The Rush (53 page)

             
“What!” I would have made a terrible reporter. “I am not a liar! And I have never gambled a day in my life! How can you possibly know so much and so little about me at the same time?”  This was possibly the most exasperating conversation I had ever had.

             
“I make it a point to know my players, Ellie. Especially ones that come into the game waving money around like you did,” he explained patiently with that same cocky smile on his face.

             
I had the strongest urge to smack him. And I had never, not in my entire life, ever felt like hitting anything before!

             
“Clearly you have me confused with somebody else because I have no clue what you are talking about!”

             
“That is not going to work on me!” the anger was simmering under the surface again, his eyes turning almost black with emotion.

             
“Ok, Ok, Ok,” I backtracked quickly. “I can see that. So, just for fun, how about you explain to me exactly how I came to owe you all this money and then we can figure this out together. I want you to get your money just as badly as you do, I promise, alright?”

             
He seemed to think that over for a minute, his face relaxing back to movie-star-stranger instead of serial-killer-stranger. It didn’t take a genius to figure out which version I liked best.

             
“Alright, fine. We can do this your way. Especially if you promise you’ll help me get my money,” he said evenly and then waited for me to answer.

             
“Yes, I promise. I mean, I know I don’t owe you the money. But if there is any way I can help you get it, I’d be glad to help.” What I didn’t say was that as long as I didn’t have to shoot, stab or bury somebody I would be glad to help. Plus, these were mostly just empty promises until I could get him out of my apartment, lock the three deadbolts and then call the police.

             
“About a week and a half ago, you contacted me about joining the game. I had heard your name around campus and knew that your request was entirely out of the ordinary for you. So I started to ask around and that’s when I found out you just got dumped. It made sense then, why you would want to play. Even if I didn’t think it was a good idea, I’ve been dumped before, I guess I could relate in a way.”

             
“You’ve been dumped?” I scoffed before I could stop myself. He was gorgeous, all testosterone and muscles, standing in the middle of my kitchen with his gray t-shirt, loose jeans and flip flops. Plus, he was more than just a little intimidating; I could hardly believe a girl found enough courage to break up with him!

             
He seemed to find this more amusing than anything and actually broke into an eye-twinkling grin. Yes, his eyes twinkled. I was so shocked by the expression I had to look away. He was more dangerously good looking than ever and a strange heat lit a fire in my belly. So I cleared my throat and pretended that never happened.

             
“Sure, I’ve been dumped,” his smile turned wicked and I suddenly felt like he was hiding something. “So I know what it’s like to do something reckless after the heartache.”

             
I snorted. “There wasn’t that much heartache. Trust me. You were right when you called him a cheating…. uh, you know.”

             
“Douche bag?” he questioned.

             
“Yes, that,” I blushed a deep red. I wasn’t a missionary. But Ok, sometimes curse words made me uncomfortable.

             
He actually let out a soft chuckle at that. I was becoming unending entertainment for this guy and I was suddenly hit with a wave of irritation. He didn’t know me!

             
Although… he kind of did know me. Or at least a lot of random facts about me and it was definitely weirding me out.

             
“Anyway, when you proved you had the buy-in, I decided to give you a chance. I mean, who was I to judge your methods of coping, am I right?” he asked and actually waited for my agreement.

             
“I guess so,” but an ugly foreboding feeling started to unfurl inside my chest and I suddenly found it hard to breathe.

             
“In fact, if you remember, I even advised you to hold back some since I didn’t want to see you lose everything at once.”

             
“And you advised me how?” I clarified, trying to piece this together. Except I wasn’t even sure what he was talking about. Buy-in? Game? None of this was making sense.

             
“Private message,” when I gave him a blank look, he continued, “online.”

             
“Online,” I repeated.

             
“Yes, online. But you didn’t listen to me. And then you got way over your head, lost and now you owe me seven thousand dollars.” He finished arrogantly and I almost expected him to bow.

             
“I lost in a game of….” I prompted slowly, so afraid of the answer my hands had started to tremble.

             
“Texas Hold ‘Em.” When I continued to just stare at him, he finally added. “Poker. Online poker.”

             
“Oh my goodness,” I winced, suddenly the puzzle was pieced together and in front of me. I was going to be sick. I was going to be really sick. I reeled in a circle, desperately searching for a place to sit down, but all of my furniture was gone. Another wave of clarity rippled through me and my stomach actually lurched this time. I took off for the kitchen sink and gripped the stainless steel basin. I ignored the anal retentive voice inside me screaming about germs, not because I wasn’t worried about them, but because thinking about them was making it worse. I choked on a gag and then dropped my head forward so I could breathe in and out deeply through my nose.

             
“You’re not going to….? Are you going to be sick?” the guy asked from behind me. He didn’t sound concerned, just really grossed out.

             
I waved an aggravated hand behind me, hoping he would get the hint and just leave. He didn’t, or if he did he ignored it and instead walked over to the fridge and opened it. I heard him rummage through the practically empty appliance; my college sized budget didn’t cover much more than a value pack of Ramen Noodles. I heard the telltale sign of a pop can opening and then the fizzy bubbles of ginger ale were placed in front of my nose.

             
He placed the can to my lips and then tilted it back before I could protest. I took a small drink and then stood up before he could force anymore down my throat. The carbonated beverage settled in my stomach and coated the nausea with something soothing.
        Ok, that felt alright.

