The Endgame (Atlanta Lightning 1)

Fuck, I wanted that.

I wanted him.

I unlocked my phone, opened my texts, and saw the ones from him.

Stalker: Hey…sorry about the game.

Stalker: Are you okay?

No, I really fucking wasn’t.

I hit Delete.

“Hey, man. You good?” Darren’s voice jerked me out of my thoughts. I fumbled my phone as if it held incriminating evidence against me, as if he could see the texts I’d deleted and would know about me.

He sat on the bed beside me, and I automatically stood up. “Are you going out?” I asked, instead of answering his question. We were at a hotel and would leave early the next day to head back home.

His brows pinched together. “Yeah, after tonight, I really need to get laid.” I must have flinched because he added, “It was one game. The L doesn’t rest on your shoulders. You weren’t the only guy on the field, but you were off tonight, which is why I’m asking you again if you’re okay.”

No. I’m losing my shit, and there’s no real reason to.

“I’m just…tired of the same old shit. I need to do something new. I…I’m gonna go with you.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Shit, unless you’re meeting up with a woman at a hotel or something?” Fuck, I hadn’t even thought about that. Darren had women all over the country.

“I’m heading to a small get-together. One of my buddies from college lives out here. You can come.”

I nodded, the whole time a voice in my head asking me what I was doing. Not that I never went out. I had to, but it was usually at Darren’s insistence. I’d be the odd man out if I didn’t hang with the guys sometimes, and people would ask questions. I just very rarely asked Darren if I could tag along. “Let’s do this.”

He agreed, but something about the way he looked at me said he wasn’t sure.

I followed Darren out of the room. We were both wearing caps, trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible as we left. Darren led me over to a car with a woman in the driver’s seat. He slid into the passenger side, and I got into the back.

“Holy shit. Are you messing with me? Anson fucking Hawkins?” she said. “Am I really sitting in a car with Anson Hawkins right now?”

“Hey, you’ve been in a car with me a hundred times,” Darren joked as I shifted uncomfortably. What was I doing? Jesus Christ, what was I doing? Tonight was different; I could feel it in my bones.

“I’m used to you, though.” She turned around and smiled. There was a gleam in her eyes when she did. I knew that look. I’d seen it aimed my way a thousand times. She wanted me. Maybe she didn’t want me specifically, but I was a football player she hadn’t had. I was fairly certain that could change tonight if I let it. “I’m Melinda. You can call me Mel.”

I cleared my throat. “Anson.” I reached up to shake her hand.

“Oh my God. Aren’t you the fucking cutest?”

We shook, and I slunk back in the seat, feeling silly.

Melinda and Darren rambled to each other most of the drive. I listened so I could respond accordingly, but my thoughts were spinning and a thousand miles away, consumed by a man they had no business thinking about, a man I didn’t really even know.

The place we went to was beautiful and secluded, a two-story, modern house. Numerous cars already filled the driveway.

Melinda waited for me when we got out. “Can I walk in with you?”

Weren’t we all walking in together? “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

“Thank you.” She slid her arm through mine so they were locked together.

“You’re not going out with me anymore,” Darren teased. I was taken aback. Was he supposed to be with her? As if reading my thoughts, he laughed. “You’re good, bro.”

Rock music was playing when we went inside, and we mingled for a bit. There were about twenty-five people, and Darren introduced me to his friend Chad, who was hosting the party, and to the woman now holding Darren’s hand—Jessica. Melinda didn’t let go of me the whole time.

“Can I get a drink?” I asked.

“Yeah, man, come on.”

Darren, Jessica, Melinda, and I went into the kitchen.

“How come you never come out with Darren?” Jessica asked.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” I winked. Melinda’s hold on me tightened. I could play the game when I had to.

One drink turned into two, then three and four. People kept coming up to me, asking questions, and the attention felt good. I was laughing and talking and drinking just like everyone else. All the other shit wasn’t weighing me down, at least not right then, and the alcohol was almost enough to make me believe what I felt was real; to believe that when Melinda’s mouth came close to my ear and whispered, “Do you want to go into the bedroom with me?” my reply wasn’t a lie when I said, “Yes.”