The Gamble: A Novel (26 page)

Slightly taken off guard, I balk before asking, “Can we talk alone?”

“We are alone.”

“We're at the bar.”

“Where do you wanna go?”

“Outside?”

“He's making me a drink.”

“And the liquor won't be gone.”

“It might be,” she argues playfully. “You don't know.”

He delivers her the dark concoction and she reaches to pay when I say, “Just add it to my tab, please.”

“I can pay for my own drink.”

“In fact, anything else she orders for the rest of the night, just add it onto my tab.”

“You got it,” the bartender says and rings it up.

“Thanks,” Alexxa's harsh exterior starts to waver. “I can pay for my own drinks though.”

“Yeah.” Grabbing my beer from in front of me, I see a spot open on the lounge couches. “Let's talk over there.”

Reluctantly, she follows across the crowded space and to the slightly secluded area.

She sits down beside me and immediately insists, “Can we make this quick? Drunk trivia starts in like five minutes.”

Growing increasingly annoyed with her nonchalant behavior I bite, “Depends on if you can drop the bullshit act or not.”

Alexxa puts her glass down next to my beer. “Who's acting?”

“You.”

“Am I?”

“Alexxa, I know you're pissed about what happened yesterday-”

“No.” She shakes her head slowly. “I'm not.”

This is some sort of trap. I can see it. I fucking know it. And I'm gonna walk right into this ass whooping.

“Baby-”

“Oh no.” Her finger promptly lifts. “Don't call me that.”

“See. Pissed.”

“No,” she denies again. “Just not your baby.”

My mouth cracks open.

“Not your baby. Not your girl. I'm not even your fucking friend, Luca.” The start of her speech clamps it closed. “Whatever was between us fact or fiction is fucking over. You know why I'm not pissed off at
you
? Because it's not your fault.”

Bafflement cloaks me.

“It's mine.” All of a sudden the pain she had been cleverly hiding behind her bright smile and glossed lips shines. “I was the one who was stupid enough to buy into all the hype. To fall for every bread crumb you dropped. I was the one who was so fucking desperate to believe someone as selfish as you, someone as self-centered as you could ever fucking change. It was an amazing play on your part.”

“But it wasn't a play, Alexxa. Everything happened from the moment we kissed, fuck that, from the moment you agreed to race me in the skating rink, was real.”

Huh. Why the hell do I feel like I'm just now getting that?

“Wow,” a soft sigh coated in tears leaves her. “You really put the con in convincing, you know that? Even now, even after knowing it was all some petty high school bullshit game, I wanna believe you. You deserve the win you brought home.” She sniffles, snatches her drink, and stands. “Enjoy my goodbye party, Luca. They're not the only ones I'm saying goodbye to tonight.”

Not leaving room for a rebuttal she struts away.

This....this isn't over. I can't just
lose
her like that. This has to be half-time or third quarter or bases loaded, tied up game. Whatever it is, it just can't be over. I can't lose the only person I've ever been in love with. No. Fuck that. I won't. I may be injured and time may be running out, but I'm not a quitter. Larson's never quit.

Alexxa

“Sorry if that one's a little heavy, Grant,” I call to him over my shoulder, finally loading the last of my boxes into the new condo.

Good news. It's fully furnished. Saves me a high credit card bill for at least a year. Bad news? She was very particular about how much space she allowed me for my shit. For instance, she left me one cabinet empty for
my
dishes. All beds have been stripped and closets emptied yet the back bedroom is locked because that's where she's storing all her shit. The pool and hot tub are free to use but I can't park my car in the garage. Moving anything is a no, no, no, but putting up my own touches in the house where she left space to is a sure, sure, sure. Not gonna lie. Part of me hopes she meets some dude on set, falls in love, and just sells this place. Despite her eccentric demands I'm madly in love with it already. Huh. Why is it I keep falling in love with things that will never actually be mine? Idiot walking.

“What the hell is in here?” Grant grunts dropping the box on the floor.

“Probably my signed collection of spy novels from T.N. Delvenbauch.”

He pushes up his glasses. “Books. This heavy, unlabeled box, is books?”

“
Signed
books. Luca and Warren have been helping me collect them for the past few years.” The minute their names are off my tongue a knot replaces them.

