The Games We Play - Chapter 6: Chapter 6

"I think I need another beer," I say, waving to the server as I scrape the last of the ketchup off my plate with a fry.
"You need another personality," Jude replies, smirking as he sips his neon-pink cocktail. "One that appreciates the fact that you're suddenly the luckiest little bitch in Charlotte—in the United States of America."
I roll my eyes at his dramatic salute.
I groan, "Wouldn't call it luck."
"Divine blessing, then?" Tasha grins as she steals one of Scarlett's fries.
Scarlett sighs, slapping her hand away. "Get your own."
"I'm serious," Tasha says, sitting up straighter. "You're living your best life, Cam. New semester, new adventures, new... opportunities."
"Opportunities for what?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"To get dicked down." Tasha starts to groove like Trey Songz just blasted through the restaurant speakers. Of course, Jude joins in beside her.
The two match each other's vibe and dance together in the booth. Jude backs it up on the bench, grinding against Tasha's front.
I can't help but laugh at them, taking a fry and flicking it across the table at them. "I hate you."
Jude beams. "Oh, you love us!"
"Didn't that Will guy say he requested you specifically?" Scarlett asks after taking a sip of her golden beer. "How did he–"
I drop my gaze back down to my basket and shrug. "Maybe he heard about me from a friend or something—I don't know."
The smell of chargrilled burgers and fried onion rings hangs in the air, and the lights overhead are dim enough to make everything feel cozy.
Burger Theory is basically a UC rite of passage, and you're not a true Colts student if you haven't had a burger from here.
It's a small brick restaurant in Downtown Cornelius but has a great outdoor garden in the back, making it the perfect dinner spot in summer. We came early as a group—me, Jude, Scar, Tasha, and her boyfriend Liam.
And on a Sunday afternoon, we thought it would be a breeze.
But by the time we arrived, the garden was packed with every UC student imaginable, and we were placed in a booth near the open windows at the front.
Tasha grins, leaning over the table. "So, what's he like? Is he as hot up close as he is on the field? On all those posters? In my dreams? What does he smell like? What does he feel like? I need every filthy detail."
It doesn't seem to matter to her that her boyfriend of two years is sitting next to her. And it doesn't seem to matter to him either, as he seems just as eager to find out. They're a weird couple but so unbearably adorable and healthy.
"He's hot, ripped, and annoying as fuck," I grumble.
Jude slaps a palm on the table. "Someone give me a spoon. I'll get it out of her."
"He always seems so nice in all his interviews." Liam shrugs as he enters the conversation. "And all over the UC Colts' social media page. A true gentleman. And those baby-blue eyes—could make me do anything, I swear."
Tasha puts a hand on his shoulder. "He has a folder on Instagram reserved specifically."
I shrug. "Yeah—he's nice. A real charmer."
Tasha, Liam, and Jude all groan in annoyance.
"My kingdom for a spoon!" Jude announces to the entire restaurant.
"What do you want me to say? I'm his tutor—that's all there is to it." I take an aggressive bite of my fry and point it at the three on the other side of the table. "You want more info? Then tutor him yourself. I will gladly step aside."
"I swear—it's like someone's won the lottery, and they give it all away to charity." Jude drops his face into his hands, and Tasha wraps a supportive arm around him.
She glares back at me. "Look at what you've done."
I scoff at the pair, glancing up when the waiter appears at the table with another gloriously chilled beer.
I instantly take it out of his hands. "Thank you so much."
I can barely take a sip before it's ripped from my grasp. My mouth follows the rim of the glass as I try not to spill the liquid.
"Hey!" I glare at Scarlett, who is the last person I'd expect to take it away.
She shakes her head, holding my glass on her other side. "Nope—beer is for people who contribute to the conversation."
I chew on my bottom lip and narrow my eyes at her. I take a few seconds, measuring the physics of scaling her to grab my beer back. But I give up.
"Fine!" I grumble with an angry pout. "He smells clean. Like cedarwood and soap."
"Good girl." Scarlett smiles softly and hands my beer back.
I instantly down it.
Jude grins at the smug blonde. "It's fun when you play."
