The Games We Play - Chapter 18: Chapter 18

"How could she not tell me?" I demand, slamming my shot glass on the sticky table, the tequila burning its way down my throat. "I'm her best friend. Best. Friend."
Sticky's smells like spilled beer and bad decisions—a heady mix of cheap liquor, fried food, and desperation clinging to every surface.
It's perfect.
We're all huddled around a tiny bar table that we almost had to wrestle a group of freshman girls for. There isn't a spare surface or chair in sight, some groups just standing and drinking.
I'm on my fourth tequila shot—or is it my fifth?—and my vision is starting to blur in a way that makes me feel invincible.
Which is good, because apparently, I don't know my best friend at all, and that really sucks for sober Cam.
But for Drunk Cam?
It still sucks. But at least I'm drunk and don't care about letting the entire bar know about it.
It's honestly a miracle I made it here in one piece. Somewhere between leaving the Alumni meet-and-greet, the house party on Sycamore Row and landing in Sticky's, I'd ditched my wholesome Colts baby tee, white mini skirt, and sneakers for something... well, not wholesome.
Now, I'm in a very sheer, sparkly top that clings to my curves, with a black bra that barely contains my tits underneath. The tiny black mini skirt I swapped into hugs my hips like a second skin, and my tall black boots were definitely not made for walking but damn they made my legs look long.
My hair is down, the silky brown strands framing my face and spilling over my shoulders like a shield. Somewhere in the back of my tequila-soaked brain, I remember thinking, If I'm gonna cry, I might as well look hot while it happens.
Mission accomplished.
"Ding-dong, the bitch is dead. It's Jude's time now," Jude says as he wraps his arms around my head and begins kissing my temple. "Forget about her. I'm all you need now, baby. Lemme give you some lovin'."
I cry out, "I miss her so much!"
"More shots!" Liam announces, sticking a finger in the air.
I point my empty shot glass at him. "Yes!"
"Okay, but seriously," Yasmine cuts in, her voice tinged with concern as she nudges a margarita toward me. "Are you really that upset about it? I mean, Scarlett's kind of... Scarlett."
"What does that mean?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.
"She's guarded as hell. Hot—but guarded," Kiki says, wrapping a lazy arm around her girlfriend's shoulders. "We all know this. She's like an enigma with a hot blonde ponytail."
"A very sexy, scary enigma," Tasha adds.
"But I'm her best friend," I repeat, the words slurring slightly as I grab the margarita and take a sip. "How could she not tell me she had a thing with Clay fucking Jackson? I mean, we're talking about Clay Jackson. He's like... he's like..."
"A Greek god?" Liam suggests.
"A Ken doll, but, like, hotter," Kiki adds.
"A very nice guy with great shoulders," Yasmine offers, and we all look at her with confused frowns. She shrugs. "What? I'm a lesbian, but I wanted to contribute."
Kiki giggles and turns her face to plant a big kiss on Yasmine's mouth. Awww.
I wave my hand, cutting them all off. "Whatever. The point is, she should've told me."
"Maybe she didn't want to," Tasha says gently, nudging her elbow against mine. "Maybe it was something she needed to figure out on her own before she could talk about it."
"Now why would you say that to me?" I sob as Tasha just smiles at me and pats me on the top of the head.
"Here, take another shot, baby," Kiki suggests, pushing the tequila toward me. "It'll make you feel be—"
I'm already knocking back the shot as the entire table blinks at me.
Liam points to the air again. "More shots, I say!"
By now, the bar is a swirl of noise and lights, the music pulsing through the floor and into my bones. I should be mad—furious, even—but instead, I'm... well, I'm kind of having a great time.
Even though I'm absolutely heartbroken.
I swear this is worse than any breakup I've ever had.
After I take another shot, following it with a squeeze of lemon, I slam my hand on the table while screwing up my face from the sourness.
Once it passes, I exclaim, "I'm done sulking. Who wants to dance?"
"God help us all," Yasmine mutters, but I'm already pulling her to her feet as she smiles.
The night gets fuzzier as the drinks keep coming. Jude's practically taken over the entire dance floor and we're just his damn back up dancers.
The music feels like it's literally inside me.
My heartbeat has changed to match the music, beat to motherfucking beat.
It's a similar chaos in the bathroom.
Girls are complementing girls they don't know, professing their love to each other even though they just met, and then the first notes of Beyoncé's 7/11 echo through the walls, and everyone screams as we all run back to the floor.