Warren would go hunting at used bookstores with me. He liked the way books smelled, old or new, and he was always discovering some therapy treasure. Most of the time after a good hunt, we'd grab sushi since Luca despises food that small. And Luca? Luca would just randomly order a new one and try to brush it off like he'd stumbled across it accidentally. He wasn't very good at pretending it was an accident, which is remarkable considering how well he pretended to fall in love with me.

“Then they should've been the ones to have to move it,” he grumbles under his breath until Marie whacks him in the stomach. “Ou...”

“Anyway,” Marie cheerfully starts. “Since you're all moved in, what do you say we go celebrate with a couple margaritas? My treat!”

“Wish I could,” I deny and stumble away for my cell phone that's vibrating on a counter somewhere. As I begin my search for it I say, “But I've got two scripts to look at and two potential clients to convince Ken to take on.” Carefully moving around the boxes of dishes, I finish with, “Not to mention like ten emails to search through for audition notices. Found it!”

I swipe open the text message.

Luca: Know you're still not talking to me, but it's moving day. Need help?

For a brief moment I stare at it in awe.

These past two weeks have been hell. I mastered the art of the fake smile a long time ago, but the beauty of it was always simple. I mastered the art of the fake one because I had two of the best guys around to give me the real one. Now I don't. Like moving in, moving on will just have to be an adjustment. One adjustment that will be a helluva lot easier when Luca and Warren stop trying to call, stop leaving me voice mails, and stop texting me essay long apologies I don't bother reading.

I delete the message.

“You okay?” Marie calls out unable to see my face, which is good.

Considering the rant that left her when she found out I'm slightly surprised she hasn't taken the liberty of deleting them from my phone herself. And before you bother asking why haven't I done it yet let me just say, it's a process! Purging the old shit that weighs you down is a process. I'll get there. First my old hot pink cowgirl boots I've never worn then the two dickheads who have over worn their spots in my life. The boots? A drunken, late night shopping whim. Don't drink and click. It's dangerous.

“Fine.” I appear around the kitchen wall and lean up against it. “Thank you two again for helping on such short notice.”

“No problem,” she sighs. “Need anything else before we go?” After I shake my head, she offers me another smile. “All right, well....I'll text you later to check on ya.”

I wave goodbye and watch the two of them exit my new place of residence. The sound of the door clicking shut seems to echo through the empty condo.

It didn't feel this empty when I toured it. Didn't feel this empty when Luca came to check out the pool and insist the T.V. was perfect for watching Sunday night games. He even went on and on about grilling in the back yard and how it was so much better for having couples over like Kellar and Megan...

Another wave of sadness hits me, this one too much to take standing up. My back hits the wall and I slowly crumble until my forehead is resting on my bent arms, which are wrapped around my knees.

How could I be so fucking stupid? Why am I still so upset about this? I need to move on. I need to let it go. Fuck. Why can’t I let him go?

**

I lean back on the arm of the couch and enjoy watching the sun set over the pool. The way the light hits it and the trees in the distance looks like the kind of screen saver that would be found in the top ten picture searches on Google. A small smile slips on my face.

Not a bad view for a new beginning.

Unexpectedly, there's a light tapping on the front door. Instead of hopping up to answer it, I sit still, hoping the door to door whatever it most likely is will go away without being asked. The tapping turns into a full fledged knocking. I frown.

Who tries to sell people shit at this time of the evening anyway? Oh! Maybe it's a delivery flier guy! That would be handy as shit right now considering the fact I need to eat and am not leaving this place.

Cracking the front door open, I catch the breath that tries to escape. My face falls frozen and my eyes lower to a glare. “Go. Away.”

“I've got a welcome home gift,” Warren tempts. “And a welcome home meal.”

Seeing the two objects in his hands tugs successfully at the two intended areas inside. I huff, “They can stay.
You
can go.”

“How about you keep them both and give me ten minutes to talk to you?”

“Two.”

“Five?” He counters.

I give his worn face and exhausted body a good once over. He's in his work clothes, which means he came straight from there, which also means my enchiladas are probably still fairly hot.

Another perk of this condo was it's closer to my favorite place to eat. Luca hated how I would be closer to Warren's job and could pop in to see him whenever. You know I thought it was a kinda cute jealous thing. Now I see the real reason he didn't want me around our so called shared best friend all the time. He didn't want their dirty little secret exposed before he had a chance to fuck me into forgetting how fucking wrong it was.

