Black Number Four (22 page)

Shit, I hadn’t even thought about that. What if they did find out who I was? If
she
found out who I was?

“I’ll be careful, Dad. I promise. I’ll handle it.”

“Good,” he says pointedly. It’s quiet on the line for a few moments before he clears his throat and adds, “Hope school is going well. I have to run. Keep me posted on developments. When’s the next time you’re watching her play?”

“Soon,” I lie, though I hope I can somehow make it a reality. I need to rein this shit in. Fast.

“Okay. Let me know when you have things squared away.”

“Uh huh,” is all I say before ending the call.

I sigh, tossing my phone to the side and moving to the end of the bed where my keyboard stands. My fingers work before I have the chance to tell them what to play. They glide over the keys, the soft and sad music filling my room. I think of the way Skyler felt when my hands were all over her, when my fingers were inside her. I think of how I felt waking up without her, or for the two weeks when I didn’t know where we stood. I picture her face in the firelight last night, something missing in those sparkling blue eyes of hers. What is she hiding? Does she know what
I’m
hiding?

My thoughts shift to UCLA, to the dream I’ve had for so long and what it means to me – to attend my dream school, graduate from the program I’ve always imagined, live in California and write shows that people love, that people crave. These are my dreams, they’re what my entire life has been built on… but are they still everything I want?

I pound the keys harder, closing my eyes tight and letting the questions pour through me and into the song.
I should write this down. I should play this for Skyler.

I should let Skyler go.

Every thought flies at me at once, colliding with each other and scattering around me.

Things are
far
from squared away.

My head is still throbbing as I shuffle slowly downstairs, my fingers kneading my temples methodically. I wish I could say I had a hangover, that my headache was alcohol-induced, but unfortunately the three beers I had last night have nothing to do with this pain. I was up late – too late – thinking about Kip.

Shocker, I know.

Last night was supposed to be easy, but it wasn’t. I held him at a distance, but I know it’s not going to last for long. He sees it. I don’t know how or why, but he sees my poker face and he’s going to call me on my bluff. That has never happened to me before, not with anyone.

And it sure as hell can’t happen now.

To make things even peachier, the damn paparazzi are hunting for photos of me again. Most of the year, I can fly under the radar. I’m one of the few players still in school and they respect school property and my age. For the most part, anyway. With the tournament getting closer, I should have known this shit would start.

When I saw the article pop up on the tournament website this morning, it made me sick. I hate the perception of female players. It’s always about how hot we are or who we’re screwing, never about how well we play the game. It’s stupid and offensive, but clearly it’s not changing. Now, not only am I submitting Kip to this twisted game of Erin’s, but I’m feeding him to the wolves that are greasy photographers on a mission.

I can’t do this.

When I round the corner into the kitchen, my fingers still working my temple, I stop dead in my tracks at the sight of my Big. She’s standing at the counter, hands clasped around a mug of steaming liquid, hair falling all around her face. Slowly, she lifts her eyes to mine. They’re swollen and puffy and my stomach sinks because I know I’m the reason they look that way. And I’m probably about to make it worse.

Because I can’t do this anymore. I can’t play this game. I want to be with Kip and not as a game for her. For me.

“Hot chocolate?” She lifts the mug slightly, shrugging her shoulders.

I prop my ass up on the counter. “I think I need something stronger.”

Erin smiles, but it’s a faint smile. Silently, she turns to the cupboard and grabs another mug, starting a cup of coffee on the Keurig. “It’s funny, you know. Parents. Kids. The whole relationship that exists there.”

I listen as the coffee machine works, chewing on her words. “I’m not sure I’m following, Big.”

She sighs, running her hands through her hair. Maybe I’m not the reason her face is tear-stained, after all.

Not completely, anyway.

“I mean we grow up looking up to our parents. We envy them, build our dreams and our goals around who they are or who they aren’t. But do we ever really make them happy? Or proud? They say we do, but would they really tell us if we failed them?”

She hands me the mug once the coffee finishes pouring in. I hold it between my hands and let the steam waft up to my nose, warming it from the chilly morning air. “I don’t think we can fail them,” I finally say. “I think just by existing, we make them proud. They see themselves in us.”

Erin scoffs, shaking her head as she takes another sip from her cup. “All my parents see when they look at me is a blurred, imperfect reflection of what they wish I was. I feel it. They don’t say it, but their eyes do. They’re ashamed of me.”

Why on earth would anyone be ashamed of Erin? She’s gorgeous, intelligent, and president of the best sorority on campus. She has her shit together.

“I know, right?” Erin shakes her head as if she’s heard my thoughts. “It doesn’t make sense, does it? Most parents would be proud of me, I guess. But then again, most parents didn’t dream of their baby girl growing up and getting a MRS degree and banging a rich lawyer or doctor or whatever. You would think I shot a puppy by telling them I’d rather
be
a lawyer than marry one.”

