Only With You (Knights #2)

7

LANDON

I’m not sure why I keep doing these things to myself.

Allowing Jagger to persuade me to come to the club when I don’t like loud noises or the pungent smell of alcohol.

Sometimes, I wonder how I let myself become best friends with him when we’re polar opposites.

But that’s right. I didn’t allow it to happen. He refused to take no for an answer. No matter how curt I was, how many times I told him to piss off, or said nothing at all, he wouldn’t get the memo.

Jagger Spears planted himself in my life and refused to leave.

We met freshman year of high school. I was new and didn’t know anyone, so I sat by myself during lunch. I was okay with it, because being alone is something I’m used to. But he, along with Polly and Gabby, sat down and wouldn’t shut up. The entire lunchtime consisted of basketball, serial killers, and questions of where I was from.

When lunch was over, I told him I wasn’t looking for a friend and he could go fuck off. Apparently, I wasn’t clear enough, because he laughed and said he was determined to make me his best friend.

Somehow, he managed to succeed, because almost eight years later, here we are, best friends. But now I’m starting to reconsider my life choices and this friendship. He has me doing things like going out to places that make me physically sick and overwhelm me.

He doesn’t know about me feeling that way. I could tell him, but there’s no point.

I’ll be here an hour or two tops, then I’ll leave just like I promised him I would.

We’re at Liquid, a club that opened up last year and a regular place that Jagger and all my teammates like to come to. It’s not my scene. I prefer to be in the comfort of my room, occasionally behind the wheel, or in a studio alone, but Jagger guilt-tripped me.

Since he’s planning on entering the NBA draft next year, he said we needed to spend as much time together as possible. He insisted I come, because as his best friend and it being our last year together, it’s a must.

So, here I am. Drinking water and making sure my earplugs are still intact.

From the distance, I watch my best friend bend down, level to a girl’s chest where a shot is placed between her breasts. It doesn’t take long for him to wrap his mouth around the glass and pull it out from between them.

He smiles, wipes the liquid that trickles down the side of his mouth with the back of his hand, and whispers something in her ear. She nods and a shit-eating grin splits on both of their faces.

I know that look all too well. When he peers at me, I shake my head.

Jagger believes he needs to help me find a fuck in order to compensate for coming out with him. I told him I don’t need it, because even without anyone’s help, the girls always come to me.

I always end up turning most of them down because all they want is to parade around and say they slept with me. I’ve seen them do it with Jag, my other teammates, and every other athlete on campus.

Though it’s not just about the girls bragging they slept with me, but I’m not into fucking everything that breathes and talks. I need to get to know the girl and make sure we’re on the same page.

I don’t like miscommunication or assumptions. Right from the start, I want them to know I don’t do relationships, sleepovers, or cuddling. I’m also not particularly soft when I fuck. I made the mistake thinking I made myself clear to a girl, and realised right away she wasn’t into what I was.

Needless to say, I’m cautious about who I sleep with and who I talk to.

“Smile a little.” Jagger stands next to me with a beer in his hand. “It’ll make you look more approachable.”

“No.” Turning on my heel, I head on up to the VIP section with Jagger in tow.

Once we get to the top, we head all the way to the back where the rest of our friends and teammates are. I take a seat on the couch and Jag sits next to me.

He sloppily smiles and his eyes glaze over, indicating he’s slightly buzzed. I know this because he pokes my cheek. Usually, he wouldn’t touch me because he knows how I feel about it. “Come on, you know you want to.”

I smack his hand away. “Not even in the slightest.”

He shrugs, not offended by my curt response. “By the way, why’d you say no? Her best friend is hot! She’s got big tits and everything, your favorite!”

I roll my eyes as Saint wedges himself between us and throws his arms over our shoulders, pulling us in for a hug. “ I miei amici! What the hell are you guys doing? Stop being stronzi and let’s go down there!”

The stench of whiskey penetrates my space.

Grinding my teeth, I fight back the urge not to gag, but not hard enough, because I uncontrollably shudder.

This is the number one reason why I don’t like coming to places like this with alcohol. I want to so badly, but I just can’t overcome the sick feeling anytime I smell alcohol, particularly whiskey.

Rolling his arm off, I stand and close my eyes briefly, counting to ten, and chug the rest of the water.

It’s not his fault. He doesn’t know how much I detest whiskey of all things. No one knows and I keep it that way. It’s pointless to share any tidbits about my life. It does nothing but bring pity and that’s the last thing I want.

“You good?” Jagger eyes me carefully.

