I lock my eyes on the TV, feeling her death glare burrow through the side of my skull. I don’t even want to know what I look like. I’ve gotten no sleep, I probably still smell like armpit, and I’ve cried countless tears while giggling the night away with Mike Madden. I’m guessing that last part is why she currently looks like she’s going to chainsaw me to death in my sleep tonight.
When she approaches us, every muscle in my body tenses in anticipation of the attitude she’s about to throw at me. But instead of bitching me out for stealing her boyfriend from the other bus—since, in Danica’s world, I’m sure it’s all my fault she woke up alone—she simply sits on the bench beside Mike, leans down to press a kiss against his cheek, and says, “What are you playing?”
“The new Deadzone,” he answers without peeling his eyes from the screen. He continues landing headshots left and right—an impressive feat considering how much Guinness is probably sloshing around in his stomach—while I stare at Danica like I’m the one who’s drunk.
She’s being . . . nice? Nice. Did I imagine that look she gave me when she came on the bus?
When she glances at me, I’m practically cross-eyed with confusion, but she simply grins and twirls thick chunks of Mike’s brown hair around her slender fingers.
“Are you winning?” she asks him.
“It’s not really that kind of game . . .”
“Then how do you play?”
Her voice, sweeter than pink cotton candy, makes me want to hurl. “Since when do you care about video games?” I ask, and she gives me that I’m-going-to-chainsaw-your-face-off look again. Nope, definitely didn’t imagine it.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Hailey,” she scoffs, her hand coming to rest possessively on the nape of Mike’s neck. “You know how much I love watching you and your brother play.”
I have some kind of stroke. That’s the only explanation. My jaw drops open, my character gets shot in the head, and my brain does some kind of sputtering thing that leaves my game controller hanging from limp hands. “Say whaaa?”
Since my twelve-year-old brother and I are now separated by hundreds of miles and won’t see each other until Thanksgiving break, I make it a priority to play games with him online on a regular basis, and two nights ago, we were playing Deadzone Four when Danica burst into my room demanding that I shut it off. It was one o’clock in the morning, but I was apparently slowing down the wifi and it was more important for her to look up manicure designs on Pinterest than it was for me to help my lonely little brother forget about the asshole who’d bullied him in gym class that day.
My head is tilted to the side like an extremely confused teacup Chihuahua, and Danica gives me another look.
Keep your mouth shut, her eyes threaten.
“You used to hate it when I played,” Mike remembers while I’m still trying to recover from my stroke.
“Did I?” Danica’s eyes glitter with deceit that I hope Mike can see. “That was so long ago. I was such a bitch back then.” When Mike just stares at her, she slides down into his lap and clasps her fingers behind his neck. “Forgive me?”
Mike dated her for four years. Four years. He should know better than to buy this crap, right? Right?
Say no, you giant idiot! Push her fake ass off your lap!
When Mike continues studying her with those big brown eyes of his, she leans in and kisses him. She squirms tight against his body and threads her fingers into his hair, and I roll my eyes and stand up.
If batting eyelashes and pink lip gloss are all it takes to get under his skin, then those two were made for each other.
“Alright, well, I’m going to get going.” Ignoring my disappointment in the drummer who made me laugh harder last night than I have in years, I grab my keys from the bench beside me and jingle them in the air while Danica whispers something in Mike’s ear—or does something in Mike’s ear. I don’t even want to know. “Dani, are you coming or what?”
Mike is the one who pulls away to stare up at me, and I avoid looking at him. The bottles lying everywhere are testament to what it took for him to sort through his feelings for the girl on his lap, but even though he’s had a lot to drink, it hasn’t been nearly enough to excuse letting that two-faced leech suck his face.
“No,” Danica says, still staring at Mike like he’s a gold-plated banana split. “I’m going to stay here for a while.”
“You’re leaving?” Mike asks me, and when he shifts Danica off of his lap and attempts to stand, I have to launch forward to keep him from falling.
Okay, so maybe he is that drunk. Shit . . .
“I, er . . . yeah. I mean, I was just waiting for Danica, so . . .”
My eyes drop to my hand, which is pressed tight against the hard curve of Mike’s waist, and when I hastily pull it away, he nearly stumbles forward again. His arm wraps heavily around my shoulders in an attempt to catch himself, and I help him find his balance while ignoring the deadly look that Danica gives me.
“Mike,” I say, staring up into his big glassy eyes. “Do you need a ride home?”
“Why are you offering him a ride home?” Danica snaps at me.
“He’s drunk . . .”
“And?”
“And—”
I’m about to explain some choice phrases like “designated driver” and “decent human being” when Mike interrupts, “Are you trying to hold me up?”
I lift my gaze to his and watch as an amused smile stretches across his lips.
I have one hand firmly on his back and the other on his stomach, like I’m some kind of pocket-sized Wonder Woman capable of keeping a guy twice my size on his feet. “You were going to fall,” I reason, ignoring the amusement in his voice.
“You’re like two feet tall,” he teases with a chuckle.
“Five feet,” I argue, and when Mike laughs hard, I try not to smile.
“He’s fine here with me.” Danica’s arms are crossed tightly over her chest, and she has one foot planted forward in an aggressive stance that isn’t lost on me.
I should stay out of it. Danica will make my life a living hell if I piss her off. And Mike is so not my business.
Except that I’m the one who got him drunk. And I’m the one who drove Danica here. And I’ll never feel right about it if I leave this innocent man with the she-devil herself when he can barely stand upright.
My conscience sighs.
“Don’t you want to take a shower?” I ask Danica, ignoring all sense of self-preservation and instead hitting her weak spot. I slip out from under Mike’s arm and lower my voice so only she can hear. “I mean, don’t you want to wash your hair?”
Ten minutes later, I’m on the road home with Danica in my passenger seat, and she’s still periodically inspecting the ends of her perfect hair. Mike said he would sleep on the bus, so after rooting him out some carbs and bottled water and repeatedly making him swear he wouldn’t drive, I left.
I felt like I should thank him for the fun time I had with him last night, or like I should . . . I don’t know, shake his hand or hug him or something. Hanging out with him felt like hanging out with someone I’d been friends with for years, and I secretly want to play Deadzone Five with him again, but he’s Danica’s boyfriend, and all of that felt too weird, so instead, I simply told him he should brush up on his sniping skills, and I left.