Page 27 of Shattered On Ice
“Knight,” Rook grumbles, pointing at me. “By five minutes. That’s why he gets to be named after the piece that moves first on the chessboard.”
“That’s actually really cool,” Westin says, sounding genuinely interested as his eyes scan me up and down.
“You weren't made fun of while growing up for being named after the castle or the horse on a chessboard,” Rook grumbles.
“Beer pong, remember?” Nico reminds, stretching from the couch with a yawn. “We don't have to get into your childhood trauma right now. Besides, I’ve been sitting for too long.”
“Who’s gonna play?” Rook asks, standing as well.
“There are three of us, so we don't have even numbers for teams. Knight, you gonna play?” Nico asks, looking at me expectantly.
“Uh, beer pong isn't really in my wheelhouse. I don't think I’ve ever played,” I respond slowly. It was nice of him to include me, but I'm not confident in this area and prefer to focus on what I naturally excel at.
“I’ll be your partner,” Westin volunteers, standing and walking toward me with a grin. “Don't worry, I’ve played enough beer pong for the both of us. They're not going to win as easily as they think they will.”
Rook laughs. “Trust me, he’s not really into team sports. He even runs by himself. He doesn't like to partner up on anything.”
Is that how Rook sees my need for solitary pursuits? I’m not averse to team sports. I was just never as good at any of them as Rook was, so I didn't join any. I stand and take a step closer to Westin. Indiana doesn't move from her comfy bed, bored with us.
“I’ll play.” My voice is flat but resolute. “Can't promise I’ll be very good, but I’m not anti-team sports.”
Rook’s smile drops. He knows I’m pissed off now. I turn and head to the screened-in porch where the ping-pong table lives. It’s late enough now that a breeze is stirring the thick humidity, but I’m already sweating. I turn the overhead fans on.
“I didn't mean to make you mad,” Rook says, matching my stride and following me as I hunt for the ping-pong balls he’s hidden from Indiana out here somewhere.
“You didn’t,” I say, hearing the lack of conviction in my own tone. “I know I’m basically your polar opposite in every way, but it can be annoying to have that shoved in my face, especially around people who are more like you. I don't want to feel like more of an outsider than necessary.”
“I didn't realize I was doing that,” he says quietly. “I get so used to being around the boys that I forget how we sound to anyone else. I could have said it differently, and I’m sorry it came off the way it did. I understand why that got you fired up.”
I stop clearing off the ping-pong table and turn to look at him. That was the most genuine, unprompted apology I’ve gotten out of him in years. He speaks without thinking more often than not, and I’ll tell him when he could have said something differently to be less hurtful, and that’s usually when he apologizes half-heartedly. This is unexpected.
It makes me feel even worse about sleeping with his best friend. Just when our relationship is the best it’s ever been, I decide to do something that could jeopardize everything.
“Found the beer and cups!” Nico says, marching out with Westin in tow, both holding cans of beer and red plastic cups. They get to work setting up the cups at either end of the table, while Rook and I watch a few feet away.
“It’s really fine,” I assure Rook before we can get too far from the conversation. “I can hang tonight and show you I’m a good time, too.”
He smiles that sunny, all-is-well smile now that I’ve absolved him. “I’m not going easy on you just because you're new to beer pong. You’re going to learn to enjoy my beer after all,” he says, pointing finger guns at me as he backs away toward Nico’s end of the table.
“Sounds like we have our hands full if we don't want to end up drunk,” Westin says, coming up beside me.
I place a hand on my stomach. “Cheap beer doesn't agree with me. I hate the kind Rook gets.”
“I got you,” he says, placing a hand on my shoulder and squeezing quickly. “I can handle cheap beer just fine.”
I try not to blush from the contact, but I know I’ve failed when my face heats. I spin quickly and walk to the end of the ping-pong table, standing behind the stack of cups shaped like a pyramid, all half-full of a light-colored beer. That’s far more beer in those ten cups than I would drink in a month, let alone a night. We'd better hope I’m halfway decent at this game.
Turns out, I’m terrible. I can run a half-marathon with negative splits, but my hand-eye coordination is abysmal. Eight rounds in, I haven't sunk a single shot. I brace myself for the taste of Rook’s cheap beer, but Westin intercepts the cup from my hand once again.
He meets my eyes over the red plastic rim, the moment slowing as I watch his Adam’s apple bob with each swallow. He’s taking all my penalties, and it’s starting to show.
“I could have taken that one,” I tell him as he finishes the beer and stacks the cup with the other empties on the floor. When he stands back up, his shoulder brushes my hip for the briefest moment. It’s nothing, just an innocent touch, but he stills and looks at me a little too long. He shakes off the surprise with a tremor, his hand bumping into mine beneath the edge of the table. His eyes track down quickly, then he seems to realize he’s reacting more than he should and stills, his All-Star smile returning, but not reaching his eyes. The mask slipping into place once again.
“You don't like it. Besides, I told you I got this. There’s no need for you to do something you dislike when I’m here,” he replies, a slight slur to his cogent words.
He reaches to fish a ball out of a cup of water just as I do, and our knuckles graze. Every inconsequential touch feels monumental while we’re in this situation. He brushes a finger along the back of my hand before taking the ball and throwing it down the table. It lands in the very middle cup without a bounce, making both Nico and Rook groan.
Nico drinks that cup, as Rook shoots. It bounces down the table and rolls between our cups, making him and Nico curse, while Westin and I cheer.
