Face Off

“Well, let’s just say you present yourself in a different light, but now I’m wondering if you’re doing that on purpose so people don’t expect much out of you or because you’re like an actual good person and don’t want the attention to be on that. You just want to do good and be good and pretend to be a bad boy.”
“Oh, trust me, Rory—I’m a bad boy where it counts.”

I see it then: my name and my number stitched across her back.
Lawson. 25.
A hunger I’ve never experienced builds inside of me as I stare at it.

“Relax? What do people even do to relax?”
I can’t answer her because I don’t know. I never relax. Even on my “off” days, I’m still likely to be found here at the clinic, and if I’m at home, I’m probably reading up on the latest treatments and medical news. I don’t know how to relax either, but I sure would like to figure it out.

Her words are cold, unemotional. But her eyes… They tell a whole different story.

“Says the new dog dad.”
“Hey! I’m a great dog dad. I feed her turkey bacon.”
“And take her to the movies. Can’t forget that.”
“She’s loved.”
“She’s spoiled, and you’re a sucker.”
“You say sucker, I say good dog dad.”

Love and relationships lead to nothing but agony, and I’ll keep my feelings locked up tight where I can control what happens to my heart, thank you very much.

I don’t flirt. At all. Ever. Just like I don’t do relationships. Neither is my thing.

This place belongs to Rory Sinclair, the twin sister of my teammate’s girlfriend. She’s standing right in front of me. And she hates me.