This is War (Checkmate Duet 1)

“Aw, don’t be so harsh, Lola.” Courtney shoots me a look of pity in the mirror. “It’s not easy being a walking, talking eye candy machine. It’s probably a lot of pressure to be hot and perfect twenty-four/seven.” The way the corner of her lips tilt up tells me she’s mocking me. I know I deserve it, but that doesn’t mean I want it rubbed in my face right now.

“Oh, trust me,” Viola begins before I have a chance to defend myself. “He’s perfected his whole act of being a god. Back in high school, he managed to date every one of my friends. He thinks he’s a master of getting any girl he wants. Don’t feel sorry for him.” She speaks as if I’m not right in the car with them. Her voice is filled with disgust and anger. Damn, Viola’s hatred runs deep.

I clear my throat. “What little Miss Goody two-shoes forgot to mention is that her friends came onto me. While she made crude rumors about me and buried her head in a book every Friday night, I was kicking ass playing sports and actually having a life.”

“Banging every girl on the cheer squad doesn’t mean you had a life. Means you had low standards and were easy.”

“I banged you,” I counter. “What’s that say?”

Courtney nearly dies from laughter, her eyes widening and cheeks reddening. I’m sure this is probably the worst timing for a fight with Viola, but Courtney seems to be enjoying the show.

Just then, we pull into the office parking lot and I can practically see steam coming from Viola’s ears. Yeah, she’s pissed all right.

Just as I’m about to swing my door open, Courtney looks at her phone and shouts for me to wait.

“Shoot, my boss wants me to swing by real quick to discuss my work schedule.”

I can see part of her phone screen, which is completely blank by the way, and know she full of shit.

“Would you mind if I dropped you both off here and have Travis take you home?” She must be in acting classes or something because she’s laying it on thick and Viola’s following every word of it. “I’m so sorry.” She pouts out her lower lip.

I pull the door lever and push my door open. “Let’s go, V. Ass, cash, or grass. Nobody rides for free!” I smile at the scowl she flashes me.

“That’s not what Lacey Benkins told me freshman year!” she yells as she gets out, slamming the door behind her.

“Well, I’ve become a better businessman since then.” I wink, loving the way it drives her mad. I grab my compressor from the back and thank Courtney for the lift.

“Can we just get this over with?” Viola stands with her arms crossed.

“What’s the rush? Your vibrator getting lonely?”

I set the compressor down to the first tire and start setting up. As soon as I turn it on, it drowns out Viola’s next words.

Ten minutes later, all four tires are filled back up. I find the valve caps in my center console. Either Alyssa is more stupid than I thought or her real intention was just to piss me off enough to make a point.

Either way, I toss the compressor into my trunk and walk to the driver’s seat where I find Viola sitting.

“Not in a million years,” I say, whipping the door open.

“Why not?” she asks, her palms wrapped tightly around the wheel.

I bend down, pressing a hand to the top of my car, holding myself up “You couldn’t handle a car like this, princess. Now move over.” I nod my head toward the passenger seat.

She licks her lips and taps her fingers. “I handled you just fine.”

I groan, knowing exactly what she’s playing. “Not happening. You don’t even know how to drive a stick shift.”

“Actually…” she begins, biting down on her lower lip.

“You say another sexual innuendo and I’m going to pick your ass up and drag you to the other seat. Rules, remember?”

“Okay…but don’t forget the foreplay,” she mocks, scooting across the center and popping into her seat.

I slide in and adjust the seat. “Just be glad you still have all your fingers after messing with my shit.”

“You’re not as badass as you think, Travis,” she says matter-of-factly. The engine roars to life, and I’m tempted to push her out as soon as she opens her mouth again. “Men with shiny, loud cars are usually compensating for something.”

I reverse the Challenger out of the parking spot and shift it back into gear, squealing the tires as I drive out of the parking lot.

“I don’t have anything to compensate for,” I say, shifting again as I catch speed. “And from the sounds that came out of your mouth last night, I’d say you agree.”

“Well to be fair, alcohol does lowers inhibitions, so it’s not like I was a good judge of character or anything.”