The Player Game

Chapter 11

Dedicated to Konstanze for the book cover!

DON'T FORGET TO VOTE&COMMENT. THIS IS IS THE WATTY'S! ---->

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“You what?”

“I kissed Brad Reilly,” I mumble, avoiding Micky’s shocked gaze as I down four Advil with a glass of water.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I hear him say with disbelief.  “He’s a jerk,” he states, slamming his glass down on the kitchen counter.

We’re stood in his kitchen, both still in our night clothes after getting out of bed.  The two of us are each nursing a hangover, the result of the party last night.  I chose now as what I thought would be the right time to tell Micky about the events of last night, which he isn’t exactly reacting to as I’d hoped.

“He’s not a jerk,” I snap.  I feel my eyes widening as I realize what I have just said out loud, turning away from him to place my used glass next to the sink.  Bradley, not a jerk?

“When pigs fly,” Micky scoffs loudly.  I watch in my peripheral vision as he leans against the counter, watching me with careful eyes.  “But I suppose you’ve had worse,” he comments.

My teeth grit together as I force myself to face him slowly.  I glare at him for once as I take in his knowing expression.  “Aaron,” I growl, my fists clenching, daring him to say more.

“Adriano-”

“Don’t say his name!”  My voice comes out louder than I expect, but there’s an edge to my tone that shows how serious I am.  I watch as Micky closes his mouth slowly, his jaw clenching and unclenching.

A noise from the door causes me to whip my head around as Aaron enters the room, his wrinkled clothes and tousled hair suggesting that he has just rolled out of bed.  He walks over to the fridge, opening it and removing a bottle of milk, before turning around.  His eyes brighten in surprise as he notices that he has company.

“Morning,” he says slowly, his eyes taking in my clenched fists and the way Micky and I are stood facing each other stiffly.  His eyes flicker back to me, looking me up and down with an unreadable expression.

I cross my arms, covering my chest as I realize what I am wearing.  Dressed in one of Micky’s t-shirt and a pair of his clean boxers - clothes I always wear when I sleep over his house - it doesn’t take a genius to work out how this must look to him.  Feeling self-conscious, I subtly make sure that my crossed arms are high enough to make sure he can’t see any of the bare chest underneath the t-shirt.  Aaron seeing me in this state is different than Micky seeing me.  I’ve known Micky for years, and he’s seen me walking around with no bra on countless times, whereas Aaron is just- Aaron.

I look at Aaron coldly as he closes the fridge nonchalantly, his eyes moving to my crossed arms.  A small twinkle of amusement flashes through his eyes, so quick that I wonder if I’m imaging things.  “What are you doing here?” I ask accusingly, narrowing my eyes.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replies in an indifferent manner as he pours the milk into a glass.

“I slept over,” I inform him coldly.

“That makes two of us.”

Narrowing my eyes, I watch him return the milk to the fridge before turning the face us again.  He takes a small sip of his milk, raising his eyebrows as he looks up.  How can he act so uncaring after last night?  I don’t know what I was expecting him to be like, but it certainly isn’t this.  I was expecting him to act awkward in the least.  Jealous, of course, would be a bonus.