Page 42 of Striking Range

“I’m not.” It’s a straight-up lie, and we both know it.

“I’m so fucking tired of this bullshit, Everett. We haven’t fought this much in, well, forever. Just get your ass to my apartment; I’ll see you in thirty.” He does not wait for a response, spinning on his heel and heading to his Honda.

And if I didn’t find his bratty attitude so fucking hot, I’d say fuck it and go home anyway.

But I do, so I pull out of the Parish driveway and hit the freeway.

Chapter Ten

Everett Young

We’re sitting on the couch in an awkward silence about forty-five minutes later, Family Guy running quietly in the background.

I have no clue what to say. How do I tell my best friend that I’m pissed at him for touching someone else when I was touching someone else? Everything is so fucked up now, and I can’t control this anger. This jealousy.

These feelings are all so new to me, and I don’t particularly like them.

“Listen,” Skylar starts, “we pissed each other off last night. Clearly.”

He waits for my response, but all I can manage is a short nod. I’m observing him from the corner of my eye, my arms crossed where I sit like a pouting toddler.

He goes on, adding, “So, let’s just both say sorry and drop it. Unless you want to dive into all the details, but it’s obvious neither of us really want to.”

It’s the perfect out; he’s right, I don’t want to dive into this right now. And whatever it is he’s so pissed about, he clearly doesn’t want to express it either.

There is no way to logically explain my anger and my jealousy, not when there is no solution. My only option is surrender.

“I’m sorry. For whatever I did.” My surrender is kind of half-assed, but at least I spoke.

Skylar takes a deep breath, as if he’s stopping himself from talking shit as he retracts those fangs of his and apologizes as well. “Me too. I’m sorry.”

Our gazes clash, the room silent and full of unnamed tension. What happens now?

Skylar huffs. “Fuck this. Let’s drink.”

I laugh, full of relief as my eyes flicker to the clock on the wall. “Sky, it’s two in the afternoon.”

He shrugs. “This is why they invented day drinking.”

That is a very valid point.

“Fine. Break out the booze.”

Skylar grins, all white teeth and sharp canines. So fucking pretty.

As he gathers several liquor bottles, the glass clinking as they smack together, and two shot glasses, I consider that this might be a bad idea.

What if I say something I shouldn’t? What if we end up in another… compromising position?

And why does this possibility make me want to drink more? I can feel my body heating up at the thought, at the possibility of it. Skylar drops the supplies onto the coffee table—the one he did an almost naked backflip off of before he made out with me—and sits on the floor next to it.

“Okay, let’s play a game.” His eyes are determined, his body tense.

“What game?” I ask him, sitting in front of him before pouring us both a shot of Crown.

He cracks open two cans of Coke. “Hm. How about we ask each other a question, and if we don’t want to answer, we have to take a shot.”

I shrug, casually replying, “Sure.”