#Score (4 page)

Things I’ve noticed about Benji: his brown hair has these subtle threads of highlights in them, and every time we walk under a streetlamp, they shine. His eyes? Yeah, they’re blue all right. The kind of blue that’s steely and dark. His pants fit well around the back too, particularly across his nice ass, which I’ve been glancing at on and off. He smiles a lot, like the world is his oyster and he has not a single care about it. He’s also pretty conceited but gets away with it because of said hotness and the fact that you can’t really tell if he’s joking or if he’s serious. Is he genuinely calling himself the best soccer player ever? Who knows?

I haven’t revealed too much about myself because well, why would I need to? I’m just trying to help him out since he was nice enough to get me out of The Ruins before I made a scene and fainted. Plus I’m a huge doormat—not exactly my best feature. After he asked me what my ‘deal’ was for the third time, I sort of huffed and told him I consider myself an artist. When he gave me a curious look, I could tell he didn’t exactly converge with ‘my kind’ often. It’s like being back in high school, where the jocks won’t sit with the artsy kids.

We finally slump against the edge of a brick building, in need of a break. My drink has been gone for a while, although I feel much better in the fresh air. Benji’s slurring has pretty much disappeared, but I think he might still be sort of drunk.

“Well, that was not how I saw this night going. At all,” he says, folding his hands together out over the top of his knees when he slides down to sit.

I look at him for the millionth time, but something’s different. Benji is looking out over the line of people that is still wrapped around to the back of the club across the street from us. What did he think his night was going to consist of? The laugh that escapes me is quiet, but it’s enough to get him laughing too, and five minutes later we’re still laughing at the absurdity. I’d be cool with doing this for the rest of the night, except I’ve vowed to catch that cab. Eventually.

“I have to agree with you. Definitely not how I envisioned my night.” It’s the truth, because of course I figured I’d leave early and head back home to work on my painting some more. That’s what I always do. But this is different. This is something I never do, and because of it, I feel more connected with the rest of the world I try to seclude myself from. I feel . . . more alive.

It’s different from how I get when I’m caught up in my painting. Benji’s still looking at the other people, but he glances at me out of the corner of his eye when I shift my leg.

“I’m not complaining. You’re good company at least.”

“At the very least,” I mumble, knowing that can’t be the case. I’ve barely allowed myself to say much to him, so why would he consider that good company? I’m just a bitter person who would rather hole herself up in her room than experience most of what life tries to offer every now and then. That’s the CliffsNotes version of me, anyway.

“Yeah, you are. Even if you aren’t exactly thrilled to be here, I appreciate having your help. I’ll try to keep things interesting until we find Cal and Joshua. I promise.” He says this as he pats my hand, still not looking right at me.

I pull my hand away slowly, as the nerves in my skin burn where he touched me.

B
enji

“
T
his is not
what I thought you had in mind,” Ramona says from behind me. I turn and look at her small frame from over my shoulder. She’s under the same cover of shadow from the overgrown trees at the entrance to Jumpy Moe’s Mini Golf, but I can still see her better than my own hands.

I yank at the padlock but as I figured, it’s no use. No matter, I’ll find a way in somehow. I walk along the fence line, checking for any loose openings, until I come across a portion of the chain-link fence that’s been pulled back. “Bingo. Over here, Cinnamon.”

My grumpy yet cute companion walks up, looks at me, and then folds her arms across her chest. “It figures. Well, what are we waiting for?”

I’m not expecting her to say that so I grin, sort of wondering the same thing. It’s never about the plans with me, it’s always about the action. Although at some point I stopped giving a shit about what Cal and Joshua were up to and decided to kick it with this girl instead. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it definitely will not be the last.

Cinnamon, or Ramona, as she has been begging me to call her, pulls the weakened fence back while I slide in the tight space, ending up on the inside of the mini golf course where the small building connects to the outdoor generator. She follows behind me, and we both carefully edge along the side of the building until I’m sure the coast is clear. Pointing to the open counter of the hut, I hop over it to grab a couple of colorful golf clubs and matching golf balls.

“Green or purple?”

Ramona takes a good look at the clubs and starts chewing her lip. I don’t know if it means she’s nervous, but she’s definitely thinking hard about something. She looks back up at me and points to the green club and ball in my right hand. I smile, because of course she doesn’t do the girly thing and pick purple. I’ve only known her for a couple hours, but I can already tell Ramona is pretty much the opposite of girly.