I thought all the dancing would drain the alcohol out of me—but then I just keep being passed shots and drinks, and I throw them back without so much as a blink.
I know how to dance, how to move my body like I move it in bed.
The bass shakes the floor, lights flashing wildly as my arms wrap around Jude and he grinds his ass up against my front. He bends over and twerks against me, and we all lose it.
Our national anthem plays through the speakers—Charli XCX's voice like an angel's sonnet.
The alcohol in my veins feels like the shit they put in glitter gel pens, and there's a permanent smile on my face. With my head tilted back and my face skyward, I feel like nothing could bring me down from this high.
Until I spin, laugh too hard, and knock into a guy and his drink. The contents of the drink take flight, landing squarely on the chest of said random guy.
"Hey, what the fuck?" he shouts, jerking back like I've just doused him in acid.
"Oopsies—my bad!" I say, already biting back a nervous giggle as I try to steady myself.
"My bad?" he echoes, glaring at me like I personally insulted his ancestors. "You ruined my shirt!"
"It's like three drops," I say, gesturing to his chest. "And it's black—you'll live."
He looks furious, glancing down at his now wet shirt, and before I can process what's happening, his girlfriend appears at his side, her eyes zeroing in on me like a heat-seeking missile.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she snaps, arms crossed like she's ready to fight.
I frown, "Huh?!"
"She's drunk, clearly," the guy mutters, his glare only slightly less scary than hers.
"Helloooooo? We're in a bar." I counter, gesturing wildly with my free hand around the bar, which really does nothing to help my case. "And it was an accident, I swear."
"Sure it was," the girlfriend sneers, stepping closer. "Is spilling drinks your way of flirting? Because newsflash, he's taken."
"Flirting? With him?" I point to her boyfriend, my confusion quickly morphing into incredulous laughter. "Oh my God, no offense, but—"
"No offense?" she screeches, and suddenly, I realize I've said entirely the wrong thing.
Tasha appears out of nowhere, her hand on my shoulder as she eyes the girlfriend. "Okay, let's not start a thing over this. She said she's sorry."
"She's got a real funny way of showing it," the girlfriend snaps, her voice dripping with venom.
"Just don't bring drinks onto a dance floor, my guy," Liam says, stepping up behind Tasha.
Jude slides in on my other side, arms crossed as he looks the girl up and down. "Honey, your man's looking like he negotiated his way onto earth. There ain't no one here that wants him."
It's meant to defuse the situation, but it only pours gasoline on the fire.
"Excuse me?" the guy says, stepping forward like he's ready to defend his honor.
"Oh baby, you're excused," Jude says flatly, as he slowly spins to face me, hands on my shoulders as if to move me away.
And then the crazy tiny bitch is launching herself at us.
I just manage to catch the girl swinging at me with her bag, and I duck down, the bag swinging around and clocking some other girl on the back.
Of course, she gets offended and swings back, nicking the girl on the side of the head with her fist. It stuns me because it was a damn good hit.
Then all fucking hell breaks loose.
I'm dodging nails and purses and loose hair extensions.
Bodies swarm in on either side of me, and I'm stuck in the middle. Someone manages to slap me in the face, and I pounce on the first chick I see.
I feel someone pull my hair from behind before they're fucking body-slammed by Jude.
I just start shoving people around me, not really caring who I strike, just caring that I survive this.
First rule of being stuck in a fight—just start swinging.
Eventually, I hear the yelling of bouncers as flashlights fucking blind me.
The bouncers step in, their hulking frames cutting through the chaos, and they each grab the girlfriend, her boyfriend, and—oh, fantastic—me.
"Time to go," one of them says gruffly, lifting me off the ground like I weigh nothing. I dig my heels into the ground, dropping my ass to make it harder to move me.
"Wait, wait—it wasn't my fault!" I protest, kicking my legs uselessly as he slings me over his shoulder.
Behind us, Jude's voice rings out over the music. "Don't worry, Cam! I'll make sure your legacy lives on!"
"Tell them it was self-defense!" I yell back at him as the bouncer pushes through the door.
The cool night air hits my face, and I'm set unceremoniously on the sidewalk.
"She hit on my man!" the girlfriend is still screaming while her boyfriend is pulling her away. There are two bouncers escorting them, pushing them back and past the line of people waiting to get in.
They're getting a front-row seat to the fucking never-ending shit-show that is my life for free. I really gotta start charging people.
"No one wants him!" I scream back at her, the bouncer getting in my way so I kind of have to duck around him. "I don't even know why you want him!"
Collective gasps and "oohs" and laughs rattle through the line of stunned UC students.
