The Endgame

The question made my scowl deepen.

After being ignored for the past three years by Graham St. Claire, I was not glad this was the moment he decided to acknowledge my existence. Not when I was in my most vulnerable state.

What would he do? Mock me for crying? Laugh at how ridiculous I looked sitting here all alone?

“None of your business,” I snapped, wiping my face again and turning away from him. I stood from the couch, ready to walk past him, but he grabbed my wrist.

The touch felt electric.

I snatched my arm back and glared at him.

“Hey.” His tone was low, trying to calm me. “I’m sorry…” He seemed at a loss for words. I couldn’t figure out whether the flustering act was genuine or not.

Nothing about this guy could be trusted.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He swallowed. A frustrated exhale escaped him as he threw me another worried glance. “You just looked like you need company.”

“I’m fine.”

He raised his eyebrows. “So, you like to sit on the sofa at parties to cry and drink?” Though his question could be misunderstood as mocking or downright arrogant, it expressed otherwise. He asked it in such a soft, small tone, I was confused. He sounded…sympathetic.

He stared intently at me. His gaze was confident. The type of stare that meant he was giving me his entire attention. He was unblinking and unfaltering, as though he were earnest. I was pretty sure this was something people fought over—his undeniable attention. Like a prize.

I gulped hard. I wasn’t going to be fooled by it. This had to be an act.

“Yes, and I like to do it all by myself. You can leave me now,” I replied, annoyed.

He pressed his lips, unconvinced. “Come on, is there any way I can help? Even if that entails talking about it. I’m all ears.”

“No.”

St. Claire finally understood my desire to leave. He rose, towering over me. He was a wall between me and the party. His body felt protective yet intimidating. I scowled. The last thing I should associate him with was protection.

“Wait, don’t go yet.” He raised his hands.

I couldn’t understand why he wanted to remain here with someone who couldn’t stand him. There was a party going on. So many of his friends and girls were dying to get his attention, and he could be having the time of his life.

Instead, he was holed up here in the corner with a girl who wanted to run from him.

It smelled fishy.

Was this part of some elaborate plan to laugh at me later? No joke was worth this much effort.

I shook my head, pressing my lips and trying to move past him.

“Please.”

The word stopped me. It was soft. It was a whisper. It sounded genuine.

“You don’t want to talk? Fine by me. But don’t go yet.” His eyes were warm.

“Why?” I crossed my arms over my chest. Even though his pleading made me hesitate, I didn’t trust him.

“Because you look miserable, and no one should start senior year like that,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “How about this? Let me go and grab a few more drinks. I can prepare you something nice. I’m sort of an expert.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, studying his face. I couldn’t pinpoint malice or deceit on his face. Either he was an excellent actor, or he was being genuine.

It was a struggle to believe the latter.

My definition of Graham St. Claire didn’t include selfless and nice. If this was any other person, I would believe them.

“You’re not leaving me alone until I give in?” I questioned.

“I’m not leaving you alone to spend a terrible night. If you don’t want my help to solve the issue or talk about it, then at least let me help you clear your mind for the night.” He waited for my reaction. When I remained stoic, he went on, “I believe you came here tonight to distract yourself. Maybe stop wallowing for a night and have fun.”

It was hard to keep a straight face when he hit a nerve.

“Let me give you a hand with that. Just drinks. Nothing else.”

I pressed my lips together.

On one hand, I didn’t like the guy. Spending the night with him wasn’t my idea of fun. I didn’t trust him.

But on the other hand…I really wanted the change of scenery. I came here not only because I couldn’t decline Melissa, but because forgetting for one night sounded interesting. Partying would have been my last option, but perhaps it was what I needed. Nothing else had worked so far.

Wallowing and crying over Jacob had been hurting my head and chest. I needed a reprieve. I needed something different.

And with Melissa gone, I had been thinking about Jacob instead.

Sure, I didn’t confide in Graham St. Claire, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t distract me for a while. I didn’t have to tell him my sad story. He could get me something to drink, I could loosen up, and within an hour I could find Melissa and be gone.

In fact, any wrong move on his part and I would escape, no second thought.

I was safe. I was in control. And I was definitely desperate to get my head off the breakup since I was considering his proposal.

Christ.

He was patient with my answer. As time passed, I started to get a feeling his nice act had more to do with the fact that I was killing the mood of the awesome party and he couldn’t bear it, rather than it being something diabolical.

After he got me a drink, he would probably bounce back to his friends and forget all about the emo girl in the corner. I would get my drink and a distraction for a small while. It seemed like a win-win situation.

“Fine, but I’m telling you, you’re digging yourself a hole. Consoling girls at parties is emotionally draining,” I threw at him, giving him a last chance to leave if he wasn’t being genuine.

He surprised me when he smiled. His famous dimples showed up and my throat clutched. The smile was dazzling, to say the least, especially directed at me. “Don’t worry. I’m fully committed to the job. I’ll be back in a sec.”

St. Claire disappeared into the crowd while I remained frowning. His attention was…weird. I couldn’t describe it. It felt warm, yet uncomfortable.

He was a dichotomy.

He moved to the kitchen but stopped to greet a few guys from the football team. His time with them was short before he excused himself. It took him longer to return. The guy was in high demand tonight. People were finding ways to stop him and steal his attention.

Despite that, he came back to me with a sealed bottle of alcohol and mixers. He picked me. It was strange, like a thick liquid spreading in my chest.

When he approached the couch, he nodded at it. I took a seat without question. He sat down next to me, an eager expression on his face.

He showed me as he opened the seal of the booze and mixers, prepared the first drink, and handed it to me. Probably exposing that no funny business was going on here.

I eyed the different drinks. “Are we drinking all of these?” It was a lot, but seeing how Graham was part of the football team and weighed twice as much as I did, he must need twice as much alcohol to get tipsy.

“No, we’re not,” he announced. “You are. I’ve already prepared my drink for the night.” He raised his beer and nodded at me to drink.

“Are you trying to kill me?” I half-joked, though I was a bit concerned. It was a lot of alcohol.

“I’m trying to get you to forget whatever is bothering you. Trust me, I’m the expert.”

I couldn’t help but snort in disbelief. Seeing the crazy amount of alcohol and being in St. Claire’s presence were daunting. Was I really doing this? Was I this desperate?