Page 12 of Studs Up
The epically slow turn was followed by an epically appalled look.
“Fuck. You,” he said, annunciating each word clearly and concisely.
I shrugged. “You do.”
“I do not play like shit. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“This is a fucking tryout. You keep playing like shit, no more caps for you.”
“What the hell?”
“You play like shit.” I leaned in real close and said real quiet. “You aren’t even close to your potential.”
“You don’t know anything,” he hissed, matching my eyes and not backing down. That ball of heat in my chest flickered like a waking ember.
“I know everything,” I said. His eyes grew wide, and fear contracted his pupils before he recovered.
“Do not ever talk to me again.”
“You better take a shower,” I huffed.
“I said don’t talk to me.”
“If you slept better, you’d play better.”
“Why the fuck do you care so much?”
When the elevator doors slid open, I threw my hand out to stop him.
“I want to win.” I hissed. The hall was quiet. “And we can do that if you’re on top of your game. You’re not, and it pisses me off.”
“Fuck you, Reed. You don’t know a goddamn thing about me, and you can mind your own fucking business.”
He ducked under my arm and stomped down the hall.
“People are sleeping,” I whispered. He spun around, gave me the double bird, and kept going, albeit at a quieter stride.
Only when I got into bed and pretended to go to sleep did he get in the shower, and finally, he laid down and was out.
…
I woke before the alarm, and I turned it off. The Californian sun refused to be held back by heavy black-out curtains and forced its way through the edges. Fucking sun.
The low light was just enough to see the top of Holden’s head, deeply and peacefully asleep. The blankets were drawn up to his nose.
Now the shit gets his rest.
I got up quietly, did my business in the bathroom, and dressed. His machine hummed its white noise, but I still tried to keep myself from being heard.
That’s when I stopped in the middle of the room and wondered why I was doing that.
It was the nice thing to do, right? And I was supposed to be nice.
Breakfast would be over in an hour, and we needed to be on the field in ninety. It was time for him to wake up.
I watched him instead. My brain churned through information and coming up with explanations and questions.
Was that a one-off? Did he not sleep because of being forced to room with me, or was it something else?
