Page 6 of Bonus Game
Riley’s eyes lit up when he smiled. “Oh man, you are so far gone.”
Jake would have told him to fuck off, but the shop door suddenly opened, and Allen scurried outside like he was in the biggest race of his life.
Smiling, Jake rolled down the window, listening to the curses pouring out of his soon-to-be-boyfriend's mouth while he frantically secured the shop door.
“Fucking Metro Transit?—”
“Allen.”
Allen gasped and spun around so fast he almost slipped on a patch of snow. It was dark, so Jake clicked the light on and waved, ignoring Riley’s muffled snickers from the backseat.
“What are you—” Allen squinted and lowered his head so their gazes could meet. “Are you waiting for me?”
Was that…a bad thing?
“Let me drive you home,” said Jake.
Allen looked from Jake to the car, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “You want me to get in a fucking BMW with a stranger? What if you try to traffic me? I don’t even know your name, for Christ’s sake.”
“It’s Jake. Get in. I turned the heated seat on.”
They had to pause their conversation when a loud, obnoxious bus chose that moment to drive by, honking angrily at Jake for parking where he wasn’t supposed to.
Allen’s eyes followed the bus, his posture slumping and eyes watering from the cold. He gave the bus a final yearning frown before focusing his attention back on Jake.
“I have a knife in my pocket.”
Jake didn’t know why that was relevant, but he didn’t care because Allen shouldered his backpack and strode over to the car, ripping the door open and throwing himself into the seat.
“I live in Fairview. Do you know where that is, rich boy?”
Of course, Jake knew where Fairview was. His father owned half of the real estate in that area.
“Jake, drive,” said Riley. “There’s another bus coming, dude.”
“Dude?” Allen said the word like a question. “You guys are in your thirties and you’re still using dude in your sentences?”
Allen didn’t seem phased by Riley’s presence, so Jake put the car in drive and pulled onto the road.
“Thirties?” Riley scoffed. “We’re twenty-three. Man, I have to stop smoking if it’s aging me enough to look thirty?—”
“You’re what?!”
3 /ALLEN
Allen didn’t knowhow he found himself in these types of situations.
Actually, he was pretty sure sitting in a car with two hockey players in their twenties was a new one for him, since he had spent the majority of his life avoiding the shit out of jock-types.
He blamed his hatred of hockey on his sister, who had put on skates when she was three and had never stopped talking about it. And because she was the younger sibling and he had to set a good example for her, that meant Allen had been forced to endure the woes of ice, bruised ribs, and awkward locker room encounters until he was old enough to put his fucking foot down.
His parents hadn’t taken the fact that their thirteen-year-old son was uninterested in sports with grace. They tried to push him no matter how hard he cried, which only earned him groundings and talks about how much of a disappointment he was.
And their refusal to let him be who he was—a nerdy kid who wanted to play video games, thank you very much—was ultimately what made him want to run away. Which he did, again, and again.
And again.
And now he was sitting in a car, joined by two hockey players and their stinky gear while one snickered in the back, and the other glared at the road whenever the tires slipped on the slush.
