Then I’m not fine, at all.
It’s the exact same feeling when I think about Kip calling me. He checked on me the day after formal and I basically told him to fuck off, and he has. But isn’t it funny how sometimes we tell someone to fuck off but then wish more than anything that they would just call?
They’re hosting a tournament pre-party tonight downstairs and even though I don’t want to go, I know I need to make an appearance. For one, everyone in the blogosphere has been talking about how I’ve been off my game, so I need to try to fake that I’m fine so they see I’m still here to compete. Plus, I want to scope out my competition. A lot of people register last minute, just like I did, and I want to see who I’m going to be facing the next two days.
I pull out the black cocktail dress I packed for the party and slip it on, curling my hair and touching up my makeup before heading downstairs. The party is already packed and I run into a few friends from past tournaments almost immediately. When I say friends, I mean either competition or other female players. For some reason, we all gravitate to one another. I guess because we all understand what it’s like to be on the “hot or not” list.
Stupid sexist magazines.
I grab a plate of hors d'oeuvres, even though I haven’t really eaten anything in the past three weeks, and snag a glass of honey whiskey from the bartender before finding a table near the back of the room. The lights are off, but there’s multicolored uplighting and lights that move with the music from the DJ. On any other day, I would be stoked to be here. I would be taking in everything and how amazing it is here in Vegas, one of my favorite places in the world, but right now I just can’t. I need to get myself pulled together before tomorrow.
I just really don’t know how.
“This seat taken?” He asks, and I know it’s Kip without even looking up from my plate. I shake my head and he sits down. For some reason, I still can’t look up.
“Hi,” he says softly, and I find the strength to pull my eyes to his. He’s dressed in a long sleeve white button up and black vest, and of course he’s wearing his glasses. Awesome. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, his hair styled perfectly, and he looks tan. Maybe he’s been lounging by the pool living the good life. I don’t know, but whatever he’s been doing, he looks amazing.
And I know I look like shit.
“Hi.”
He takes a pull of his drink, surveying me. “You look beautiful tonight.”
I really want to make some smart ass comment back to him, but I just don’t think it’s worth it. And I need my head on straight tomorrow. I can’t let him faze me tonight.
“Thank you. So do you.”
He cocks a brow. “You think I’m beautiful, huh?”
I roll my eyes, but a smile threatens at the corners of my mouth and it’s the first time I’ve had that urge in a while. “Like a shark before he eats his prey.”
“So what you’re saying is that I’m like Sparky?”
I laugh a little, forgoing playing with my food on my plate and taking a drink instead. “Sparky is fluffier than you. I think I like him more.”
“Hey, I’ve put on a few pounds. I might be fighting Sparky for that fluffy title here pretty soon.”
He doesn’t look like he’s put on even a single ounce. In fact, he looks like he’s lost weight – especially in his face. It’s then that I take a closer look at him – the bags under his eyes, the tired expression behind his smile. Maybe this hasn’t been as easy for him as I thought.
“Skyler, I need to talk to you.”
I close my eyes, setting my drink on the table. “Please don’t do this, Kip. Not before tomorrow.”
“It’s not about us,” he clarifies, but then he bites the inside of his lip a little. “Well, not entirely. I just need you to know something before tomorrow, before we start this tournament. I want you to understand.”
Pulling the glass to my lips, I drain the rest of my whiskey and cross my arms on the table, bracing for impact. I have no idea what he could possibly say to make me understand why he’s here, why he’s doing this to me. But, I remember running to him on our cruise, desperate to make him understand the whole Erin situation when I knew I didn’t even deserve him listening to a word I said.
I owe him the same courtesy.
“Skyler,” he starts, and the way he says my name is almost too much. It’s almost enough for me to get up and walk out. “I did come to Palm South to seek you out. My dad has been watching you play for years and when he found out you were entering this tournament, or well, rumored to be, anyway – he made me a deal. If I came to this school and got close enough to you to learn how to take you down at this tournament, he would pay for me to go to my dream school – UCLA.” He pauses, probably reading the confusion on my face. “Please don’t take it personally. My dad doesn’t have a vendetta against you or anything, it’s just that he thinks you’re the best in the game right now. And you’re also one of the youngest. I don’t know, I guess he felt like if everything he’s taught me about the game could help me beat you or at least keep up and compete, he would be ‘beating the best’, in a way. He even made that crazy fucking file that you found.” He runs his fingers through his hair, but keeps going. “It’s like he’s living through me. And I didn’t understand that before, not for a long time. But I get it now.”
He shakes his head, almost as if he’s jumping to something too quickly – something he’s not ready to say yet. “Anyway, I’ve been going to community college the past couple of years because I couldn’t afford anything else without my dad’s help. And I know there are loans and I could work but to be honest, I just didn’t think it through. I was lazy, I was selfish, and I wanted my father’s help. So when he offered it, I jumped on the chance.”
I inhale a deep breath and lift my glass, trying to suck the remaining whiskey from the ice cubes. Kip pauses for a moment, his attention falling to my mouth as I swirl the cube around inside. A surge runs straight through me when I realize why he’s distracted. And no matter how much I try not to like it, I love the power I still have over him.
So I grab another cube.
But he continues. “When I met you that night at rush, I didn’t know who you were. You have to know that. I found out that night when I went back to my apartment. That first night between us was all us – you didn’t know about Erin, I didn’t know about you – it was just us and the way we felt together. When I did find out it was you my dad had sent me to Palm South for, I almost called it off then. I fell for you that first night, Skyler. The first time my eyes found yours. When you called me a nerd and said I looked like a Matthew.” He laughs a little and I do, too. “You had me. Right then.”
We both sit silent for just a second, just a split second after that laugh before he takes a breath and continues. “But it’s my dad, and this was his deal. For a while, I let that drive me. Then, when I was close to calling everything off because I was starting to fall for you, you ended it at the dance. And then I was more determined than ever to take you down. But then things changed again and fuck.” He runs his hands through his hair again and lets out a puff of air. “Everything was just such a mess, Skyler. My head was fucked up. But I tried calling my dad to tell him the deal was off before the cruise.”
I sit up a little straighter at his words. “You did?”
He nods. “Yes. But, he didn’t answer, and I should have known then that something was wrong.” Kip swallows hard and his eyes grow darker. “But I called him as soon as we got off the boat, Skyler. And my mom answered. And once again, when I thought I was done with his game, shit got more complicated.”
I inhale, waiting for him to continue. Something tells me what he’s about to say is difficult for him, so I give him the time he needs to gather the words.
“My dad is sick, Skyler.” He chokes on the words a little, his façade breaking. “He has lung cancer. And he’s not going to live much longer.”