The Player's Prerogative

Chapter 6 - The Morning After

It’s odd thinking about anyone rejecting you, to be fair; a lot of the female population seem to thrive on your sexual prowess. But Meg didn’t fancy you? Holy Shit, the plot thickens. Care to elaborate?

A

I awoke the next morning to a pounding headache. The room swam painfully as I righted myself from where I had been lying, untangling myself from the limbs which had wound themselves around my waist overnight. Abigail was – thankfully – still fully dressed, and merely rolled over in bed as I got up. Ignoring the lurching sensation in my stomach, I crossed the bedroom, hastily scrawling a note.

I didn’t particularly want to be here any longer than I had to be, especially given what day it was.

I knew Abigail’s house like the back of my hand; I was there so often that her parents barely noticed my presence anymore. It was a rather grand detached number, situated on the nice part of town, and they had their own gardener. Miles away from the modest semi-detached my parents called their own, and I didn’t mean in the geographical sense.

The stairs, overnight, had become the resting place of several partygoers, heads lolling in various directions, and many laps being used as honorary pillows. I weaved through, being careful not to tread on anyone’s fingers. I would go via the kitchen to get a drink of water; my mouth tasted like a cat’s backside.

Only, at the breakfast bar, was Meg Mason, munching her way through what looked to be a bowl of Coco Pops.

“Stayed the night then?” I shot at her, pulling a glass from the cupboard. Meg shrugged nonchalantly, and I vaguely noted that she looked a lot more human in the light of day; gone was the dramatic make-up that had covered her face the night before, and in its place was a soft complexion and a young-looking expression.

“Might as well,” she said through a mouth full of cereal. “Nothing like a sofa to sleep on.” I didn’t bother pointing out that she had been one of the lucky ones to end up on a piece of soft furniture, and said nothing, knocking back the glass of water as though my life depended on it.

“Where you headed now?”

I wasn’t even sure why I’d asked it; surely the bet could wait until I was feeling a bit brighter and a little less hungover. Nevertheless, I looked at her like I cared and she seemed to be completely perturbed by it. Her eyebrow shot up, lifting her lip in what could have been a very unkind sneer had she not flushed slightly pink.

Ha. Not so immune to the male charm.

“Home,” she stated blankly, as though nothing of the sort had just surprised her. Meg slipped off of the kitchen counter, tossing her bowl in the sink as she headed towards the door. I followed quickly, so close that I could feel the heat of her body rolling off onto mine.

“Need someone to walk you there?”

“Uh, do I look seven? No?” She shook her head in disbelief, pushing the backdoor open and wandering up the side alley of the house. She seemed to exude the confidence of a girl much popular than she actually was; the difference between her and the girls at school was slightly alarming.

And here I was. Following her like a lemon.

Lucien Davies did not follow like a lemon.

“Hey, it was-”

“I don’t need an escort,” Meg informed me, starting down the pavement. Hell, wearing that dress, I would have said she needed a full-team entourage.

“You’re walking my way,” I lied. She stopped in the middle of the concrete, her tongue tracing her upper lip as though she was truly considering letting me walk with her. It was kind of absurd, really; girls would literally chew their arms off to walk with me and she was turning it down.

This was going to be harder than I thought.

“Do what you want, Luci-Loo,” she said sweetly, turning on her heel and stalking the opposite way. I stood there, basking in her departure as though someone had just slapped me. She was like…a ball of anger stuffed into an alluringly short dress.

Well. This was going to be more of a mountain than a mole-hill. At this rate, I was going to be lucky to be on good terms with her, let alone bagging shagging rights.

I’m probably going to have to skip a few weeks at this rate; all I can say is that in the lead up to Christmas, I got to know Meg a lot better and she got to know me. And she pretty much forgot how much of an ass I was when we first met. She started to see the good, and I started to see that under all of that anger, she was just as lost as I was.

So yeah. Onwards to December, I guess.

Lucien Davies.