The crazy tiny blonde screams, "Fuck you!"
I grin at her. "Yeah? Well then get in line behind your boyfriend because he wanted to first!"
The couple is eventually pushed down the pavement in the opposite direction, and the bouncer in front of me directs me further away from the front door and over to a small garden.
"Ma'am." The bouncer starts carefully. "How much have you had to drink tonight?"
He's huge—like huge huge—dressed in all black, with one of those paperboy hats on and wired comms in his ear.
He's got a name tag too: Samuel.
I grumble, running a hand through my hair as I take a seat on the small brick wall surrounding the garden. "Not enough, Samuel. Not enough."
☆☆☆☆
The cool night air does wonders for my pounding head the longer I sit outside.
Samuel actually turns out to be a really chill guy, and after I calm down, we have some pretty deep chats. Just life shit mainly—I was kind of curious what paths he'd taken to end up as a bouncer at Sticky's.
Redundancy—same old fairytale.
I'm even wearing his paperboy hat because I liked it so much.
After the fight, the vibes were astronomically ruined, so everyone followed me out shortly after. I was given my bag back while Yasmine and Kiki took Jude home in an Uber.
Liam and Tasha remained behind with me.
"Hey man—there's not going to be any repercussions for Cam, right?" Liam asks, his head tilted back as both Tasha and I try to shove tissue paper up his bleeding nose.
He'd gotten absolutely decked by one of the guys in there. Saw the fist coming, was frozen in fear, and couldn't move. It's not broken or anything, but it'll sure as hell be bruised tomorrow.
"Tilt your head back more, baby," Tasha instructs, and he listens.
Liam groans. "'Cause I feel like this is repercussion enough."
"Nah, man. Besides, we know it ain't you guys who started the fight. That crazy chick was already on a warning from last time. We think she used a fake ID to get in." Samuel shrugs while eyeing Liam's nose with a little wince.
"Damn, well now I feel bad," I say with a small pout. "It's clearly mental illness."
"You sure can't fix crazy," Samuel nods as we all hum in agreement. "But are y'all gonna be okay, Cam?"
"Oh, of course, Samuel." I grin as I step back from the couple and fold my arms. "But thanks for asking—this is why you're my new best friend."
Tasha scoffs and glances over her shoulder at us. "When did this happen?"
"Before." I shrug. "When the fates tied our life strings together."
Tasha just laughs, shaking her head as she returns to patching up her boyfriend. I'm gonna have to get Liam a little gift to say sorry for getting him involved—he didn't deserve this. Poor little boy has never been in a fight in his life.
There's a rumble of a very familiar engine, and we're all turning to the curb just in time to see a blue Ram truck pulling up. It rolls to a stop, the engine turns off, and the driver's door opens on the other side.
A second later, Wes is rounding the front of the truck, and I'm groaning.
Because of course he looks like that.
He's in grey sweatpants—those sweatpants, the ones that hang low on his hips and do nothing to hide how built he is underneath. His white T-shirt stretches across his chest and shoulders, the sleeves snug around his biceps, like they're barely holding it together.
"Oh my god." I groan, leaning back on my hands. "Who called him?"
Liam and Tasha respond at the same time, "You did."
"Oh," I say, turning back around as Wes walks over to us.
Yep—now I remember. He wanted me to call him
His gaze sweeps over me, taking in my disheveled state with a mix of amusement and exasperation.
"Cameron," he says, his voice low and warm. "Making new friends, I see."
"New best friends. This is Samuel," I shoot back, gesturing at the bouncer, who gives Wes a brief nod.
"Wesley Reed—it's an honor, man," Samuel says as he reaches forward to shake Wes' hand.
"Yeah, nice to meet you." Wes nods to him before his gaze travels to Liam, and he frowns. "What the hell happened here?"
"Oh, y'know, just your regular Friday night. Lots of fun." Liam shrugs as Wes glances back at me, his gaze inspecting every inch of me for damage.
His hand slips to my hip. "You good?"
"Mhmm," I nod as I step closer to him.
What? He just smells so fucking good.
His hand travels further around to my lower back as he pulls me against him and I press my cheek to his chest, snuggling into his side and glance up at him. So comfy.
His concerned gaze flickering back to Liam just as Tasha finishes cleaning him up. "You two need a ride?"
"We're going to get food," Tasha shakes her head while standing up and turning to face us.
Liam's still staring up at the sky. "Burgers heal a broken nose. Burgers heal all."
