I wanted to explain to Sailor that the reason I was in the archery club in the first place had nothing to do with Lana What’s-Her-Rack. But I knew what she saw, and even I had to admit, it looked fucking bad. And after a while, I realized she wasn’t going to listen anyway.
So instead of crawling on my knees, continuing to beg for the forgiveness I knew she wouldn’t grant, I decided to give her something else, something she’d appreciate far more.
Which meant here I was in the archery club again, fucking lame stalker that I was.
I hadn’t slept a wink the past three nights, not since Sailor dumped me for good. I had been listening to recordings until my ears rang. I looked like a hot pile of baked shit as I loitered outside the archery club, waiting for her to get out of practice.
When she did, I blocked her way like a deranged ninja, jumping between two cars.
Forget the knight in shining armor. I’m the dipshit in tin foil.
“Jesus Christ!” she hissed, throwing her duffel bag at me instinctively. I caught it and tossed it aside, pulling her by the arm.
Song of the day: “Creep” by Radiohead.
“I thought I told you to leave me alone.” She drew back in the opposite direction, not missing a chance to try to scratch me with her nails.
God, I missed her.
“I will, but not before you listen to this.” I took my phone out of my pocket and shoved one of my AirPods into my ear and the other into hers, scrolling my thumb on my touch screen to find what I was looking for.
“Gross. I don’t need your earwax in my system.”
“I put worse things in you, and you didn’t seem all that disgusted.” I bared my teeth tauntingly.
She was about to take the AirPod out and throw it in my face, but I grabbed her hand, kissing her palm again, as I did when she tried to hurt me (which, let’s admit it, was frequently).
She shot me an angry look that said it better be worth it.
I wanted to kiss her little freckled nose, and I hated myself for losing the privilege to do so because of some stupid misunderstanding.
“I found out who set us up, who made this shit with Lana leak,” I said, taking a moment to appreciate how dope the hashtag would be: #LanaLeak. Sailor didn’t share my admiration for my superior wit. She rolled her eyes, picking up the duffel bag I’d tossed away, and hoisting it on her shoulder.
“Not this again.”
I hit play before she could say anything else. The recording started. Junsu and Lana were talking somewhere loud. A diner, by the sound of customers and the gum-popping waitress who insisted on topping off their coffees every five seconds.
Junsu: I don’t know what it’s going to take for Sailor to give up competition. Maybe not ever. She want it bad. I try with her shoulder being inflamed, but she got it treated, refused to make it worse.
Lana: Well, you should’ve tried harder, Junsu. That’s what my team paid you for—to make sure this wouldn’t come to a point where I’d have to compete with her. Do you have any idea how pissed my sponsors will be if I don’t make it to the Olympics? There’s a lot on the line. Last I checked, I paid you the money for your kid’s college in full.
Junsu: I know. I thinking of other possibilities to stop her.
Lana: Lay it on me, old man. I’m willing to try anything at this point. I’ll lose a movie deal if I don’t get to the Olympics. It’s, like, in the actual contract with the studio, that I’ll make it to the Olympics. Can you believe it? People are trash.
Junsu: There is one more way, I think. She has agreement with the boy. The pretty, rich one. Secret deal. This how she got all the sudden publicity. I think maybe touching that will help. She live with him now.
Lana: What rich boy? What agreement? I knew it! I knew there was something weird going on. This bitch didn’t pop all over my newsfeed for no reason. Someone is pushing her. Who’s the guy?
Junsu: I have the name here. Wait. He has been coming to club lately. I think they may be couple. I think he is—how you say?—her Achilles’ heel. I think he the key to sorting this mess.
This was the part where Junsu must’ve passed his phone to Lana. Then:
Lana: Hmm. Hunter Fitzpatrick. Heard about him. Wouldn’t mind being his arm candy for the winter. Let’s set this up, Junsu. You do the dirty work and make sure I have access to him. I’ll bring the paps. Start working for what you were paid to do.
Junsu: Okay. Just don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt Sailor. She can still have next Olympics. Yes?