I finish my beer, the desire to relax and move on from today suddenly an urgent need, while everyone picks at the scraps of the burgers we all just demolished.
I don't know what they put in the burgers to turn me into some kind of starved beast, but the patties and bread just hit so damn well every time.
"Well, since the crypt-keeper over there won't give us anything good," Jude jerks his head at me, and I give back a pointed glare, "what are our plans for next Friday?"
"Football," Tasha and Liam reply in sync.
"And after?"
"Sleep," Scarlett and I reply in sync.
"No, babies." Jude shakes his head. "Sigma Chi fundraiser."
There's a beat of silence.
Jude blinks. "...We're going."
"I think you mean you're going," Scarlett says with a nod. "Have fun, honey."
"Oh, come on!" Jude writhes in his seat like a scolded child. "It's the start of the semester! There are no deadlines, no assignments, no exams. These next few weeks are basically a glorious no-man's-land where you can get blackout drunk and face no consequences."
I tilt my head. "What about hangovers?"
"That's only if you stop drinking." Jude waves a hand at me before addressing the table. "So? Are we keen? Scarlett looks totally keen."
We all look at her to see her face with the most bored, blank expression I have ever seen.
"Shit—it's for charity!" He points a finger at all of us. "So technically you're all cruel bitches if you don't come."
Tasha folds her arms. "What's the cause?"
Jude hesitates. "Uh, I don't know—Veterans or something—does it even matter? It's an excuse to look hot and get drunk, people."
We all roll our eyes and laugh at him.
"Pretty, pretty please." Jude turns his adorable pout up to one hundred and throws his arms around Tasha. "I only have fun when my bestest girls are by my side."
"No, you don't, babes—but sure, we're free," Tasha nods as she groups her boyfriend in with her. Liam just nods even though he's clearly not feeling it. Like I said—he follows her around like a lost puppy.
Jude looks to us. "What about my other two gorgeous girls?"
We pass each other a look—the both of us clearly having planned to just go home after the football game on Friday and watch a movie. We're turning into old women by the second.
"You'll feel better about this whole Wes Reed thing when you're drunk," Tasha adds helpfully.
I hesitate, my fingers drumming on the table.
"Well?" Scarlett asks, watching me closely.
Finally, I shrug. "Fuck it—sure."
Jude slams his hands on the table like a gavel. "Hell fucking yeah, bitches!"
"I'm gonna regret this, aren't I?" I mutter, shoving the last fry into my mouth.
"Oh, absolutely," Scarlett replies, smirking into her beer.
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
"I don't like it," Wes groans, slumping in his chair like a toddler who's just been told no.
"You don't have to like it," I reply, pushing the textbook toward him. "You just have to read this and focus."
"But why are we out here?" he asks, gesturing dramatically at the communal study tables around us. "What happened to the private study room?"
"All booked," I lie smoothly, keeping my eyes on my laptop.
Well—it's not technically a lie.
They could be all booked. I just haven't checked.
I didn't even try to reserve one.
After our last study session, I decided that being in a public space was the better option. Not because I think Wes is going to do anything—not really—but because I might.
And I can't.
Here, surrounded by students and the fluorescent hum of overhead lights, it's easier to keep some distance. At least in theory.
Wes doesn't look convinced, but he finally sits up, his elbows resting on the table. "Fine. But I ain't happy about it."
"Noted," I say dryly. "Now, focus. We've got a lot to go over. Did you do the reading?"
He nods with a sour expression.
"Great." I ignore his look, flipping open the textbook and pointing to a highlighted passage. "Let's start here. Tell me about linear perspective."
Wes looks at the page for about three seconds before leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "It's about... lines?"
I blink at him. "...So you didn't do the reading."
"Oh, c'mon, Cam!" Wes scoffs as I sit back in my chair with a roll of my eyes. "I started to read it and then I fell asleep."
"Awwww. Was the big quarterback tired from football practice?" I pout, tilting my head, watching the corners of his mouth twitch into a small smirk. "Does he need me to read it to him like a bedtime story?"
He smirks. "If you're offerin'."
