The Worst Kind of Promise: Chapter 19

If there’s one thing my team holds near and dear to their heart, besides our red-blooded love for hockey, it’s some good, friendly competition. Usually involving alcohol of some kind. Lots of it.

I really didn’t want to be included in the team’s annual drinking game—especially with Faye playing—but Gage wasn’t taking no for an answer. And now, occasionally catching the glower on her face or the hushed insults under her breath, I’m subjecting myself to whatever ethically questionable game Gage has cooked up for us. Knowing him, I’ll probably end the night face-down in my underwear or possibly knocked out cold a mile away from the house. Both of which would be better consequences than having to face the love of my life after brutally ripping her heart out.

Faye looks a lot better than I do. In fact, the waist-squeezing corset she has on right now is making it impossible to concentrate on the rules of the game. Black lace hugging the defined curve of her hips, the tight cinch across her ribs pushing her small breasts to pillow over the sinfully low neckline. And she has this fucking black ribbon threaded in her hair—one that I want to unravel in my fist while I tease my tongue along her bottom lip.

Whenever my gaze flicks to her, I have to ignore the desire in my belly that’s a few ill-advised steps away from rocketing to high heaven. I know corsets are hard to take off—that there’s a bunch of ties and shit—but at this rate, I’d snap the thing in two to get even the smallest glimpse of her flawless skin.

Not that she’d probably ever let me. She’s pissed, and rightfully so. I know that I wanted to talk to her as soon as possible, but I didn’t even take into consideration if she’d give me the time of day. Which, surprise, she hasn’t.

Gage has five cups stacked in a pyramid at the opposite ends of the coffee table, all filled halfway with whatever alcohol we’ve had wasting away in our cupboards. He doesn’t always like to disclose what we’re drinking, which usually sledgehammers me around my third drink in.

The whole team is here, including Aeris and Faye, who both seem like they’re starting to regret partaking in tonight’s battle royale.

“Are we playing Beer Pong?” Aeris asks, peeking over the rims of the red solo cups curiously.

An evil grin touches Gage’s lips. “Not exactly.”

“Gage, I’m not cleaning up any more yack,” Hayes says.

“It’s a tame game, I promise. Nobody’s gonna yack or lose their clothes tonight. Or end up on a mattress in the middle of a lake.”

“Yeah, that was a lot less funny when I woke up to find a field trip of fifth graders surrounding me,” Casen mutters, a frown underscoring the steel-set glare of his eyes.

Faye doesn’t look my way as she laughs to herself, and God, what I would’ve given to see her eyes glitter with mirth when she did—her deep-cut smile lines, the scrunch of her nose, how she sometimes tips her head back in a candid way that deserves to be captured on camera.

I can’t stop staring at her, and I’m not doing it inconspicuously. Pretty sure I have cartoon love hearts popping out of my eyes. I hate that we’re lifetimes apart; I hate that we can barely be in the same room as each other. I hate that I’m not the one making her laugh like that.

“We’re playing a combination of drinking games,” Gage announces, placing two ping-pong balls in the center of the table. “Beer Pong, Flip Cup, and Rage Cage.”

That seems…excessive. And possibly dangerous.

Fulton raises his hand sheepishly, already sweating like a pig despite the game not having started yet. Poor guy. I’m pretty sure he isn’t equipped to handle any games besides tabletop ones.

“Yes, Ful?”

“Uh…what does that mean exactly?”

Gage rubs his hands together like a crazed mastermind. “So glad you asked, buddy. Faye, could you help me with the demonstration?”

Every head in the room turns to Faye, and she stiffens, pink cheeked. “Yeah, sure,” she agrees, tightening the bow in rolling hills of light brown hair.

I can tell she’s wary by the tentativeness of her footsteps, by the rise of her tits as she breathes through the unknown, by the flush of her skin as sweat masks the column of her throat.

“Okay, we’re gonna be in teams of four, and the first two partners will be playing Beer Pong. Faye, I’ll have you stand at the end with the cups, and I’ll be the one trying to get the ping-pong ball into one of them,” Gage explains, taking his position across from her.

Her eyebrows bunch. “What do I have to do?”