We both sip quietly for a few minutes, no other sounds but the clinking of china on countertop and the occasional slurp from our lips. Thumbing the handle of my mug, I lift my eyes to my Big’s. “Ex, you have nothing to be ashamed of and your parents are crazy if they don’t see the amazing things you’re doing for this campus, this sorority, and for yourself. They come from old money, they’re not used to a world where a woman wants to be educated simply because she can be. You’re too smart and too damn talented to get married and sit at home. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but it’s not your style. Could you imagine that? You would go bat shit crazy. You can’t even sit in your pajamas for a full day!”

At that, we both giggle and Erin sniffles a little. “You have to say that,” she says, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her hoodie. “You’re my little nugget of sunshine.” Her hair is stringy from the wind last night, her mascara smeared. She looks like hell, and Erin
never
looks anything less than amazing. I stare at her, the girl who took me in under her wing as a freshman. Hell, the entire reason I rushed KKB in the first place. She was everything I wanted to be – and that was as a freaking sophomore. Now, as a senior, she was more like a dream than something I could actually hope to attain. It killed me to see her this way, even with all the drama between us this semester.

“I don’t
have
to say anything,” I correct her. “Except the truth. And I mean it when I say you are the bomb dot com and your parents are insane if they don’t see that. They’ll come around and realize that your dreams are just a little different than what they had in mind but that it actually makes you even better than they could have ever imagined. Just wait until family weekend. When they come up here and see everything you’ve done for Kappa Kappa Beta and for Palm South as a whole, they’re going to lose their shit. In a good way. And your grades are off the charts. You’re going to get first pick of law schools and they’re going to brag to all their friends at the country club about their amazing daughter who’s not only drop dead gorgeous, but a lawyer, to boot.”

Erin smiles, her eyes watering, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen my Big this vulnerable. She crosses the kitchen and wraps me in a hug, resting her head on my shoulder. I gently stroke her hair as she squeezes me tight.

“I love you, Little. Thank you.”

“I’ll always be honest with you,” I say, pulling back and taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry about last night.”

Erin’s face turns, a stone cold hardness warping the fragile gentleness that was just there. I frown, hoping I’m reading too much into it.

“It’s okay. I know it’s part of it, it’s part of the game. It’s hard to watch, but I get it. You did good last night.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, uncomfortable. “But, I wanted to talk to you about it. I –”

“You know.” She cuts me off. “I knew this was a crazy plan when it first slipped out of my mouth that night in my room. In fact, that night I stayed up all night thinking about how crazy I was being. But then I realized that I couldn’t have had any better luck. I mean, how ironic that my Little just so happened to meet my first love and develop a connection with him? It was almost too perfect. And being that you’re the best damn poker player around, there literally is no better person for the job.”

“Ex, that’s just the thing. I’m not sure –“

“And you know what else?” She drops her mug in the sink and leans against it, hands braced on the counter. “I know it’s not just about the presidency for you. I know it’s because you care about me, because you know what I’m going through right now and you genuinely want to see me happy.”

The heat rushes to my cheeks and I fumble my mug a little, spilling a splash of coffee onto my sweater.

Holy hell.

She just opened up about everything to me on purpose. Not that we never talked before, but this was deliberate. It was a move. A bet. No, a raise. A legal move, but just barely.

My Big is an Angle Shooter.

She smiles, handing me a napkin and rubbing my arm with her hand as she stands. “I’m so lucky to have you in my life, Little. You know, for a second last night I thought you were actually into him. It was so convincing!” She sighs, laughing a little as she turns to leave. She stops short of the door and shakes her head. “But of course, that would be silly. I mean, what kind of relationship could you possibly have with him now? If he ever found out about the game, about the set up… I can’t even imagine what he’d think, how he’d
feel
.” She turns to look at me, smiling at her little joke, but I feel razors shooting from that curve of her lips. “He’d probably never talk to you again.”

I swallow hard. It’s not a joke, it’s not a hypothetical situation. This is a threat. A warning.

All I can do is nod, my eyes falling to the floor.

“Anyway,” she says, her hand waving in the air as she brushes the thought away. “I’m so excited for tonight. It’s going to be perfect! Come up to my room around four and we can all get ready together. And Little?”

I look back up at her, waiting.

“Thank you, for talking to me. You really are one of the best friends I have.” She smiles warmly, but a chill runs up my spine. As she turns and leaves me alone in the kitchen, a sickening realization runs through me.

There is no getting out of this game.

And there is no winning this game, either.

My chips are on the table. My heart is on the line.

And it will never be the same again.