I shove the book closer to him. "Focus."
He rolls his eyes, running his tongue along the teeth of his smirk, and leans over the book. He sniffs in and begins to read the small text.
Wes is quiet for a while, giving me time to work on my own laptop, but I can't help glancing over at him every now and then. I feel my smile growing when I notice his focused frown, the pad of his thumb brushing back and forth against his bottom lip.
He seems entirely locked in now, completely unaware of the hordes of students glancing over or taking quick snaps on their phones. The way people purposely change their trajectory to walk right past our table.
The way their gazes slide to me and turn curious, confused, or malicious.
I just brush them off—but I have to admit it does make me a little insecure because, even though they don't say anything, they don't have to. Everyone on this floor is wondering what the hell Wesley Reed is doing sitting across from me.
Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I turn my gaze back to my laptop.
"Damn, so this Brunelleschi guy figured all this out just by playin' with mirrors?" Wes asks, and I try not to cringe at his Southern drawl butchering the name. "He just reinvented how to see the world? Just like that?"
"Pretty much," I say, leaning back in my chair. "He was an architect, but he used mirrors and math to prove it worked. It was groundbreaking."
"Took art from cartoons to paintings that look real enough to walk through. Shit." Wes shakes his head, keeping his eyes trained on the paper.
I blink, taken aback by his insight. "That's... actually a really good way to put it."
His eyes flick to mine, holding my gaze for just a second longer than necessary. "Not just a pretty face."
"Mmhmm, put it in your bio," I scoff, leaning a forearm on the table as I return my attention to my textbook.
"If I do, I'm sayin' that it was a direct quote from you," Wes counters, and I glance up through my eyelashes at him with an annoyed yet amused smirk.
He chuckles softly, and I drop my gaze, hoping he'll get the message if I keep reading.
But then I hear the table creak, and suddenly his hand is in my peripheral vision. His fingers slip under a long brown curl hanging down in front of my shoulders. He plays with it a little before tucking it behind my ear.
I clench my jaw, staring at the words on the page as I attempt to calm myself down.
"Wes."
He pulls his hand back before I bite it and rests his chin on it. "What? It was in your face. I was just helpin' you out."
Cheeky little shit.
"Alright," I sit up straighter and hold out my hand. "New rule: you wanna touch me, it's a five-dollar fee."
"What?" He laughs in disbelief.
"I'm serious. Every time you touch me, it distracts us both, we argue, and then we end up going over our allotted time. Therefore—you need to pay me more." I explain as Wes listens, amused but attentive. I shrug. "If you don't want to fork out, just don't touch me."
He nods, and I smile triumphantly, finally having gotten through to him.
I turn back to my laptop, happy but mostly relieved. It's for the best. He can't be touching me all the time, blurring the lines with those big quarterback hands of his and—
A five-dollar note drops in front of my face on to my keyboard, and it takes me a second to process what it is. When I do and glance up, he's smirking at me and slipping his wallet back into his pocket.
He shrugs. "Just followin' your rules."
"Keep reading." I roll my eyes as he chuckles lowly and drops his gaze to the book.
I stare at him longer than necessary—kind of shocked that he paid me. I mean, I know I said it, but it was more just a threat to keep him at bay.
Now, my student loan will probably be paid off sooner than expected because he's so damn touchy.
I shake my head, exhale, and turn back to my own work.
Eventually, Wes finishes the passage, and I get him to write down some bullet points about the reading from memory.
He types them up and turns his laptop to me so I can read over his points. I focus hard—some points are a little confusing, but he seems to understand the main purpose of the piece.
Eventually, Wes finishes the passage and leans back with a loud, exaggerated sigh, like he's just spent three hours hauling hay instead of reading a few paragraphs. His chair creaks under the shift, and he stretches his arms above his head, grinning at me like he's waiting for applause.
"All done," he announces, sliding his laptop toward me like it's a peace offering. "How'd I do? Don't hold back now—I can take it."
I squint at the screen, reading over his bullet points.
They're... not terrible.
A few are a little scattered, but he's actually grasped the main idea of the reading. I make a couple of notes in the margins and nod.
