I rub my hand over my stubble. “Just ready to get off this bus.”
He’s in the club chair, twirling while watching TV. “I know the feeling. Want to play some ball?”
Since my mind is shot and I can’t do any work right now . . . “Why not?”
An hour later, I’m killing him. I’ve always been a competitive guy. I don’t fuck around . . . video game or real game, it’s all the same. When my team is beating his, 95 to 72, I yell, “Yeah!” and pump my fist in the air.
He sets the controller down. “Bastard! I’m done.”
“Yes, you are—you sad son of a bitch. You lost! Rematch?”
Shaking his hand, he says, “No fucking way. Are we almost there?”
I glance at my watch and see it’s a little before three. “John said we’d be there before five. What’s your rush?”
“Just wish there were chicks on this bus so I could get a handy while we wait.”
Unable to believe his candor, I have to laugh. “What about that girl of yours you’re always talking on the phone with?”
“She dumped my ass.”
“That’s why you’ve been so punchy. Makes sense now.”
“Yeah, but tonight I’m not only getting stone drunk, you can bet I’ll be taking as many BJs as are offered my way.”
“Why did she break it off?”
“My girl?”
I grin at him. “I’m not talking about your dick.”
“Fuck you,” he says.
Leif and I have really hit it off and I enjoy having him around.
“No, really, what happened?” I ask.
“She’s pissed that I’m on the same bus as Ivy.”
This piques my interest. “Why? Do the two of you have something going on?”
“Fuck, no. She’s like my sister.”
“Did you explain that to your girl?”
“Man, I’ve talked about it so much that last night after another fight, I was over it and just said fine, believe what you want. You want to believe I’d cheat, believe it.”
“No, he’s definitely not the cheater,” Ivy chimes in. She’s standing behind my chair and I whirl around. Her words assault me and her eyes flash to me in an accusatory manner, but the moment passes quickly. She moves next to Leif and picks up his controller, then adds, “Just give her some time and then call her back—she knows you’re not the kind of guy who’d cheat.” She tips her head to the side and Leif moves out of the chair. She flops down in it and when she does her knee grazes mine, and every muscle in my body clenches. I want that two seconds of contact to happen over and over. She looks at me. “Go for the championship?”
I quickly focus my eyes on the TV. “Bring it, baby.” The word baby slips out. Ivy remains still for a moment, but Leif doesn’t seem to notice.
With the Lakers just catching their stride, Garrett, in all his annoyance, stands in front of me. “Hey, why don’t you make like Michael Jackson and beat it? My turn.”
“Beat it yourself, asswipe. We’re not in elementary school.”
“Right! So take your loss like a man and move on out so a real player can beat a chick,” he says, snatching the remote from me.
I stand up. “This ought to be good. You haven’t beaten me in anything since . . . oh yeah, never. Unless you cheat, that is.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he says and starts to play.
I lean against the window to watch. But under her breath I hear Ivy mutter, “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”
I’ve had just about enough of leaving the past in the past. It’s time to have that conversation I’ve been holding back on. So when Nix walks in the room, I ask him, “Nix, why don’t you take over for Ivy? I need to talk to her about something.”
She glares at me with a fierceness in her eyes I’m not used to seeing, but I’m ready—it’s time to come clean. I nod toward her bedroom and she stands with a huff, throwing the controller down. “Xander, I told you let’s leave the past in the past,” she tells me in a whisper.
Leif’s phone rings and when he looks at the screen, he heads our way. “Mind if I go in your room, Ivy? It’s Amber and I think I should grovel in private.”
“Take your time. I’m fine out here,” she tells him, directing all her coldness my way.
Garrett looks up at me. “Everything okay?”
“Peachy,” I answer and head for the front lounge for another cup of sludge, but as I walk I wonder if telling her the truth even matters.
? ? ?
Less than an hour later we pull into the Hyatt Regency at the Cleveland Arcade. I’m in the galley on the phone with Ena making sure the merchandise for this week’s shows will arrive on time, not late like last week.
“It doesn’t fucking help to have Tshirts at a concert once the concert is over,” I tell her.
“I know, Xander, but I can’t control the pace at which UPS decides to move.”
“Ena, just overnight the shit for next week. We’re missing out on a huge financial opportunity.”
“Okay, I will. But just remember when you pay the bills, it was your idea.”