Opening the door for him to enter, I state, “Clock starts now.”

“Right,” he completely agrees.

I snatch the food out of his hand and head for the kitchen to devour the irenic offering.

Have barely eaten since everything happened. And seeing him does fill me with rage rather than hunger, but I've still gotta put food in my stomach. Fake smile. Fake eat. Fake it 'til it doesn't fucking hurt so bad any more. It's a pretty solid plan.

“Tick-tock,” I remind him.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat and inches into the kitchen. “I know you hate me-”

“With a passion.” Ripping off the top of the container to the enchiladas, I add, “If you came to state the obvious, you're wasting both of our time.”

Warren lets out a deep exhale. “You deserve to hate me. Us.”

I reach for a plastic fork, eyes locked on my meal.

“What we did was royally fucked up.”

“Yet you did it anyway.”

“I didn't want to,” his voice wavers. “But I figured...I...Honestly, I never thought it would get that far.”

My eyes shoot over to his.

“You know, it was
you
. I never thought you would-”

“Fuck Luca?”

He shrugs.

“So it's okay to bet on me because you never thought it would actually happen?”

“No! No!” Warren rushes to correct. “It was never okay, Alexxa. You're our goddamn best friend-”

“Was.” I turn back around to my dinner. “Was. Was. Was.”

“I never thought things would get here. I figured Luca would get bored before that point. He loves a fucking challenge, but he likes getting his dick stroked a little more.” There's a short pause. “Or at least I thought he did. Or maybe he used to before you. Either way, I never thought you would go for him. I never thought...Well, I never thought-”

“That I'd be stupid enough to let myself land on the Luca Larson hit it list.” My head sharply turns again. “That makes two of us. And if it wouldn't have been for his relentless manipulation tactics to win a fucking bet, I could've stayed off of it. Instead? I'm on it and he gets to brag about how he took a sweet, little virgin to bed to whoever it is that will listen. Congratulations for fucking us both over, Warren.”

“I-”

“Two minutes.”

Frustration and torment swirl in his eyes. “I'm not trying to make an excuse.”

I lift my eyebrows.

“Fine. I am. And that's even more fucked up. There's no reason we should've ever done what we did. You didn't deserve it. There's nothing you could've done in a million years to deserve it.”

His words start to weigh on my shoulders.

“And I know it was wrong. Even if Luca refused to admit it, he knew it too. But I'm not here to plead his fucking case. I'm here to plead mine.”

Surprised by the declaration, I swivel my body to lean against the counter, and fold my arms across my chest.

“I'm sorry, Alexxa. For everything. You're the best friend I've ever had and I fucked that up. Maybe it was the idea of actually having more than a hundred dollars in my bank account or maybe it was the joy I would get out of beating Luca at his own fucking game for
once
that drove me to be stupid enough to fuck over our friendship. Either way, it was wrong and I'm really fucking sorry. I know sorry will never be enough. And I know bringing you your favorite food isn't enough. I'm not looking for enough though. I'm just looking for a place to start. I don't wanna lose you.”

Feeling my emotions sway, I look away.

Alright, on a scale of one to murder him while he's sleeping and convince the cops I was sleep walking so I had no idea what happened, turning me into a bet because he let his pride get in the way has to be at least an attempt to smother him. He doesn't deserve instant forgiveness and he's not going to get either. But I can't stand here and pretend I've never lost good judgment because I let myself lose focus of what truly matters. And in his defense he didn't go out of his way to pretend to be someone he wasn't so he could trap me. He didn't use my emotions like his personal beer pong table. Warren definitely screwed up, but maybe after some time and several months of free enchiladas, we can get back to the way things used to be.

“I don't trust you,” I whisper.

“I don't blame you.”

“I don't even like you very much.”

He tries not to grin. “I'm not a huge fan of myself either.”

“Good,” I hum and face my food again. After finally taking a bite, I sigh, “And just because I'm willing to listen to you grovel, doesn't mean you can act as the messenger for Luca.”

“Nothing to worry about there,” Warren quickly says. “We're not exactly on speaking terms.”

Surprised by the new information, I turn to face him once more. “What do you mean not exactly on speaking terms?”