             
I took the can from his hand, my fingers accidentally brushing over his before I took possession and then sipped another soothing drink.              

             
“That wasn’t me,” I finally choked out, squeezing my eyes shut.

             
“What?” he asked and I jumped by how close he was.

             
I took a step back, opened my eyes to meet his and said slower, “That wasn’t me. I didn’t place the bet, or play the game or whatever. It was my roommate, she must have…. stolen my identity! I swear to you, not even an hour ago I found this note that said she had a gambling addiction and she was going to rehab. She owes me money too! “

             
A long, very still moment of silence stretched between us before he said, “She stole your identity?”

             
“Yes!” I squealed. Even I could tell how high pitched and annoying that was, but I couldn’t help it! “And my furniture,” I said with further emphasis.

             
“I was actually wondering about that,” he said pensively.

             
“So you see? It’s not me that owes you seven thousand dollars, it’s her.”

             
“But she’s gone? To rehab? With all of your furniture?” His phrases sounded like questions, but they didn’t feel like them. It felt more like he was trying the words out, rolling them around on his tongue and deciding whether or not I was lying.

             
“Yes!” I answered anyway, hoping he would believe me.

             
“You can see why your version of what happened is hard to believe,” he sighed and if I didn’t know better, or if maybe I wouldn’t have slapped my hands over my eyes, I would have been able to assure myself there wasn’t a hint of amusement in his voice, or the sound of him smiling. Those things were all products of my delusional imagination…..

             
“Yes, I could see why, but it’s the truth,” I promised, struggling to peek from behind my fingers.

             
“Regardless of what happened, your name is still signed on my contract, you still owe me my money,” he stated finally.

             
“Contract?” I croaked.

             
“Online document, your initials were used. Unless you have a way to prove to me that it wasn’t you who signed the document, I have to assume it was you. I mean, that’s a lot of money. It’s not exactly like I can just look the other way.”

             
“But it wasn’t me! I’m sure I can prove it, I just need…. time,” I pleaded, my head spinning with every kind of crazy thought to get out of this.

             
His hand went up to cup his chin in thoughtful silence for a while. His eyes roved over me again, taking in every piece of me as if to weigh it and decided whether I was a liar. Finally, after several minutes of quiet, he said, “I’m a nice guy-”

             
“You’re not a nice guy. You’re a scary guy,” I confessed honestly and probably a little frantically too.

             
A bark of laughter fell out of his mouth before he could compose himself, “You don’t even know me!”

             
“You’re right! I don’t even know your name,” I pointed out, suddenly realizing that should have probably been the first thing I found out.

             
“Ah,” he stewed on that for a moment and then said, “Finely Hunter.”

             
I gulped. “Finely Hunter?” Ok, the online gambling thing made sense now. Because Finely Hunter, the senior track star, rumored to go through girls like Kleenex’s during flu season and ditch more classes than he attended, was also rumored to run an online on campus gambling site the university had been trying to shut down for three years.

“Fin,” he smiled at me. “You can call me Fin.”

              “You are a nice guy, “I drawled.

             
His grin widened to wicked mischief. “So nice, I’m not going to make you give me my money tonight.”

             
“You’re not?”

             
“No, I have a solution that will help both of us get what we want,” he announced confidently.

             
“You do?” I asked dryly with so much less confidence.

             
“Just don’t forget, you promised you would help.” The hard, authoritative look returned to his eyes and a shiver of nerves climbed up my spine.

             
I guess I promise.

And now an excerpt from Down ‘N’ Derby, the third installment in the Love and Skate Series by Lila Felix

Chapter 2

Reed

The lady across the street made a grave mistake by opening her garage yesterday.  I swore I saw at least eighty boxes of Girl Scout Cookies over there just waiting for me.  And then she closed it. Doesn’t she know my everlasting craving for cookies? I tried to get a stick from the yard and say “
Comehereium Cookiosa” but it didn’t work.  And has she sent her daughters over here to sell them to me? No. 

Freakin
’ Girl Scouts.

             
I’m in trouble.  I’m in so deep that I’m looking through shit shaded lenses.  If one of them looks at me point blank and asks whether or not I’ve heard from him, I’m dead.  Because I don’t think I could bold faced lie to them.  Hiding something was one thing but openly lying to my family was another.  I understood all of those months in which Falcon hid the house thing from me.  It hurt my heart to lie to Falcon, to Nellie, to all of them.  I justified it to myself saying that even if they knew where he was, he would still go through with finding his dad.  But I knew the truth, I was a dirty liar.  This whole thing was tough.  Mostly because Falcon would be hurt beyond belief.  But Mad made me swear.  It’s that fine line we all rode on.  I would never expect Falcon to tell me Nellie’s secrets.  I’m sure those two gossipers had plenty of stories and I didn’t expect for him to tell me a single one. 

             
Mad was in Arkansas the first time he called me.  It was the time he made me swear on my parents’ dead souls that I wouldn’t tell.  I have this tiny black and white marbled notebook that I write down where he calls from and the phone number; then I delete it from my phone.  God help me if Nellie actually takes the time to look at her phone records.  The second time he called it was from Oak Grove, Arkansas.  I snuck on my laptop and Googled the location.  Nixon also called me once.  He whispered, so I assumed Mad didn’t know.  They had made it to Missouri and were stopping for the night.  I kept track of it for my sanity and for safety’s sake.  God forbid if something happened to him, I would at least know where he was last.