Dark Places

52.2 | no, i hated you

"Sí, my good luck charm." Drake pries my hands away gingerly, offering a sheepish smirk. "For the record, I played in a lot of winning games that year."

"Yeah," I snort, resorting to a fake flirtiness, if only to mask the unbearable shame. I reaaaaally don't want to rehash those mistakes. "Thanks to me, ¿sí?"

"Mhm, I remember you on the sidelines a few times, sneaking into the dugout..." His teeth sink into his bottom lip. "Yeah, it was a good year for us."

For us.

"I only stopped going after... after Tyler..."

"Showed his wankbank to the entire team?"

"Yeah." I swallow thickly. "You really saw them."

"Oh, yeah, Tyler wanted me to see them. Tyler showed them to me, Melo, looked me dead in the eyes, asked, 'Hey, D, would you hit that?" Drake snickers, laying his head down onto his forearms to look up at me lazily. "I told him you'd hit back."

I can't help it. I laugh.

Only Drake Medina.

"I'd hit back, huh?"

"Someone had to tell them because they were living in these unreal fantasies of you."

My nose scrunches up. "They? They didn't really all talk about me like that, did they?"

"Oh, you didn't hear the things guys in high school said about you? I heard it, Melo."

"Probably took part in it."

"I've said a few things about you." Drake nods, holding up a finger. "Oh, Luz?" he says, imitating a haughty, younger version of himself impeccably. "I'd beat the brakes off that bitch."

"What?" I sputter into another fit of laughter. "Please, never say that again."

"Eh, locker room talk." A crooked grin tilts at his lips. "You were never supposed to hear that."

Hmmm. I tap my fingers against the table absentmindedly, trying to gauge how far I can push him tonight. "So... what else did you say about me?"

Surprise traipses through his eyes. Drake straightens, feigning a subtle stretch to run a hand through his hair, reach behind his head, scratch his neck, almost nervously. "Ah, fuck, I'd... I'd have to... think..."

"Jonah told me you used to talk about me."

He blinks. "Jonah told you what?"

Caught.

Oh, there has to be a story. Oh. Sí.

"Espera," I squeak, wrangling a wry grin at him. "What did you used to say about me to Jonah?"

"Nothing."

"Drake!"

"What?" he snickers, falling back against the seat when I shove at his arm weakly. "You'll never get it out of me, Melo."

A last-ditch attempt. "I always knew you were talking shit."

And Drake gives me nothing. His eyes flash in amusement, and I know it's over. "Almost always, amorcita."

"Fine." I lift a single shoulder, crossing my arms over my chest. This is fun for him. "Whatever."

...and silence sets the table.

I shift uncomfortably, trying to turn my body away from him as the waitress brings us two plates of eggs and bacon. It skews my gaze. It's a fucking trap, because I'm in no condition to endure silent warfare. I barely remember what I'm mad about, and I'm drawn to the scent, the space between us, directly across from him, forced to meet his unimpressed look.