“You need to give me a backdrop, so the ping-pong ball doesn’t go flying.” Gage tests the imaginary arc of the ping pong ball with one bent arm, closing an eye to gauge the angle he has to throw it to land a shot on his first go. “So just bend over and…push your boobs up.”

My thoughts go into overdrive, and along with the lust niggling inside me, a lifeform of possessiveness resuscitates from his comment. He did not just say what I think he did, did he? I’m gonna choke that motherfucker until he passes out.

Hayes immediately stands up from his spot on the couch, shaking his head. “No way. No. My sister is not ‘pushing her boobs up’ so you can bounce a ping-pong ball off them.”

I feel a growl start to rake up my throat, and as much as I want to agree with Hayes, I know I outwardly can’t. It’ll be too suspicious, and I’ve pretty much lost my right to be protective over her.

Nobody should be looking at Faye’s tits, much less asking her to grab them and squeeze them together. Ah, fuck. That’s an image I really don’t need right now.

I’m not sure what I expected Faye to say, but for the first time tonight, she slowly scrapes her hickory irises over me. Her cheeks tick with a smile, and then she palms the sides of her breasts and pushes them up—not that they need much volume given the corset. “One boob wall coming up.”

Of course she’s going to make this fucking difficult.

You know how I was talking about that weird possessiveness flaring up again? Yeah, that’s not the only thing flaring up. Hey, dick. It’s me, Kit. I know we usually get along, but right now, I need you to deflate faster than a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon. Don’t look at Faye’s breasts. Don’t look at Faye, period. Think about that time your grandmother fell down the stairs and died.

I doubt my morbid thinking would’ve worked in the first place, but thankfully, I hear the plop of the ping-pong ball, and Faye lets her hands fall away.

“Then, the partner who was the wall will drink. The next player from the team has to set the cup face-down on the table to flip it back to standing. Once the cup is right side up, the last player will try to bounce the ping-pong ball into it, and y’all will just rotate until every drink is empty,” Gage finishes, a dimple pocking the corner of his mouth.

Faye places her hands on her hips. “What are the teams?”

Gage’s eyes zip around the group, and I just know he’s plotting something in that messed-up head of his.

Do I want to be on Faye’s team? Yes? Do I want to be on the opposite team? I don’t know? This whole game feels like a bad idea. Faye’s pretty much going to distract me either way, so whoever does end up getting me on their team is gonna be carrying my dead weight.

“Me, Faye, Aeris, and Bristol will all be on a team, and Hayes, Kit, Fulton, and Casen will be on a team,” Gage decides with a smirk that spells trouble.

Faye looks at me, and she doesn’t just look at me, but she runs her tongue over her teeth. She’s getting back at me—playing on the sexual tension still between us and snapping it against my wrist like a rubber band. I’m taking the L now.

“And what’s the prize?” Faye questions.

Gage’s chuckle makes my blood go cold. “The winning team doesn’t get anything, but the losing team gets humiliated. If you lose, you have to pick someone from the winning team to mimic your favorite sex position with.”

It’s official: I hate Gage out of everyone on my hockey team. That pint-sized little shit makes me so unbelievably violent sometimes.

If Faye gets into a sex position with someone else—even if it is just a joke—I’m going to lose my shit. I need this opportunity to speak with her. I need to make things right. And there’s no way in hell that I’d ever let someone else get that close to her body.

I don’t care if the guys tease me for losing. Gage thinks this is humiliation, but this is liberation, baby. It’s a rule of the game. Nobody’s gonna think anything of it if I lose and just happen to pick Faye. Our secret is still safe.

Murmurs diffuse through the crowd, and I crack my neck as I pretend to put on a competitive face. I huddle with my team, having decided that Hayes and I will do Beer Pong, Fulton will do Flip Cup, and Casen will do Rage Cage.

And then, as everyone gets into position, with Aeris and Faye being the starting players on their team, the game commences.