“Yeah, fine.”

But unlike Jag, Saint’s oblivious. He stands and approaches me with a lopsided grin and sways. “Landon, you need to let loose and have fun. There are so many girls. So many hot girls.”

I arch a brow. “What happened with Daisy?”

The question sobers him up, but it’s as if he caught himself slipping because he shakes it off. “It’s best if I let bygones be bygones.”

Narrowing my eyes, I stare at him inquisitively. “But?—”

“It’s for the best. I’ve moved on and I said yes to Breanna.”

Jagger and I look at each other knowingly and while I hold back my laugh, he doesn’t. He cackles and takes a swig of his beer.

“What’s so funny?” Malik comes out of nowhere and stands next to us.

“That this freshman”—Jagger slings his arm around Saint’s shoulder and tugs him close—“is a dumb-ass.”

Malik snorts. “Why? What did he do now?”

Since he lives with us, he’s gotten accustomed to Saint’s bullshit. He’s also been roped into it.

“Good luck moving on, mate,” I mock, keeping a straight face.

“Moving on from what?” Malik stares at us, all perplexed.

Saint shakes his head, quickly answering, “It’s nothing.”

“From her.” Jagger tips his head down where the drunken crowd dances, his gaze settling on Saint’s obsession.

“Who are we looking at?” Malik follows his line of vision, but because there are so many people, his eyes roam the entirety of the club.

“Daisy Diaz,” I supply. “The girl by the bar. Pin-straight black hair, tight bright orange dress, and killer smile.”

“Damn, she’s…fine.” Malik whistles.

“She—” Saint clears his throat and for the first time his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “She’s not into anyone younger than her, so don’t waste your time.”

“She’s definitely worth my time,” Malik replies, unaware of the change in Saint’s mood. “Fuck, she can waste my time for all I care.”

It’s temporary, because whatever’s clouding Saint’s mind dissipates and he’s back to looking happy. “Good luck,” he patronises, patting his shoulder just as Daisy’s look-alike stands next to him.

“Hey, Saint.” Breanna hugs him before waving at us. “Hey, guys.”

“Hey, Bre.” He returns the hug.

It’s obvious why Saint said yes to Breanna. In some way, she looks like Daisy. Same black hair, faces are almost identical, their bodies are slightly the same. The only difference is that Breanna is taller than Daisy.

“I’ll be back. I’m thirsty.” Malik chugs the remainder of his drink and holds his cup up, asking anyone around if they want a drink.

Some say yes, while Saint insists he’ll go with him, and he does with Breanna in tow.

So much for bygones being bygones.

I grimace at the wet stain on my shirt. It’s not big, but still, the disgusting smell of vodka stays on it.

Some girl accidently spilled her drink on me when she tried to get me to dance with her.

“Fuck,” I grumble, deciding against adding more soap because the wet spot will only get bigger.

I pull my phone out and type out a message to Jagger, letting him know I’m leaving, until I hear a familiar voice outside the restroom.

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Julianna, why are you being like this? It was a long time ago,” a guy whines.

“Don’t,” she warns.

“You’re being unreasonable and childish. I said I was sorry. What more do you want from me?”

The sound of a toilet flushing mutes the conversation, but when it stops, I don’t hear her anymore. There’s no way I would’ve imagined her voice.

I step into the hall and head back to the crowded club. I spot Gabby and Polly with everyone else, but Hollywood is nowhere in sight.

I swear I couldn’t have imagined her. My brain wouldn’t fuck me up like that and I would know because I saw the colours . They wouldn’t have made an appearance if I hadn’t heard her voice.

I consider asking Gabby and Polly if she came with them, but I don’t want them prodding. Especially Polly. She’s under the impression we need to fuck the hate out of our systems.

I’m not sure where she got that from, but fuck that.

Searching the entire bar and even the VIP section, I almost give up because I don’t see her. For the first time in my life, I’m hoping I’ll spot her blonde hair and irritating sapphire eyes, but I come up short.

There’s only one other place I can think of and I hope to God she wouldn’t be that daft to be outside alone. Then again, I’ve seen her do some pretty questionable things.

I make my way outside and look everywhere, but I still don’t find her. Right as I’m about to give up, I remember there’s an alley.

A single lamp post lights up the narrow but long lane, helping me instantly spot her. She’s leaning against the brick wall. Her head hangs low, but she fans her face with her hand. Mumbling something, but it’s so low, I can’t hear it.

Without giving it a second thought, I stride down the alley and stand in front of her.

“Hollywood?”