Good Game (The System, #1) (47)
“Could you at least pretend you’re having fun?”
Allison Lee leans over Jackson so she can yell the words at me over the music. The two tiny braids framing her face sway as she bops her head, straight black hair swishing behind. I lift my gloved hand and start fist bumping to the music for a few beats, just to have her laugh in my face and settle back in against the black leather booth that cocoons our table. If we’d had it our way, the boys and I would have just hit up a bar near our place or gone to one of the clubs Parker’s friends own. Unfortunately, all the top streamers in Cali, currently, were invited out tonight. We have three of the six tables in VIP all to ourselves for the night, bottle service and more included. I have absolutely zero interest in touching any of the cocaine that is currently being passed, and I keep having to reject random vapes being thrown my way.
Turns out the owners are big investors in esports and are looking to expand their horizons to streaming. Which is why the three of us are sitting shoulder to shoulder in this club, struggling to breathe in these masks and unable to even indulge in the free booze because of them. No cocktail straws tonight.
“I’m going to take some shots in the bathroom. Want to join me?”
Parker flashes a handle of Don Julio in my face.
I don’t really want to take shots in the bathroom. I do, however, want alcohol. I also don’t trust Parker to make his way to and from the bathroom in one piece. The guy is smart, probably smarter than Jackson and I combined, but he has a habit of being too nice. Someone will probably ask to take a swig of his handle, and the next thing I know, he’ll be up on a table with a bunch of chicks who have downed the whole thing, and his pictures will be all over the internet, some stupid hashtag trending. Sydney would have a conniption. She’s already livid that I bailed on the photoshoot this morning. I don’t need more reasons for her to be mad at me, and she would for sure blame anything that goes wrong tonight on me just out of spite.
“Sure.”
We push up from the couch, but Jackson catches my wrist. I flick my thumb towards the bathroom, and he nods before going back to monitor Allison and her friends—ever the protector.
We shoulder our way through the bodies lingering in VIP. There are probably a solid forty streamers here, some I recognize, others I don’t. We flash our wristbands to the security guard outside the men’s bathroom before heading in. There are only three stalls here in addition to the five urinals. After checking that no one else is inside, I pop back out and slip the guard a hundred to hold anyone else from entering.
Parker has already peeled off his mask, the blue lights reflecting off the sink he rested it on. I tug off my own, relief hitting me as the cooler air in the bathroom melts onto my sweaty skin.
“Hell, I can breathe again,” I moan.
Parker laughs, his steel-blue eyes glinting as he pulls two shot glasses out of his pants pocket. I raise my eyebrow at him.
“They’re sanitary, I promise. Got them fresh from the lad at the bar,” he drawls. Parker’s enough of a princess that I believe him. He tears off the plastic and pops off the lid before tipping the amber liquid into the shot glasses, filling them close to the rim.
“Cheers.”
I roll my eyes at him before reaching for my shot glass and clinking it with his. “Cheers,” I say back before downing the liquid. The heat burns down my throat, settling in my chest. I hand the empty glass back to Parker before turning to the mirror. The mask mixing with the heat of the club has my hair sticking to my skin. I give it a quick shake, running my hand through it before turning to my outfit. It’s hot as balls, so I unbutton all but the last four buttons on my red shirt, tucking one side into my ripped black jeans and rolling the sleeves to my elbow.
“Very fuckboi, I like it,” Parker croons over my shoulder.
I give him a light elbow back into his bare chest. “Like you can say anything.”
His floral blue short-sleeve shirt has been open all night, which he paired with a pair of white jeans. White jeans. In a club.
“It’s what the ladies like.” He winks at me. “We have to give them a show.”
He says that, and yet the likelihood of him bringing a girl home is astronomically lower than Jackson and me. The kid acts like he is a baller, but he’s a romantic at heart. He’ll flirt with every girl, but he’ll never go any further. Jackson, on the other hand, will probably head somewhere else after this and find someone warm for the night. Me? Depending on the night, I would’ve headed downstairs to find some girl to bring up to this bathroom for an hour and called it. But now, the idea makes me sick. It turns the tequila in my stomach. My head has been taken over by a slinky brunette. She’s eaten her way into my mind, burrowed herself so deep that I don’t know how to get her out.
I shot her our nightly good night text earlier but haven’t heard back yet, which is weird. She’s normally in bed way before me. God, I sound like a simp.
Parker hands me another shot, and I down it before tossing it back his way. He catches it against his own empty glass and clinks them against the handle.
“One more for the road? Doubt we’ll be able to get in here again before we need to leave.”
I eye my phone. It’s just hit midnight, which means everyone who isn’t here is about to be. How have we only been here an hour? It feels like a lifetime, and we can’t leave until at least one.