I’m responsible for shooting the ping-pong ball into one of the cups, and I’m able to peek out of the corner of my eye to catch Faye pushing her goddamn tits up again, which makes me completely miss my throw. Hayes is screaming at me to get a grip while he’s pushing his own pecs up, but I’m so far gone that I’m beginning to lose control over my arm. The ball goes flying in every conceivable direction, not even skirting off rims but evading them entirely. I’m trying here…sort of. The guys know I have much better aim than this.

Hayes digs the heel of his palm into his forehead. “Kit, come on!”

“Sorry. I’m, uh, off my game tonight,” I lie.

Aeris misses a few times, scrambling around and panicking as her team cheers her on. My team, on the other hand, continues to creatively threaten me if I don’t make it in within the next second.

Newsflash: I don’t.

The plunk of the ping-pong ball sounds from the other side, and I silently pat myself on the back for absolutely failing my portion of the game. As soon as Faye starts to chug, I sink the ball in, and Hayes quickly scoops it out so he can drink. Hayes is probably the fastest chugger on our team, which means he can easily tie us in the race. Faye’s half his size. She’ll never finish before him.

Shit. I should’ve stalled more. Dillied my dally.

Voices shout and holler, indistinguishable from one another, a mass of loud, brusque pressure that has my heart racing in my chest and rapid-fire pleas launching off my tongue.

To my surprise, though, Faye chugs her drink like a fucking champ, her throat rolling with each swallow, and she places the cup face-down victoriously.

That’s my girl.

Bristol quickly starts to attempt to flip it upright. I know our captain has some pretty good hand-eye coordination, so I doubt he’ll exceed five tries. Fulton, on the other hand, folds under pressure, so I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re set back a few cups compared to the other team.

As soon as Hayes finishes, Fulton is up to the stand, and we all gently encourage him to try his best. He’s got a good wrist flick, but he’s applying too much power to each flip, which makes the cup topple over. I’m not going to tell him that, though. I need us to lose.

I don’t even realize Bristol is done with his section of the game before Gage is bouncing the ball against the table. Fulton is hysterically flipping the cup at this point as he shakes with anticipation, and Hayes’ voice has risen in decibels now that he’s yelling at him to hurry up.

“They’re winning! Flip it, Fulton! So help me God, FLIP IT!”

“I’m trying! It’s a lot harder than it looks, okay? You know I don’t do well under pressure!”

My eyes aren’t focused on my team—they’re focused on Gage. Gage and his blessed drinking game experience. And just like that, the opposing team’s first round ends, and they rotate to start on the second drink in their pyramid.

Needless to say, I make sure my team falls behind a reasonable distance, so the winner is practically chosen halfway through our set. After which we all kind of just stop trying and accept defeat. My Faye craving—which I had to suppress for the past twenty minutes—has sprung back up inside me, unslaked and somehow more vicious than it was before.

“Show us what you got, losers,” Gage taunts.

In any other situation, I probably would’ve been butthurt about losing, but this isn’t a normal situation. Aeris and Hayes team together, along with Casen and Bristol, and that just leaves me, Faye, Gage, and Fulton. It’s no surprise that Gage and Fulton would choose each other—they’re best friends, after all.

So I stupidly think I’m in the clear before Fulton nonchalantly walks right on over to Faye.

What the fuck?

I’m far enough away that I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I’m close enough that I can definitely distinguish the coy laughter dripping from Faye’s soft, sugar-spun voice. She has her hand on his shoulder, a single, manicured finger circling the cap, and she’s staring intently at him with fluttering lashes.

No. This isn’t happening. Not in a trillion years. Not over my dead, cold, rotting body.

Abandoning any salvageable subtlety, I march over to them with jealousy knocking into my solar plexus, and my temper ascends to dangerous levels.

I huff an exaggerated burst of hot air out of my nostrils. “Ful, I need to talk to Faye.”

“He doesn’t,” she immediately retorts, refusing to look at me.

“Yes, I do.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

She’s not even acknowledging me.

“Uh…” Fulton whips his head back and forth between the two of us, eyes doubling in size, fear eroding his pallid features.

Faye, probably coming to the conclusion that I won’t give up, finally turns to face me, doing a sexy little shimmy to pull up her corset. The way her tits bulge over the neckline, a slip away from flashing me her nipples, makes my dick fatten in my pants, even if it is at the expense of my indignation.

