Wicked, Young Thing - T. Seguin

Chapter Eight

We played a total of four games; my team won two and Tyler's team won two, leaving us dead even and looking for a way to break the tie.

"Bowling?" Tyler suggested.

"Eww, no," I replied.

"What about golf?"

"I don't know how to golf, so that isn't fair," I replied.

"We could play hockey," he suggested.

"Right, because that's fair," I shook my head as I drove through downtown Austin.

"What about karaoke?" Tyler asked.

"Oh, she'd kick your ass!" Tay yelled excitedly.

"You've never heard me sing!" Tyler protested.

"I'd still win," I replied, a smirk growing on my face.

"Never mind," he sighed, out of ideas.

"Trivia?" I asked.

"About what?"

"I don't know, but I do know that Tuesday is trivia night at a bar a few streets over," I replied.

"Why do you guys even have to settle this? Can't we just go get some food and go home? We have Netflix and pajamas at home. And hot running water so we can get clean," Tay said.

"We could go dancing," Tyler suggested.

"No, I agree with Tay," I said as I executed a left turn and began making my way to Tay's and my favorite pizza joint.

"Aww, darlin'! Come on, it could be fun," Tyler begged.

"Could be is not a certainty and pizza and Netflix and a hot shower are definitely going to be more fun."

"A shower could be fun," Tyler muttered.

"Did you want to stay in our house or not?" I demanded.

"Of course," Tyler said.

"Then stop complaining and making sexual innuendos," I replied; he was getting on my nerves.

"That innuendo was on you, darlin'. I meant it was fun to get clean after a long, hot day; you're the one insinuating that I join you, which I wouldn't object to..." Tyler smirked.

"Fuck you," I muttered.

"If you insist."

I got out of the truck and slammed the door, marching inside and grumbling to myself about hockey players with egos bigger than the state of Texas. "Who has an ego bigger than Texas?" a voice asked.

The blood drained from my face; I knew that voice. I hadn't spoken to him in nearly six years, but there he was. "Jake," I whispered.

"Hi, Andi.  It's been a long time."

I looked up at the man in front of me. He had filled out more and had lost his baby face since I'd last laid eyes on him, but he still looked like the same old Jake to me. Tousled brown hair, forest green eyes and a crooked smile that still made me weak in the knees, even after everything that had happened. If I hadn't know his middle name was Elliot I would have sworn it was Trouble; and he was trouble, at least for me.

He wiped his hands on his apron and stepped out from behind the checkout counter, "Come on, Andi, aren't you at least going to say 'hi'? It's been six years; you aren't still mad, are you?"

That pissed me off. "Of course I'm still mad," I snarled, "How could I not be mad?"

"'Cause you're a good Christian girl who forgives and forgets and listens to her Momma," he was bitter that I had left him; he deserved worse than me dumping him, but I couldn't give it to him, only God could.