at the screen. He taps out a quick reply, his fingers dancing over the keys. “Daxton and his date are on their way here,” he announces, grinning as his eyes lock onto mine with a spark of excitement.

I chuckle, imagining the worst possible scenario. “I bet it’s going to be some geek or something. Can’t wait to see who this is,” I say, full of sarcasm. We saunter over to the bar, ordering another round of drinks. The clinking of glasses and the murmur of the crowd fill the air as Cope’s voice cuts through the noise. “There he is.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Kal groans, disbelieving. Annoyed with their earlier teasing, I stubbornly refuse to turn around. I don’t care about Daxton’s date or his personal choices. Not one bit.

“You’re going to want to see this,” Bray murmurs, his voice close to my ear.

“You lot are more bothered than me about who Daxton’s on a dat—”

“Mike Grady,” Kal whispers, the name barely audible but packed with shock.

“WHAT?” I exclaim, my eyes widening in disbelief. Not the guy from Arctic Bears. I whirl around on my bar stool, my gaze locking onto Mike, who stands there with a self-satisfied grin, eyes flicking to Cope. He, meanwhile, has drawn Daxton aside, and Daxton’s eyes dart between Cope and Mike, confusion etched on his face. Cope’s hands move animatedly, gesturing toward Mike, and I can only hope he’s telling Daxton to end the date immediately. We don’t date rivals. Cope lets out a deep, exasperated huff as he fixes a look of utter disgust on Grady’s face, his eyes narrowing like knives while he steps back with deliberate disdain. At that very moment, Daxton shuffles over to Mike with a sheepish, apologetic grin, his eyes darting around as if searching for reassurance, and together, they begin drifting toward the far end of the cluttered bar. My gaze snaps toward Cope, and I fling my hands wide in silent frustration.

Cope shakes his head slowly, sending one final, ice-cold glare that could have been meant for Grady or even Daxton—perhaps a spark of recognition that he’s a real dick. Without a word, he strides over. Lowering his voice to a murmur barely louder than a hiss. “I can’t tell him who he can and can’t date.” Kal nods in return. Bray’s eyes smolder with anger, mirroring the fury bubbling within me.

“Fuck that, I will,” I snarl as I start to leap from my chair, but Cope’s firm hand and Kal’s steady grip land squarely on my shoulders, pinning me back into the seat.

“Leave him,” Cope growls, his tone low and threatening. “It’s one date.”

My inner voice screams as I mutter, “He’s a fucking rival. We don’t date rivals, Cope. It’s the golden rule.” Every word drips from my mouth with simmering venom.

Cope simply downs the beer I had just bought, giving the bartender a sharp wave for another, as if dismissing my protest. I slam my own beer in one go, lifting two fingers to the bartender. My eyes track down the bar—Mike has his back turned, but Daxton can’t seem to escape my glare. He keeps glancing up with a nervous gulp every time our eyes meet, and I hope my stare is making him squirm.

After we basically down our second beers, Cope says, “Come on, let’s go.” He tugs at my shoulder, and I grit my teeth, reluctantly tearing my gaze away from Daxton. “Let me go to the toilet quick,” I insist, rising and confidently walking toward the restroom—even though that means passing by Daxton and Grady. The closer I get, the more Daxton’s eyes widen as they lock onto mine; he seems to brace himself for an explosion of words that never comes. Steeling my shoulders and knowing Grady can’t see me coming from behind, I deliver a swift, heavy knock that hits him square on.

“Fuck,” Grady hisses as his drink splatters across his chest, his startled face twisting in pain. A smirk tugs at my lips as I continue toward the mirrored doorway of the toilets. Once done, I wash my hands. In the reflection of the mirror, Grady appears with a smug chuckle. “King,” he drawls, mocking me. I barely spare him a glance. “You know Daxton, right?” he asks, casually tossing his thumb over his shoulder. “He’s been going on about that Hawksview art project he’s doing. Cute,” he adds in a patronizing tone, shrugging his shoulders as if the comment were a compliment. I close the gap between us until our noses almost touch.

“I’ll look forward to making you cry on the ice like we did last year, you little bitch,” I snarl before shoving him hard enough to send him reeling, then storm out of the toilets. Outside, as I begin walking back, I see Daxton being served two shots—each accompanied by a bowl of salt and a wedge of lemon.

Tequila.

My absolute favorite.

Daxton reaches forward to retrieve his shot glass when I suddenly step in from behind and shove his shoulder. The force sends his hand scrambling, and the glass slips from his grasp, shattering against the floor with a burst of splintered fragments beneath us. “Oops,” I murmur, steadying myself as I position my body between him and the nearby chair. My waist brushes against his knee in passing, and he slowly looks up, his eyes sparking with an intense and thunderous stare. “My bad for wasting your shot,” I add casually, as if nothing out of the ordinary has occurred.

I bend down to pick up the other shot from the bar, glancing at it before asking, “I’m assuming this is Grady’s?” Without waiting for an answer, I dip my finger into a small bowl of salt. In that charged moment, I fix my gaze on Daxton, deliberately rubbing the salt along my tongue. His eyes follow the slick movement, wide and unspoken with anticipation, as I toss the shot back without swallowing.

My attention shifts briefly as I notice Grady returning and getting close. I repeat the salt-dabbing with my thumb, and almost before Daxton can protest, I forcefully push the salty edge into his mouth. My hand snakes through his hair at the nape, twisting and tugging with precise intent that pulls his head backward. His mouth parts involuntarily in a grimace, but his blown-wide eyes stare up at me as salt lingers on his lips. I lean over him slowly, letting a drizzle of tequila pour into his open mouth. I lock eyes with Grady for a split second and then return my gaze to Daxton; his expression is a chaos of wide-eyed confusion and reluctant submission as he gulps down the tequila.

Fuck, he smells intoxicatingly good. Once the tequila fades from my own lips, I reach for a lemon. Releasing my hold on his hair, I observe Daxton’s eyes widen in surprise yet burn with heat. His eyes, as green as forest leaves, stir something wild in me, sparking a desire to whisk him away right then and there. I let my voice drop to a sultry tone as I tilt my head daringly toward him. His gaze flickers between the intensity of mine, and he gulps nervously.

“Now suck for me,” I command softly, trailing the lemon wedge along his glistening lips that shimmer with the residue of tequila. His lip piercing catches the light. As he parts them automatically, he obeys without hesitation. “Good boy,” I whisper in approval as he spits the lemon out.

I cast a teasing wink at Grady, who stands rigidly nearby, his eyes ablaze with a mix of suppressed anger and disbelief while his fists clench tightly at his sides. Ruffling Daxton’s hair in a dismissive gesture, I deliberately avoid lingering on his heated gaze, even though every fiber of my mind craves another look.

Turning away, I find Cope, Bray, and Kal quietly struggling to stifle their laughter as they bite their lips. I stride over to them, grabbing my coat casually over my arm. “My work here is done,” I announce with a cool detachment. “Let’s go.”