“Fulton was just about to show me his favorite sex position,” she announces.

My teeth tear apart the growl rising in my throat. “Like hell he was.”

“You were, weren’t you, Fulton?” The scratchiness in her voice, paired with the pout of her bottom lip, are two things in this world that man cannot resist. And with Faye being the deliverer, she has the power to burn Fulton in an all-consuming fire and reduce him to flakes of ash. Which, hearing it in my head, sounds great.

“I was?” he squeaks.

“Yep.” Faye positions herself in front of Fulton, grabbing his hands and bringing them to the curves of her sides, then sliding them all the way down to rest just inches above her ass. “Doggy, right?”

I like to think of myself as a sensible person. Level-headed. Reasonable. But I’ve never, in my entire life, felt anger this intense. Not when I was punted three consecutive times into the plexiglass during a game. Not when I missed the winning shot. Not when I was cussed out on the ice. Not when my nose was broken during a subsequent fight.

“Faye…” I warn, those stupid, green-eyed monsters sending my stomach into a nauseous upset, every muscle in my body constricting with a barely checked rage. My hands—which I’m envisioning cutting off Fulton’s circulation—knot into fists.

Fulton freezes like one of those fainting goats. “I feel like I’m intruding on something,” he murmurs.

Faye and I speak at the same time.

“You’re not,” she says.

“Yes, you are,” I snarl loudly, stepping an inch closer, staring down at the panicked expression on his face from the five inches I hold over him. If Fulton doesn’t get his hands off Faye in the next three seconds, I’m going to break his wrists so badly that he’ll never be able to hold a hockey stick again.

“Yeah…I’m…just…” And then, at a speed I’ve never seen before, Fulton slips out of the tense circle, sprinting toward Gage to evade my reign of wrath.

First smart decision he’s made.

Smugly, I feel the agitated ripple in my belly smooth out, and once my thoughts disembark from the rotating carousel of violence and vengeance, I turn to Faye with a triumphant grin.

“I’m not doing this,” Faye snaps, planting her hands on her hips.

“You either talk to me, or you get on your hands and knees.”

I was going to ask her politely, but after that stunt she just pulled, now we both have a reason to be mad. All I’m asking is for her to hear me out. Why is she making this so hard? I made a mistake. People deserve second chances, don’t they?

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Then I guess we’re doing this the hard way.”

Faye slinks closer to me, twirling the ends of the bow in her hair, giving me a heart-stopping dose of bedroom eyes. “This won’t be hard at all. Because I don’t feel anything for you anymore.”

Fuck. That hurt a lot more than I thought it would. And I deserve it after the way I treated her. The rest of the guys seem to be too engrossed in their own positions to notice the dispute taking place between us, and I doubt that Fulton will think anything of the war he almost got pulled into. It’s none of his business.

Faye does as I say, perking her ass up in the air as her breasts spill over her top, the arch of her spine plucking my resolve wire thin. Despite the conflicted emotions inside me, my erection is far from conflicted. It’s overtly obvious that I still feel everything for her.

And suddenly, pretending to take her from behind seems like a terrible idea. I need to chill the fuck out. I need to jump into a cold lake. I need to be tranquilized. I need to jump into a cold lake while I’m tranquilized, and then slowly drown because that’ll be less painful.

I situate myself behind her, trying to adjust my crotch so she can’t feel the prod of my not-so-limp dick against her thigh. Then I wrap my fist discreetly around her hair ribbon, tugging ever so slightly. “Five minutes, Faye. That’s all I’m asking for,” I whisper.

She turns her head back slightly, still at the mercy of my hand. “Sorry. I’ll be booked for the foreseeable future. I don’t have time to talk to people who clearly don’t care about me.”

My voice is rusty when it comes out. “I…”

A sudden onrush of hoots and hollers lightens the heaviness of our conversation, and I withdraw my hand from Faye’s hair upon the stares of my teammates—and her brother.

“Oh, and Kit,” she purrs under her breath, keeping her jaw angled toward me but her eyes lowered in disdain. “Your keys are poking me.”