"You sure, man? I don't mind—"
"Just get her home, Quarterback." Tasha grins at me softly. "It's been a rough night."
"...Okay." Wes exhales softly while glancing back down at me, a warm but anxious expression in his blue eyes as he checks me over again. "You ready to go, trouble?"
"Yep." I nod before I reach up and take off the hat atop my head. "Here you go, Samuel. I don't think I can do it as much justice as you do."
"Ah, thanks, Cam." Samuel smiles as he takes the hat from me and places it back on his head.
"Goodnight!" I wave my hand to the three before I feel Wes' arm curling around me tighter.
"Night, guys. You two get home safe," he advises the couple before turning me and guiding me back toward his truck.
Wes opens the passenger door, the dim light from inside the truck spilling out onto the curb.
He gestures with his chin. "In you go."
"Up." I turn to him, lifting my arms above my head with a large, cheesy grin.
His grin stretches wide, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. Then his hands are on my waist, warm and steady as he hoists me up like I weigh nothing. My hands instinctively fly to his shoulders for balance, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
His hands pull up the sides of my sheer tank and his fingers tickle my skin as he sets me on the passenger seat.
"Is this how you impress all the girls?" I ask, my words slurring slightly, and I rest back into the buttery leather.
"There's only one girl I want to impress, but I just never seem to," Wes scoffs, grabbing the seatbelt at my head and dragging it across my body to the clip by my hip.
I reach up and pat his cheek. "I'll have a chat with her."
He laughs into the cabin, his chest brushing against my arm as he clicks the seatbelt into place. The scent of his cologne—cedarwood and soap—floods my senses, and I freeze, staring at the side of his face as he works.
"Comfortable?" he asks, his voice dropping as he glances at me, his face just inches from mine.
"...Yes," I manage, my throat suddenly dry and my eyes on nothing but his lips.
He grins as he holds there for a second too long, teasing me, before he ducks out of the cabin and shuts the door.
Rude.
The driver's door opens moments later, and he slides in.
"First the lion, and now you're getting yourself into a bar fight," he grins while turning the ignition on. "Have you ever had a night out where you don't almost get arrested?"
I actually have to think about it for a second.
"I don't think so," I answer truthfully. "It makes our night more exciting. It's basically just the same effect as coke."
Wes side-eyes me. "You know what cocaine feels like?"
I falter. "...Nope."
"Always a fuckin' surprise..." He mutters, shaking his head with a grin and running a hand through his hair. "So where to?"
"Anywhere but home," I mutter, letting my head fall back against the seat.
His hands tighten on the wheel, his brows knitting together as he glances at me. "You're really torn up about this whole Scar thing, ain't you?"
"Of course not. I'm so, so happy for her!" I say with a big forced grin that doesn't even convince me. I sigh out and turn to the passenger window. "Ugh—I just hate not knowing things. I thought we were friends, but..."
Wes opens his mouth to speak.
"And like, I get she has boundaries, and I respect them. I do." I turn back to him and put my hand on the arm resting on the gear stick between us. "Am I just overthinking this?"
He tries again to talk.
"Shit—probably." I run a frustrated hand through my hair. "What else don't I know about her? About my friends? What if no one trusts me enough to let me in? Jude could be a serial killer, Tasha could unironically like white-boy rave music. Do I even know anything?"
Wes chuckles softly as he lifts his hand from the steering wheel and smooths it over my thigh—his pinky finger just sitting along the crease of my thigh and definitely way too fucking high for just friends.
But his palm is just so big and warm and comforting. And it feels so damn right on my leg, his long fingers sandwiched between my thighs.
"You're drunk and you're spiraling, Cam," Wes scoffs as I narrow my eyes at him in offense. "Whatever reason Scarlett had for not tellin' ya is probably a good one. This'll all blow over in no time, and y'all will be back to face masks and pillow fights in your underwear."
I blink at him.
He laughs. "What?"
"Is that what you think girls do together?"
"I'm a guy—I don't fuckin' know." Wes scoffs as he shrugs off his slight embarrassment, and it makes me laugh. I tilt my head toward him, letting out a little amused giggle as he shakes his head with a grin.
I sigh out with a small smile, my gaze sliding back to the road ahead as we drive back across town. "I know it'll be fine... I just don't want to go home tonight."
"Wasn't plannin' on it," Wes admits, and I side-glance at him. He grins. "Just asked to be a gentleman."
I can't help but laugh—short and sharp—and turn to the passenger window with Wes' hand wedged comfortably between my legs.
He doesn't remove it for the rest of the drive.