I set up my ball on the first round, ready to take aim, when Ramona taps on my shoulder. “Who said you could go first?”

“For someone who was scared about coming here in the first place . . . you sure are being bossy about it now.”

She purses her lips together and that’s when I notice a tiny dimple, but only on the right side of her face. It’s just a small detail but it catches me off guard, and I’m staring at her without meaning to. She looks away and I usher her to go first. “After you.”

Okay. The cute smile she gives me as she walks past is sort of worth it.
Sort of
.

* * *

B
ut when Ramona
hits her fifth hole-in-one and we’re only on hole number twelve, I have to draw the line. “Are you secretly a pro mini golfer and you’re not telling me?”

She pulls at the sleeve of her shirt, staring through the darkness and smiling. “Maybe I’m just better at this than you.”

“Oh, you see, that sounded like a challenge to me. And I know you don’t know me that well, but anyone else would tell you that’s a big mistake. I don’t take challenges lightly.”

In truth, I don’t give a shit, but it’s kind of funny to see her get all flustered, except this didn’t exactly do it. Ramona shrugs her shoulders, pushing her bangs out of her face. “You can call it what you want. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to win.”

Oh-ho, she’s feisty. We’re at the end, and I’ve been giving it my all, I swear, but I’m not on top of my game while I’m intoxicated. Yeah, that has to be it because if it were any other time . . . I might win. Maybe.

Hole number eighteen, and I’ve only managed to get three hole-in-ones to her seven. I know she’s going to win, I already sense her bragging inside her mind, prepping whatever she’s about to say to me.

For it being late at night, it’s still kind of loud outside, not being too far away from the nightlife on the Boulevard. It sort of reminds me how everyone says New York is the city that never sleeps. Apparently Los Angeles is a close second. The only reason we can see to play is because of the surrounding businesses that are still blaring their lights from their signs and the streetlamps that line the main street. The back of the golf course is pretty damn dark, but our eyes have adjusted to it. So when the overhead stadium lighting around the course lights up all at once, me and Ramona are both quick to cover our faces, wondering what the hell is going on.

“I see you two out there. Stay put, I’m calling the police.” A loud booming voice calls out to us from the now fully-lit building across the golf course.

“Shit, we gotta get out of here.” I say to Ramona, dropping my club and ball at once. “Here, follow me.”

She ditches her club and ball too and we run along the back wall where we have to help each other over the fence to get away. I can hear the guy running and chasing down the course after us, but he’s no match for me. There’s just no way in hell. And luckily for me, Ramona is light and quick on her feet as well and we’re out of there, around the corner and down the block easily.

When we finally stop, Ramona braces herself up against the wall, gulping down air, and then lets out a huge boisterous laugh that I did not expect to come from her at all. “Oh my God. That was intense.”

I raise a brow at her, smiling at her approval. “Yeah? You should see what it’s like to face off against Duke on the soccer field. Now that’s intense.”

I have to admit that I didn’t think Ramona was the kind of girl to giggle, but that’s exactly what she does as she flops against the white wall of the building we’re leaning against, catching her breath. “I can’t believe I just did that. I never do stuff like that. You’re a terrible influence, Benji.”

“Moi?” I ask innocently, mocking her. “No one told you that you had to come along . . .”

She just rolls her eyes at me. “No, but I wasn’t about to let you get caught and arrested on your own. Although maybe I should have . . . that would’ve been a pretty interesting read in the newspaper tomorrow morning.”

Maybe, but deep down I know why she tagged along. Most females get all giggly and silly around me, whether they’re of a higher intellect or not. Of course I can tell she is, but that doesn’t mean my charming ways don’t affect her. I try not to be too cocky about it but let’s face it, I’m a wanted man.

Ramona licks her lips and stands back up off the wall, looking down the road. “All that running made me pretty thirsty. Is there a place to get some water around here?”

I pull out my phone and check the time, ignoring the two texts from my brother and one from Joshua. I’m busy now. “It’s after midnight, but maybe. Let me see if I can find something nearby.”

We head over to one of the places that are apparently still open this late called Molly Malone’s. My stomach growls at the smell of whatever heavenly deliciousness is floating in the air.

“Mmm, I love their soda bread.” It’s like the girl is reading my mind or something.

“Why don’t you take a seat over at that booth,” I say, pointing to an empty spot. “And I’ll order us something at the bar.” I have every intention of ordering, although I’m not planning on paying for anything. I have my ways, after all.

