Not Your Typical Love Story

Chapter Seven

Xander

"Stripes," Lance calls, taking his pool stick away from the table, searching the surface to find which ball he should be sinking next. He pauses on the task, looking up at me with a questioning glance. "How's the school thing going?"

I shake my head the same time he strikes the cue ball, waiting until he's finished complaining about his fail before I answer. "Haven't started back up yet. Still some paperwork to go through."

He nods at me as I bend down to take my shot, lining the stick up and squinting one eye. "And what about the girl? You talked to her?"

The cue ball makes a loud sound as it pushes one of the solids into the corner pocket. "Nope," I say it simply, ignoring when he tsks at me. "I saw her at a party though, but I knew she'd lose her shit if I actually came up to talk to her."

"Why?"

"You know why," I grumble, flashing him a look before I line up my next shot and sink that one, too. "She thinks I cheated on her, Lance. What girl wouldn't go batshit?"

"But you've been telling me for ages that you didn't. Cheat, that is." He leans against his stick as he watches me closely, analyzing me.

Lance had become one of my closest confidantes during my time in Florida, quick friends after a night of booze and ruthless secret spilling. While he'd never been as close as I was with Chase and Bianca, he was a close third, and at the moment, he was my first.

I sigh before I take my next turn, resting one hand on the edge of the table as I leaned on it. "Potato, patato, isn't it? If that's what everyone saw, what everyone told her, what could I have done to change the fact? No, I didn't sleep with the slut, but in my drunken stuper, she looked just like Bianca, man, and I hadn't hesitated before kissing the shit out of her. I didn't notice until during the kiss that it wasn't her, and by then, everyone had already formed their opinions on the scene before them. It's like they were just waiting for something to rip me and Bianca apart. That fucking school is full of piranhas and gossip bitches who like to fuck over other people."

"Wait, so tell me again why you didn't just tell her the truth? If you loved her, why lie?" I gave him a hard look, narrowing my eyes as his hands flashed up in mock surrender.

"It's not like she gave me much opportunity, okay? She came raging in my house more destructive than a fucking shitstorm, wouldn't stop yelling, and was screaming so hard that she was crying. Or maybe she'd been crying earlier, too, I don't know."

"Damn."

"Yeah, I pretty much had the same reaction." After that, I leaned down to take the next shot, but Lance hadn't finished talking.

"So, Xander, you're fucking telling me that you never got to talk to her? Like once?"

I huffed in annoyance, chalking my stick as I tried to fight off the urge to shove it in his stomach. "I tried, Lance. You know this. I kept calling, messaging, posting, and she fucking blocked me. What else was I supposed to do? How could I have done anything at all?"

"Sorry, man." He made a move to step up as I missed my shot.

"Don't be," I said honestly as I stood up and ran a hand through my hair. "It's nobody's fault but my own."

"Got that right," he said, successfully shooting one of the stripes.

"Gee, thanks," I muttered dryly, rolling my eyes at the son of a bitch.

"Being honest here, dude. This is how I see it."

"Yeah, well your vision is shit," I told him, eyeing up the glasses he was currently sporting.