I try not to smirk. “So do you. I can still feel your hand on my scalp.”
Nikki giggles. “Brawling on the field isn’t the best therapy though, is it? I know we don’t get along, but you can talk to me. I’m not a bad captain.”
I shrug. “Actually, you’re pretty good.” I take in a deep breath. “So, are you dating Elijah?”
Immediately, her mood tanks into something dangerously pissed-off, and I’m regretting my bluntness. “Why do you want to know?” she asks. “I guessed you’re interested in him.”
“We were friends when we were kids,” I reply flatly. “Not so much as adults. He has an issue with me now, a legit one.”
Nikki smirks slightly and relaxes into her seat. “I was interested, but he’s not,” she replies lightly. “I won’t waste my time on a guy who’s not into me.”
I felt that jab harder than her elbow in my ribs on the field. “Well, he took a photo of you at a bar.”
She sits up straight like her spine is forged in steel. “How do you know that?”
“He displayed them in class.” I watch her reaction go from shock to fury. “They’re really good. The professor wants him to enter them in a competition.”
Nikki’s mouth opens wide, and she doesn’t look pleased. “He took those the night of the concert. I didn’t think he was going to show them around.”
“They were tastefully shot,” I reassure her with a smirk. “I only knew it was you because I see you almost every day at practice. He might win the competition.”
“Don’t I have to sign a release first?” she asks.
“Probably, but they’re that good,” I tell her honestly. “I’m almost jealous.”
“I don’t care. He’s a misogynistic asshole, and I have no intention of helping him out.” She waits a second for a reply, and then her rage morphs into concern. “You’re not hooked on him, Livi, are you?”
I can’t look her in the eye. “Like I said, I knew him.”
Sighing, she shakes her head. “No wonder you’re fucking up. Olivia, I know we’re not tight, and I have no business offering you advice off the field. But that man is whack. I figured that out in a day. He’s sexy as fuck but seriously bad news. Most guys like that only care about themselves, but I’m not sure if he even gives a damn about himself. Run fast in the opposite direction, block his number, and ghost his strange ass.”
“Thanks,” I mumble. “And I don’t mind hearing the warning. It needs to sink in.”
She looks at me until I meet her gaze. “I know we just went at it on the field, but never tolerate a guy hitting you.”
“Did he touch you?” I ask gently.
“No, not like that.” Nikki’s face heats up, leaving red splotches on her cheeks. “But something is off with him.” She taps her forehead, indicating Elijah is mental.
Our conversation lapses into silence again, and I can’t help picturing her photo on the classroom wall. The thought of him touching her makes me want to scream. And despite knowing better and knowing what he is like, I can’t banish him from my mind. I dread my next move because I know if I follow my heart, it will lead to ruin.
***
My jealousy almost got me kicked off the team. I sincerely apologized to Nikki in front of the coach and took the blame for what happened. She came to my defense, and since her uncle is a coach, I got off with a warning.
There’s nothing I can do unless I dig deeper into our past, and that’s not something I want to do right now. Elijah used me for revenge, and I can’t get over it. We had an open chapter, and he closed it by fucking me. He’s a different person, and this person doesn’t care at all.
The digital camera is still in the box in the kitchen. And instead of racing off the rails, I decide to get even in a legit way. I pull the camera out of the box, determined to take a shot that will win the competition. What’s that saying? Don’t get mad, get even? Elijah thinks he can move on by walking over me. Well, it won’t be easy for either one of us. My energy needs to be redirected, and I know that I’m not reasoning straight. I don’t want confirmation. I want to stay angry.
I put on my coat and head out into the neighborhood, looking for something interesting to photograph. The architecture in the neighborhood is well over a century old, and there are several landmarks with red brick and molded cornices. I head over to Town Hall, which is a gold mine of intricate architectural details. The norm would be to take a full shot. But I crop details, finding interesting angles to take, highlighting the century-old building.
The setting sun reflects off the windows, creating a mirror-like effect. I’m so into taking pictures that I forget the time, not noticing the building emptying out for the day. I notice a man with a grizzled beard and a wide smile standing in front of a north-facing window. He looks up toward the sky, and the light in the window creates an aura around his head. He looks like a sinner with a halo, and I focus the shot through the lens. I can almost recall having seen his face before.
As soon as I press the shutter, the man looks at me. He glares, and I dare to take another shot as he moves away from the window and heads straight toward me. I slip the camera into my pocket and hurry down the steps. I can’t run too fast, or I’ll trip over the cracked concrete steps, but the man moves faster than I do as I feel his hand grab my upper arm.
He spins me around, and the stench of alcohol comes out of his sweaty pores. His oily hands are filthy, and I don’t want him touching me. He notices how I wrinkle my nose as I try to pull away. I could lash out, but I don’t want to make this worse than it is.
“Let go of my arm. What do you want? I don’t have any money.” A string of protest rushes from my mouth.