"Not bad," I admit reluctantly, tapping a few corrections into the margins. "You're starting to get it."
Wes's face lights up like I just handed him a trophy. "Should mark this down—I reckon that's the first compliment you've ever given me."
"Don't let it go to your head," I warn, pushing his laptop back toward him. "I'd hate to cost the Colts their season because their quarterback exploded."
"Too late." He grins, and I'm suddenly reminded of a golden retriever who's just learned how to sit for the first time.
"Okay," I say, stretching my arms above my head. "That's enough for today. You've got homework. Go over the next chapter and summarize it before our next session."
Wes doesn't move, still sprawled in his chair like he owns the place. "Whoa, hold on, I'm starvin'."
"And? That sounds a lot like a you problem," I reply, arching a brow.
"You wouldn't let a man waste away, would ya?" He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, his voice dropping into a slow, honeyed drawl. "Not when he's been workin' so hard to make you proud."
I snort. "Nice try, Golden Boy. I told you—I don't do lunches with my students."
He grins, unbothered. "What about coffee?"
I narrow my eyes. "You don't give up, do you?"
"Not when it comes to you." He tilts his head, watching me like he's daring me to say no. "Coffee ain't socializin', right? It's just caffeine. Strictly business."
He's got me there, and the irritating twinkle in his eye tells me he knows it. I glance at the clock on my laptop. It's late, and the caffeine headache creeping in isn't doing me any favors.
"Fine," I sigh, snapping my laptop shut. "But just coffee. No lingering. No distractions. And you're buying."
"Yes, ma'am," he says with a mock salute, standing up so fast his chair scrapes against the floor. "After you."
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
The coffee shop is buzzing with the usual late-afternoon crowd—students hunched over laptops, the hum of conversation, and the whir of the espresso machine.
I stand off to the side, waiting in the usual spot where people pick up their to-go orders, scrolling through my phone while Wes is at the counter, working his charm on the girl behind the register.
She's giggling at something he's said, her cheeks pink as she punches in our order. He turns slightly and throws me a wink over his shoulder, like we're co-conspirators in his little game.
He slides a bill into the tip jar and strolls over to me with ease, every pair of eyes in the damn shop following him as he moves.
"Do you have to flirt with everyone you meet?" I ask as he nears me.
"Nah—that was just good manners." He shrugs as he stands beside me, facing the counter as I am. "What kinda man would I be if I didn't brighten her day a little?"
I scoff, "You are aware the line practically doubled while you were 'brightening her day' because she took forever to input our orders, right?"
He glances over his shoulder and sucks in air through his teeth. "Ah, yeah, that might be on me."
I laugh, shaking my head as I turn off my phone and fold my arms over my chest, my eyes flickering to the two baristas slinging mugs and chocolate powder like no tomorrow.
He shifts closer, his shoulder almost brushing mine. "So, tell me, Cameron. What do you do for fun, outside of makin' me crazy?"
"Seriously? Small talk?"
"Can't have us standin' here awkwardly while we wait, can we?" he asks with a cheeky grin as I glance up at him. "Besides—we'll be spendin' the semester together. Should at least try to get to know each other."
"Should we?"
"Well, I reckon," he says with a grin, crossing his arms and leaning slightly toward me. "Ain't no harm in a little professional conversation, is there?"
I huff a breath through my nose, resolutely avoiding looking at him. But his grin is persistent, disarming in a way that feels almost... easy. Too easy.
"Okay," I say finally. "I love to binge-watch trashy reality TV. That fun enough for you?"
His eyes light up, and he nudges me lightly with his elbow. "Now we're talkin'. What's your go-to trash? The Kardashians? Shark Tank? Those cheesy baking competitions?"
I shrug, the corners of my mouth threatening to tug into a smile. "Reality real estate shows—the ones where agents in designer suits sell multi-million-dollar mansions but somehow end up fighting over the stupidest shit. I live for the bitchiness."
"You do, huh?"
I scoff. "Oh my god, yes. You gotta watch it."
"Yours or mine?" he says with a grin, and my smile slowly fades. His grin only widens. "No?"
