Wasted Words (24 page)

I hopped off the bench and made my way back over to our group. Tyler, Patrick, and Rose were chatting with beers in their hands, Rose tucked under Patrick’s arm. Bayleigh and Martin were off searching the racks of balls. And I was doing my best not to be salty.

I did my best to smile, wishing Greg hadn’t gone all the way to the other end of the group, literally as far away as he could get. I didn’t blame him, even though I knew he didn’t really have hard feelings about Patrick and Rose. It’s not even like they’d really
dated
-dated, just hung out a couple of times and kissed a little, but I think it was just weird for all of them to hang out together like this, Bayleigh or not.

I made my way over to her, stepping shamelessly between her and Martin. “Let’s grab a twelve, a ten, and a couple of nines for the girls.”

“I use a nine,” Martin said, pushing his glasses up his nose.

I chuckled. “I bet you do, buddy.” The words left my mouth a little sharper than I’d intended, and I took a breath.

Bayleigh laughed nervously and took one of the nines to the group. Martin and I followed.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry to crash your party like this. Tyler invited me, but I didn’t realize it was just a work thing, or whatever.”

I shrugged, keeping my eyes ahead of me. “It’s cool.”

He watched me. “Are you sure? I just kind of feel like … I don’t know. Like I intruded, or something.”

I smiled, though it was tight. “It’s cool, really. Any friend of Tyler’s, you know?”

I walked up to the ball return and set the balls down, turning to Tyler, trying not to feel guilty about the look on Martin’s face that said he didn’t believe me.

Rose waved me over to the console. “Come on, put your name in.”

We were the romance hero trope team, and so far our names were:

Billionaire Bastard

Alpha Hammerhead

Manwhore Ladykiller

Professor Broodydick

Rocker Cock

I laughed. “Dammit, these are good.”

“Yeah, well, drinks on me are on the line, so …” Rose said with a shrug and took a sip of her whiskey.

“Hmm,” I thought, and then I lit up as I typed
Slutty Stepbrother
. “Boom.”

Rose laughed, and I curtsied before making my way back to Tyler, who stood alone near the entrance to our lane.

I looked up at him, still a little hurt at his disappointment, but I didn’t want to talk about it. So I didn’t, just slipped my arms around his waist. He rested his arm on my shoulder and squeezed, and I knew from that simple gesture alone that he wasn’t mad, disagreement or not. My gaze found Bayleigh again, who leaned into Martin, smiling, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that the whole night was going to be a disaster. All the work I’d put into Bayleigh and Greg, weeks of plotting, all to be undone by a skinny accountant in a bow tie.

It was like the universe was mocking me.

“What name did you pick?” I asked Tyler, breaking the silence.

“Manwhore Ladykiller.”

I snickered. “I should have guessed. That one’s my favorite.”

“Slutty Stepbrother? Is that really a thing in romance?”

“You have no idea,” I said with a smile.

He reached for the drink ledge and grabbed the neck of a bottle there. “I got you a beer.”
 

I took it gratefully. “Thanks.”

“You okay?”

I nodded and took a sip, watching Bayleigh line herself up, trying not to notice that Martin watched her too, looking like he’d found the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. She took her steps, swinging the ball back and letting it go — it rolled down the lane at a solid speed and killed six pins. She turned around and jumped up and down, giggling straight at Martin.
 

I sighed.

“You sure?” he asked.

I took a deep breath and looked up at him, smiling. “I’m sure. What will be, will be, right?”

He bent to kiss my hair. “That’s right. Now, you’re up, Slutty Stepbrother.”

I chuckled. “Prepare to taste my pain, Ladykiller.” I set down my beer and headed over to the ball return, picking up a nine-pound ball that looked like a galaxy — it was a deep blue, swirled with sparkles like stars.

Bayleigh walked past and hip-bumped me with a wink. I smiled at her. I mean, she looked like she was having a great time, and that was what it was all about, right? I glanced across the lanes to find Greg, who didn’t seem to be aware of us at all.
 

I tried not to look sullen about it.
 

Rose cheered from the chair at the console. “Come on, Cam! Show us how to handle the balls!”