Cinnamon looks confused but goes off in the direction of the booths in the far back, and I turn my attention to the cute woman at the bar. Looks to be early thirties, pretty but tough. She ignores me for a moment, wiping down part of the counter as someone slips a tip for her under their empty glass and walks off. I can tell by the way she stretches her back out when she turns away that she’s tired. Probably been working a double shift, like a lot of the bartenders back at the college bars at home. I watch her closely until she finally acknowledges me, already looking like she’s ready to deal with just another L.A. pretty face.

I may have the pretty face, but I’m smarter than I look. “Long night?”

If she didn’t expect this from me, she doesn’t show it. “You could say that. What can I get you?”

“I’ll take a couple bottles of Pulse, please. Feel free to take your time, I’m not in any hurry.”

She arches a well-manicured dark brow at me, trying to figure me out. “Uh, okay then.”

I smile at her as she pulls the two beer bottles out for me and hands them over. “Cash out or do you want to open a tab?”

“I did want to cash out . . . but I think I’ll hang out here for a little while longer, if you don’t mind.”

This definitely catches her attention. “Why is that?”

I shrug my shoulders, looking around the rest of the pub before looking back at her. “You look like you need a smile.”

And even though she’s fighting it, I can see part of her wall start to crumble. Phase one, complete.

* * *

“
W
ow
,” Cinnamon says when I finally join her at the booth. “I was wondering if you were just going to ditch me, but I see you had other plans in mind.”

I smirk at her as I set the drinks, platters of potato skins and sour cream, and warm soda bread down, the beer bottles clanking together. “Nah. Who else would I share all this free food with?”

“I don’t know. The bartender, maybe? You looked like you were getting awfully cozy with her there for a minute. Wait . . . did you just say free?”

There’s no jealousy in the way she says it, but I can’t help but laugh and call her out on it. “Ooh, someone’s a little jealous. Don’t worry, Cinnamon. There’s enough of me to go around. And then some. And yes, I said free. What can I say? I think she likes me.”

I look back down the narrow width of floor space until I lock eyes with Sienna, the cute bartender, who is now flipping me off. That didn’t last long.

Cinnamon lets out a low whistle. “You are unbelievable.” She follows it with a cute snort. A cute snort? Holy shit, I must be drunk still. “I think I finally have you figured out.”

I toss a whole potato skin into my mouth and lean back in the booth. “Oh? Do share.”

She swallows a bite of food and takes a small sip of her beer, holding it so that she’s pointing at me with it. “You’re one of those cocky jocks. Maybe even secretly a bit of a douchebag. Especially when you’re fully sober, which is only like, half the time because parties. Girls. Everything goes well for you one hundred percent of the time and you only live in the moment. YOLO. I bet you graduated a C-average student, but your school put you up in one of the best dorm apartments they had available. And to top it off? You’re a Scorpio.”

I think it’s kind of funny how both right and wrong she is, trying to pin me down. “You wound me, madam.”

Ramona rolls her eyes at me—something I’m already totally used to by now. “Pssh. You don’t even know what that’s from, I bet.”

I cock an eyebrow at her. “Do you? And just so you know, I was actually a B-average student. With some A’s thrown in there. And a few C’s . . . maybe. And I was only given one of the
second-
best apartments on campus. I play soccer, remember? All the best ones were obviously taken by the football team.”

“Obviously,” she says, a little smile creeping across her plush lips. Is that from the one beer or is she actually having a good time? “Are you always this happy when you’re not drunk? It’s a little overkill, just saying.” I hold that thought. Of course she’s having a good time.

“Whoa now, Morticia. Since when is it overkill to be happy?”

She spreads some of the honey butter on her slice of bread and takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing and wiping at her mouth with a napkin. “Being happy is fine. Being happy all the time is weird. And I get this vibe from you that this is pretty much how it is for you. Am I right?”

I want to shake my head, because of course you can be happy all the time. I mean, I have my moments, but I like to live in the present and not dwell on stupid shit like the past or possible future. Regret and dread are two words that are not in my vocabulary. “You are. But I bet you’d hate it if I made general assumptions about you like that.”

Her eyes widen and she immediately looks away. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s looking a little guilty. Most guys I know would not be sitting here with this girl, not this far into the night without some kind of action at least. Hell, that’s me on most nights too, but I don’t want to move. Ramona is one of those girls that can come off sounding bitchy, but it’s for a reason. She pushes people away. And I don’t like being pushed, even if it’s by a cute and mysterious girl.