"No."
"Damn, you're tough to crack," Wes says before his grin turns more seductive. "But it's fine, Cam—I like a challenge."
"Oh my god." I chuckle, shaking my head as Wes chuckles with me.
The barista calls out our order, and Wes saunters over to grab the drinks. He comes back balancing his smoothie in one hand and my overly sweet, Instagram-worthy coffee in the other.
"Here you go," he says, handing me the cup with a grin. "Some kind of caramel cookie crumble thing. Too many damn words—not sure if I got it all."
"It's a caramel cookie latte with extra caramel drizzle," I say, taking it from him and cradling the cup like it's a precious gem. "And it's perfect. Thank you."
Wes chuckles, holding up his smoothie like a trophy. "Meanwhile, I'm stuck with this green stuff. Gotta refuel after practice."
I raise an eyebrow. "What even is that? Kale? Spinach? Grass clippings?"
"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to," he replies, taking a sip and grimacing slightly. "It's fuel, not flavor."
"Tragic," I say, savoring a sip of my coffee. The warm, sugary sweetness spreads through me, exactly what I needed.
"Damn tragic." he chuckles but grimaces as he takes another sip of his smoothie, "Yeah—I gotta your order next time."
That makes me laugh as I turn and head to the exit first, with Wes following close behind.
We step outside, the late-afternoon sun casting a warm glow over the campus. Wes falls into step beside me, one large hand wrapped around his clear smoothie cup as he takes another sip.
"So," he says after a moment, "you really not gonna sit inside and enjoy the vibe, huh?"
I glance at him, raising an eyebrow. "Enjoy the vibe? You were the one complaining about the noise and distractions at Stodden like five minutes ago."
"Yeah, well," he mutters, scratching the back of his neck, "maybe I changed my mind."
I stop walking and turn to face him. "What happened to 'no socializing,' huh? I was just following the rules, Golden Boy."
Wes sighs dramatically, running a hand through his hair. "Damn. So this is what I get for being a man of my word. Should've known it'd come back to bite me."
I smirk, taking another sip of my latte as we start walking again.
After a beat, he glances at me, his expression softening. "Thanks for stickin' with it, though. With the tutorin;, I mean. I'm already learnin' a helluva lot more with you than I am in Grady's class."
I look at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.
"You're actually doing well," I admit. "If you can stay focused, you should pass without any issues."
Wes stops walking and looks at me like I've just handed him the game-winning touchdown. "Cam, you keep saying stuff like that, I might start thinking you actually like me."
"Well, we can't have that," I reply, though I can't help the small smile tugging at my lips.
We reach the point where we usually part ways—one path leads to the football facilities, The Stables, and the other leads to the School of Architecture. We come to a stop on the side of the smooth path, students continuing to swarm around, clearly sweltering under the sun.
The tight ribbed white tank I'm wearing is helping, but I'd made the grave mistake of trusting the weather forecast and wore my light-washed boyfriend jeans today.
I hug my laptop closer to my body. "Well, thanks for the coffee. I'll see you later, Wes."
"Don't miss me too much, Cameron." He leans in, catching me completely off guard.
His lips brush my cheek, warm and fleeting, but enough to make my breath hitch.
Then I feel it—a faint pressure against the back of my jeans as he shifts just slightly, his hand brushing against my ass ever so faintly.
"You have yourself a good day," he whispers into my ear, and I can hear the shit-eating grin in his words.
I blink, and he's gone.
I'm frozen for a moment as he strides away, his broad shoulders radiating that infuriating confidence.
He glances over his shoulder, grinning wickedly at me and the sun shines brighter.
Grinning despite myself, I sigh and slide a hand over the swell of my hip and then around to my ass.
My fingers brush something in my pocket. I reach round futher, my hand closes around a small sheet of paper and I slip it out and around to my front.
A short, sharp laugh bursts from my chest at the sight of a crumpled five dollar bill.
"Unbelievable," I mutter, staring at the bill in my hand before shoving it back into my pocket.
I turn back toward the library, giggling softly to myself. And for the rest of the walk, my cheek still tingles where he kissed it.