I laughed and lined up. “Girl, you have no idea.” My smile fell as my focus lasered in on the center pin, and I counted my steps in my head, hand swinging back and forward, releasing the ball as my right leg swept behind my left.

It was a strike.

I turned around and strut-danced off the platform, dusting my shoulder and doing a spin in time to the Michael Jackson song playing as everyone cheered. Rose jumped out of her seat with her hands in the air.
 

“Get the fuck out!” she cried.

“I told you,” I said with a shrug.

Tyler was still laughing by the time I reached him. “Wow. Full of surprises, aren’t you?”

I smiled and picked up my beer, drinking it, playing at coy.

“Nobody ever sees you coming, do they?”

“Did you?”

He laughed again, and the sound made my heart flutter as he bent down to kiss me again. And that was when I decided I really would be fine with the night, no matter what happened.

I was one hundred percent not fine with what happened that night.

It started off innocently enough with Bayleigh and Martin, just the two of them sitting next to each other and talking between their turns. Tyler, I learned, is a horrible bowler, and the only way that his competitive self could deal with it was by making the whole thing a joke. If you were wondering whether or not it’s hilarious and ridiculous to watch a six-foot-six athletic hunk of man granny-shoot a twelve pound bowling ball, the answer is yes.

I also spent a little time with Bayleigh and Rose, ogling Patrick while he bowled. He maybe had a perfect ass, and he was covered in tattoos, neck to heel. He also had a perfect jaw, one that was set in concentration as he bowled what ended up to be a decent game. I couldn’t even manage to be unimpressed when he rolled a gutter ball while the three of us girls sighing like a swooning peanut gallery of estrogen-fueled baby makers.

But then Martin put his arm around Bayleigh. And then she leaned into him. And then she asked him to show her how to bowl, which pissed me off, not only because he stood behind her, chest to back, arms around her while he showed her how to move her hands and where to put her weight, but because he was a terrible bowler.

I tried to just think about Tyler. I tried to let Bayleigh do whatever she wanted — she was a grown woman, after all. But the whole thing just felt like a grave mistake, like the world would spin out of orbit if the two of them got together. They looked all wrong together: pretty Bayleigh with her tiny frame and long blond hair next to a messy-haired accountant who probably weighed less than she did. He could barely keep his pants up, for God’s sake.

So I drank. Then I drank a little more, all in the hopes of finding some sweet spot where I didn’t give a shit. But, looking back, I should have known better than that — the second Martin showed up, it was a lost cause. My irritation climbed with every moment, and by the time we’d finished our fourth game, I was nearly at the end of my fuse.

We all sat around the lane, waiting for everyone else to finish so we could tally up the scores and determine our winners. Rose sat on Patrick’s lap at the console, and Tyler and I sat next to Bayleigh and Martin on the benches, listening to Martin talk about Tyler’s horrible bowling over the occasional crash of pins or cheer from a bowler.

“Seriously, remember that time we bowled at Fast Lanes in Lincoln with the football team?” Martin asked.

Tyler started laughing. “Oh, God.”

Martin’s smile was bright. “You were bowling with that hot-pink eight-pound ball. Like, you could have palmed it.”

“I did palm it. I shot-put it down the lane.”

Martin snickered. “And that old lady attendant chased you around the bowling alley trying to catch you to kick you out.”

“I almost broke my ankle jumping over a ball return to get away from her. She was so mad, she was chasing me with the disinfectant spray they use on the shoes.”

“Oh, my God,” I said, laughing.

“And then Kyle got on the microphone and started rapping ‘Ice Ice Baby,’ so she’d chase him instead,” Martin said.

“Word to your motha’”
they said in unison.

Tyler shook his head. “She didn’t know which way to run. We got banned for life after that.”

Martin laughed so hard he snorted. “Dude, I almost forgot when she went back to the mic, yelling for Earl to come back from his smoke break and help her catch the dumbshit kids wrecking the alley.”

The laughter finally died down, and Bayleigh sighed, cheeks flushed. She tucked her hair behind her ear, and when she lowered her hand, it rested on Martin’s thigh. He smiled over at her, scooting a little closer.
 

