Free Before & After by Nazarea Andrews

her
voice is tinged with annoyance.
    "Because
you aren't Peyton."
      "You fucking knew that, Rike. You weren't
under any illusions about who you were going home with."
    I
wasn't but I don't like what that says about me. "Why the fuck were you
about to cheat on her?" she asks. “Even if I wouldn’t have let it
happen—what the fuck were you thinking?”
    "It's
not your business," I say, my gaze finally lifting to find hers.
    "Bullshit.
If you want that, you should probably avoid bringing me home. But here I am,
and I got to deal with your shitty temper, so why don't you do us both the
favor of being honest?"
    "I
was pissed. I don't know. It was a shit move and I won't repeat it."
    She
sits in silence for a moment, and I want to shove away from the table and bolt.
Her gaze is too sharp and too assessing, and she doesn't like what she sees.
    I
don't blame her. I don't like me very much at the moment either.
    "She
cares about you, Rike. I know you're probably wondering, because I know Peyton.
She likes her privacy and she fucking adores her secrets. But she likes you and
she's let you get close to her. She doesn't do that for anyone. Don't fuck that
up. And don't use me to hurt her. I'm not down with that bullshit."
    My
gaze cools and it skates over her, just as judgmental as hers on me had been.
"Then what the fuck are you doing here?"
    She
shrugs. "I'm here for Scott, asshole. It has nothing to do with you."
    I
jerk, throwing a startled look at Scotty. He’s ignoring me, sipping his coffee
with a careful eye watching Lindsay.
    What
the hell is happening here, and how did I miss it?
    “If
you got your head out of your ass,” Lindsay says, “maybe you wouldn’t miss it.”
    Scott
snorts a laugh and I realize I’ve spoken out loud. I flush.
    “I’m gonna go,” Lindsay says. Scott rises and kisses her
briefly, and my eyes narrow. “Call me later?”
    He
nods and she waves at me with a narrowed eyed look before ducking out of the
kitchen. I hear the apartment door slam behind her and my eyes go wide as I
stare at my best friend like I’ve never seen him.
    “What
the actual fuck, Scott?”
    He
shrugs. “She’s a nice girl, man. And we’ve both been bored, with you and Pey so wrapped up in each other.”
    I
stare at him for a long minute, long enough that he fidgets and finally looks
up at me.
    His
eyes are bright and daring me to say something. And because I'm an idiot, I do.
"You actually care about Lindsay?"
    "Why
the hell is that so hard to believe?" he asks.
    "Because
that's not your M.O."
    "Taking
a month to fuck a girl isn't yours," he snaps back. And stands. Rinses his
cup with his back to me.
    It's
covered in tattoos and scars, and I know all of the markings as well as I know
my own hands. Fuck, I put some of them there. "She matters, Rike. End of
story. Go back to your siren, and try not to fuck up what we both have going on
here."
    He
doesn't say anything else as he stalks out of the kitchen and I'm left standing
with a cold cup of coffee and no fucking clue how the hell our life got so
weird so damn fast.

 
    ***

 
    She's
furious when I step into the little deli. It's off the campus of UT , cheap and not very good, but she likes it and I humor
her. Right now, she's sitting in our normal booth, her computer on the table
next to her BLT, ignored as she taps angrily at the phone in her hand.
    Her
gaze, when it swings up to meet mine, is hot and hurt, her lips a tight
unforgiving line, and I let out an inaudible sigh.
    "What
the hell were you thinking last night?" she snaps while I slip into the
booth.
    "Why
do psychologist hate elevators?” I stare at her, my gaze pleading for her to
pick up her line of the joke, but she just sits back and crosses her arms over
her pretty breasts, glaring and waiting for the explanation I don't have.
"Because they drive you up a wall."
    It
doesn't get a response, but I didn't really think it would. I just had to try.
    "I'm
not in the mood for that shit, Jokes," she