A Game Of Three: Between Love And Death

Amber

I find the asshole lounging on the same couch where he filmed his TikTok video, scrolling his phone and listening to some god-awful Drake song.

The milk carton is sitting on the table next to his bare feet. When he hears the soft shush of my footsteps on the floor, he gestures to the cushion beside him without looking up.

That’s how self-absorbed he is, that he doesn’t even bother to see who it is that’s just walked in.

“About time you got here; sit your ass down,” he murmurs as I take his instruction and flop down on the cushion next to him.

It takes a good thirty seconds for Caden to look up and realize that I’m not whoever he thought I was. That Ben guy he mentioned, maybe?

“Hello Caden,” I grind out through clenched teeth. The song switches to … something. I’m not a fan of mainstream rap so I have no idea what’s playing now.

What I do know, however, is this: Caden smells amazing. Like, amazing-amazing. My nostrils flare to take in the scent and I hope it makes me look really ticked off. Because I am. I don’t care if the guy smells like clean linen and dewy clovers and bright citrus. He deserves a kick in the balls.

“You.”

Just that one word.

Our eyes meet and my heartbeat picks up speed, adrenaline surging through me as I do my best not to compare the color of his irises to toasted coconut.

“What the fuck is this?” I ask, turning my phone around so that he can see the offending video. “Is this supposed to be funny?”

Instead of getting defensive or even angry—I guess both of those emotions just cost too much energy for the lackadaisical lord beside me—Caden smiles.

It’s a terrible smile. It’s a smile that you could only paint with oil, that’s how slick it is. He looks pleased with himself, and if I thought I was mad before, it’s nothing to how I feel now.

“You’re stalking me already?” he asks with a confident laugh. Those stupid stomach muscles of his—remember, they’re extremely stupid muscles—clench as he chuckles.

Caden sets his phone down and then licks his lower lip, swiping a thumb across the shiny surface as he takes me

“Let me reiterate this for you: no.”

“No, what?” I blurt out, shooting to my feet.

Violence isn’t really my go-to response in uncomfortable situations—I do my best to be nice most of the time—but I feel positively murderous in that moment. The dark tones of the song Caden is listening to actually suit my mood. “No, you’re not going to take the video down?”

Caden surprises me by standing up, too, towering over me like he thinks I care that he’s taller. One swift kick to his junk could easily level out the height difference between us.

“No, I’m not interested in you.” He says the words slowly, as if he’s worried I won’t understand. But oh. Oh. Oh. Screw this guy. I’ve dealt with worse online; most girls have.

A laugh escapes me, something dry and mocking and foreign. Who is this person that’s standing here smirking with my face?

Anybody that’s met me for even three seconds knows I despise conflict yet here I am inviting it into my life when I should’ve just blocked this douche and given him the silent treatment.

“Interested in you? Are you insane? We just met ten minutes ago, and you’ve managed to show me that you’re a clout chasing misogynist with bad tattoos and an ugly face.”

Oops.

I clamp a hand over my mouth to stop the verbal diarrhea. Sure, I dislike the guy, but does he really deserve all that?

Despite the harsh words I’ve just thrown in his face, Caden doesn’t stop smiling. There’s a slight tensing of his lips, but it’s so minor that I could’ve easily imagined it. Nah, he doesn’t seem fazed whatsoever.

He reaches up to cup the side of my face.

“Try hard not to fall in love with me,” he drawls, his voice a menacing purr that raises goose bumps on every inch of my skin.

Gah! I want to slap this asshole in his too-pretty face. Instead, I smack his hand away and give him a dismissive once-over the way he did me.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you. I don’t like guys with mommy complexes.”

This time, I get the sort of reaction that I wanted. A dark shadow passes over Caden’s face, knocking that sultry smirk of his into a deep-seated frown.

“This,” he hisses, pointing at my phone to indicate the offending video and then snapping his fingers, “is just the beginning. I’ve hated you since I was three years old, Freda.” My breath releases in a rush at hearing my birthname, a moniker that I wasn’t aware of until six weeks ago.

If I didn’t even know that I was Freda Rivers, how could Caden possibly hate me so much? It makes zero sense. “I’m going to bury you.”

We’re so close now that we could kiss. That is, if we both wouldn’t rather murder each other.

“I love a good challenge,” I start, pushing over the milk carton with my foot. Milk floods the coffee table and spills across Caden’s phone.

His eyes narrow to slits as he looks from the phone to my face. He makes absolutely zero move to pick it up or dry it off.

There’s basically no chance in hell that his phone isn’t waterproof, but milk is sticky when it dries, and it smells if you don’t get it out of every nook and cranny.

Hope he enjoys the exercise in humility. “Too bad I don’t see any challengers. Fuck off, rich boy.”

I shoulder past my new stepbrother and saunter out of that room like I’m not shaking and sputtering and burning.

My skin feels like it’s on fire, and the nerve-endings in my fingertips are going batshit. I’ve never hated someone the way I hate Caden Bricks, not even close. I’ll even go so far as to say I’ve never actually hated anyone before. Disliked, sure, but hate?

I hate Caden Bricks and nothing was ever changing my mind.