At that point, I honestly couldn’t see anything clearly. Everything was red. His arm was around her, and they looked happy, which should have made me happy, but I found no joy. I thought about her and Greg at the bar, thought about what a good guy he was and how he deserved someone as sweet as Bayleigh. They’d be good for each other. I
knew
they would be, but here she was with Martin, and poor Greg was … I looked around to find him — he stood near the guys and a couple of girls, including Ruby. And he looked … well, he looked fine, but that pissed me off even more.

Tyler had invited Martin, and Martin had interfered with the grand plan. The plan that would eventually confirm the fact that I had been right about Bayleigh and Greg all along. But Bayleigh was the Titanic, and Martin was the iceberg. I scrambled for a way to course correct, but I saw no path.
 

So I decided to make one.
 

I stood and reached for Bayleigh’s hand, and everyone looked at me. But there was no time for subtlety. “Hey, come walk with me.”

Confusion passed across her face. “Where? What’s up?”

I tried to smile, but was sure it was all teeth. “Just wanted to walk around. Maybe get a drink.”

“Oh, well, mine’s full.”

Everyone was silently watching me, though Tyler’s thoughts screamed at me to sit back down and let it go. I ignored him.
 

“Come on, I just don’t want to go alone. Don’t make me beg.” The words were sharper than I meant, and Martin’s brow dropped as Bayleigh shifted closer to him.

“I don’t think she wants to go,” Martin said possessively.

“Well,” I snapped, “I don’t think you know her well enough to speak for her, do you?”

His eyes narrowed, though I saw the hurt in them. “Maybe not, but I think you maybe know her well enough to know not to speak to her like that.”

I looked around at all of their faces, which were full of shock. “Jesus, I just wanted someone to get a drink with me. I don’t even know you, Martin, but you’ve sure settled in, haven’t you?”

“Cam,” Tyler said in warning, moving to reach for my hand, but I shook him off.

“Forget it,” I muttered, fuming as I grabbed my bag and bowling shoes. I blew toward the door feeling stupid and shitty and wrong, nearly tossing my shoes in the window at the poor attendant before leaving.

I burst through the door like a raging storm, heart pounding, thoughts flying. The night was cool and crisp, and the fresh air hit my lungs — I hadn’t realized how hot it had been inside. But it did little to clear my cloudy mind. I’d barely made it to the corner before I heard my name, an angry syllable and made me pick up the pace.

It was Tyler, I knew, but I kept going, not wanting to talk to him, not wanting to see him disappointed and angry. Not wanting to admit I’d been wrong.
 

So I walked as fast as I could as tears pricked the corners of my eyes. Unfortunately for me, Tyler’s legs were twice as long as mine, and he caught up to me easily, calling my name the whole way.

“Cam, stop,” he demanded.

I realized there was no avoiding him, so I whirled around to face him, ready to unload, unleash the hurricane. What I didn’t realize was that he was literally right behind me, and I slammed into his chest with enough force to knock me backward and on my ass in a windmill of arms and legs, some mine, some his as he tried to catch me.
 

I’d been laid out flat, and I looked up the side of the building and a streetlamp, feeling the cool concrete underneath me, too full of feelings to even get up. I just laid there, breathing painfully, nose burning, my anger abated, leaving only humiliation and remorse. Tyler was on his hands and knees, having fallen in the kerfuffle. He laughed, his anger gone.

“You okay?” he asked.

I looked over at him with my chin locked and shrugged as a tear flipped out of the corner of my eye.

His smile fell, and he sighed as he lay down next to me and reached for my hand.
 

I took a breath and let it out, not wanting to talk, afraid I’d really start crying in earnest. But I calmed, sorting through my thoughts, thinking only about what I’d done and how wrong I’d been.

“You’re disappointed,” I finally said, quietly.

“I am,” he answered, his words as soft as mine.
 

“I embarrassed you.”

“You did.”

“I embarrassed myself.”

“Yes.”

I took a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry.”

He squeezed my hand and looked over at me, but I couldn’t meet his eyes, just stared up at the street lamp. “I know. But I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.”

“No,” I said simply. “I guess not.”

We lay there on the dirty ground, and I absently wondered if germs could get through my military jacket and jeans, or if there was such a thing as getting diphtheria through contact with New York pavement. His thumb shifted against my wrist, moving his bracelet out of the way.