Page 65 of End Game

The bar is empty for eight o’clock on a Saturday night. The pimply-faced bartender looks to be even younger than me. I go right up to the bar and survey the offerings on tap.

“Hey,” the bartender says, giving me a careful once over.

“Hi. Can I get a pitcher of Blue Moon and two cups?” I hand over my ID and a twenty dollar bill.

With an aggrieved sigh, the bartender lumbers slowly to the back counter and grabs a pitcher. Like he’s fighting through molasses, he makes his way towards the taps.

I’m at the point that I might seriously pay him money to take longer, because that means it’s that much longer before I have to go back. Maybe that’s a sign I should just end the evening now. I can go back to my house and crawl into my bed. Or maybe I’ll find a party and—

No. Just because this date is not what I was expecting doesn’t mean I’m going to duck out early. A little beer will make the bowling a little more palatable, and maybe it will make Trey a little more personable.

I can do this. I am a strong, confident, capable woman. I can do anything I set my mind to. I can make it through an hour or two with a nice guy. So what if we’re not destined to be together forever? It doesn’t have to be love at first sight. It doesn’t even have to be lust at first sight. I like him well enough. That’s enough for now.

With the pitcher and two cups in hand, I make my way back to the lane. Trey has taken his turn and is sitting in the hard plastic chair, absorbed in his phone. I catch a glimpse of the screen: from the millisecond I was able to see, it sure looked like a dating app.

So maybe this date isn’t going the way either of us anticipated. I don’t know what to say. There’s a distinct lack of flirting going on, from both of our sides.

He looks up as I approach and gives me that sideways smile of his that never fails to make my stomach lurch unpleasantly. It doesn’t feel like attraction this time; it’s more like indigestion, and that should be telling enough.

“Thanks for getting the beer,” he says. He reaches for a cup, and I fill it for him before handing it over.

I offer a pleasant smile. “You got the lanes. It’s only fair I contribute, too.”

Barrett never lets me split things with him, which irks me like none other. I know he has money, I know he likes to spend his parents’ money on me, but it makes me feel like I can’t be his equal in that respect. And I’m not. He is going through college debt-free, and not because of a football scholarship—he earned his starting place on the team fair and square, but he insisted the scholarship money be used for another player who needed it more. He has a multimillion dollar trust fund that becomes his to use freely at twenty-five. My parents are comfortable, but my only inheritance is the proceeds from their life insurance—something I hope I never have to claim, though I’m sure I’ll have to sooner than any of us would like.

Barrett has never treated me differently for not having access to the same kind of resources he does. He’s always the first to grab his wallet, whether it’s just the two of us or we’re in a larger group, and he never complains or expects me to pay him back. I try not to take advantage of his generosity, and I always offer to pay my own way. I would never just assume that it’s his responsibility to pay. That’s not fair to him. He’s not my personal piggy bank.

He lets me pay him back in other ways. He stayed at my parents’ house at least once a month all through high school. I took him to parties and introduced him to my friends until they became his friends too, knowing how difficult a time he found making friends at his hoity-toity prep school. He’s my equal, my peer, no matter how much money is in his bank account. I don’t think either of us realized how much he craved normalcy until my family offered it to him. He was able to see firsthand how other families treat one another, and it only reinforced how terribly awful his parents are. Family loyalty and obligation only go so far.

Trey takes a sip from his beer and gestures towards the head of the lane. “It’s your turn.”

Right. Setting down the pitcher, I dust off my sticky hands and pick up the sparkly black ball that’s become mine. On my first throw, I manage a measly two pins. On the second try, I knock down seven more, leaving one lonely pin standing to be cleared away. Not bad. Certainly not my worst effort.

There’s no flirty banter as I make my way back to the firm plastic seats. Trey cracks his knuckles and heads to the ball carousel. With a few moments of reprieve, I pull out my phone and check the score. Newton is up by three points over Temple. Not nearly enough of a cushion to make me feel comfortable.

Barrett seemed a little off last night. A little sad. I don’t like that. I know something is bothering him, but he won’t tell me what it is. And us missing each other… we’ve barely seen each other, even though now we’re living in the same city and going to the same school. I miss the bastard.

I don’t really want to be on this date with Trey right now. I would much rather be at home by myself or out somewhere with Barrett. I’m not feeling this.

So I drink some beer, and when it’s my turn, I bowl a decent frame, and then I drink some more beer. There’s an end in sight. When the game is over, we’ll go our separate ways, and I’ll never have to see him again. Aside from in class, of course. I take another healthy sip of my beer. There’s no escaping this awkwardness.

Chapter 20

Diana

Because I have a game this afternoon, I don’t have a chance to meet up with Sam and Mason to watch the football buses pull back into school. I’m so focused on my preparations for the game that I almost don’t recognize the behemoth of a man standing outside the locker rooms.

“Did you forget about me already?” the giant says, and I shriek as I see him for the first time.

Barrett laughs.

“Don’t scare me like that.” I swat at him with the cleats in my hand, and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Sorry, Dee.”

“You’re the worst.”

“You love me.” He tugs on my braid, and my stomach flips.