Just Roll With It: a Just Us novel (23 page)

"What do you mean single?" I give him a pointed look, hoping he doesn't say what I think he's going to say.

"Didn't you hear? I was dating a felon."

"I heard. But so?"

"A F-E-L-O-N," he drunkenly spells for me.

"But you don't exactly have to—"

"Oh, but I did."
Shit
. "I did it anyways. It's official, my first real relationship and it lasted … oooh, less than five months. F-I-V-E." He holds up his hand to count his five fingers one by one.

"Good to know you're a literate drunk, at least. Who knew how much you'd enjoy spelling your words when inebriated?"

"Ine-bri-ated, I-N—"

"Enough, I get it. Come on, sad-face, let’s find the boys. Looks like we all have had an eventful enough evening."

I tug Enzo along with me toward the spot where Roman and Lyle stand, relinquishing the elusive t-shirt for another time. 

Life started moving in fast forward after the show in Toronto. Enzo is starting to get back to normal, well trying to, at least, and I am trying to balance school and life. I never realized how hard offsetting the work was with actually having a social life. I never had anything better to do then study and paint, so good grades came easy. This semester, on the other hand, I find myself much more interested in having fun. I've missed out on a lot up until now, and isn't the experience what college is supposed to be about anyhow? My grades could, be better but I'm not too worried about it yet. I've never felt better.

We're on our way to Chicago right now for one of the paintball tournaments. I'm excited to watch Roman play for the first time; It's nice to be included in a personal part of his life.

It's been a long drive, and my neck and legs are cramping up like no other, but we're almost there. It's only March, so it's still cold outside. Thankfully, we stopped at a window repair shop on our way home from Canada to fix the mess Lyle made. He did at least pay for it without being asked.

Lyle gets a lot of shit, but when it comes down to it, he is a loyal and caring friend. Definitely a good one to have on your side. He's in the passenger seat again due to how freakishly tall he is, and I am in the back with Thomas … again. I've gotten to know him a little better seeing as how we've been sharing the backseat of The Ghost so often. The whole drive he's been trying to explain to me the basics of the paintball sport. There are so many terms to remember, but I think I'm getting the jist of it. Who knew so much went into paintball? I didn't even realize it was a sport until Roman told me, but paintball is a pretty big deal to these guys.

I don't think I was fully aware of what I was getting myself into when I thought paintball tournament, but it sure as shit wasn't this. Paintball is sheer insanity. Also, it turns out this isn't even a tournament for the Championship or World Cup or whatever it's called, which is not until August. No, I'm told this is a much smaller event.

When we pulled up to the sports park where it's being held, there are people everywhere. Guys and girls pack the place, screaming and drinking and cheering for their favorite teams already. We haven't even gotten ten yards from the car when I hear Roman's name shouted. I turn around assuming it's one of the guys from the team I have met, but it's coming from a group of people I don't recognize.

They begin to chant, "Ran-som broth-ers" and I am really confused.

Roman and Thomas start walking in their direction, so I start to follow. I feel Lyle place his hand on my arm as he gently tugs to keep me in place.

"They'll be right back, but you might not want to go over there."

And then I see why: the boys are bombarded. Girls are lining up to cling to one of the "brother's" arms, while guys ask questions and kids ask for autographs.

"W-What the … What is going on right now?" I ask Lyle without looking away from the scene, not risking taking my eyes off of Roman for fear I'm imagining things.

"Let's just say Roman and Trav are pretty good."

I finally turn to Lyle with a hand on my hip and confront him, "Pretty good?"

I feel somewhat betrayed. I wasn't given the full amount of information upon coming here, and now I look and feel blindsided.

"As in, pretty well known in the sport." He's still trying to downplay the reality of it.

I gasp. "No kidding." I put my hand against my forehead above my eyes like a visor to shade the sun and continue to watch the group of guys and girls alike fawn all over my boyfriend. "He should've told me it was going to be nuts."

Lyle walks up, stands shoulder to shoulder with me and looks ahead at the crowd. "One, he didn't want to brag because he doesn't even think it’s a big enough deal to talk about. And two, would you have really believed him?" He turns his gaze to me and smirks.

"Point. But look at them, they are practically famous!" I yelp and wave my arm, pointing my full hand in the direction of my famous paintball playing boyfriend.

Lyles eyes dart to mine and then quickly to the right as he nods his head ever-so-gently in a different direction silently telling me to look.

I gasp. "Oh. My. God. You have got to be kidding me, they are on a fucking banner. Are you serious? How is this real life?" I'm looking straight into those intimately familiar brown eyes up on the Chicago Open sign.

"It's like any other pro sports league, Bee. They are contract killers. They get paid to play. There are always those athletes who stand out and everyone knows their name. Rome just happens to be hopelessly humble."

"It's okay, this is okay, right? I'm not jealous of all those girls oogling and hanging off of him, really I'm not. And, it's not like paintball is really all that popular else it would be on telev—" I stop mid-word and mouth open when the sports network's broadcast vans drive past. Lyle topples over himself cracking up at the look on my face.

Roman and Thomas came back, but they can't seem to shake a chubby pre-teen boy who keeps following them around like a puppy, asking question after question. Both are very polite and answer every single one as best they can. Finally, when I know it has to be time to start getting ready, the boy gives them an awkwardly long side hug and goes on his merry way with a phone full of selfies and a smile.

Before the Atomic-Anarchy boys leave to go play, Roman tells me to stay and stand with them, therefore I have to watch them get ready. We are under a tent designated for our team, and it seems to be blocking the wind enough to be almost comfortable.

I look around and see familiar faces. I met most of these guys at the New Years’ party, you know, before I spent the night face first in the puke bin. None of them seem shy about stripping down naked in front of me as they work to get their gear on. When they are finished, they legit look like the teams I see on the banners and signs, decked out in bandanas, jerseys, visors, goggles, and guns. Then, before too long, it is go-time. 

I really like the Marq series of guns. The spacing from the reg to the frame feels good to me. Mostly, it's the frame; I like how thin it is. The grips don't protrude, so I get a really good contact. For me, feel of the gun is tops. If it doesn't feel good in my hand, I couldn't care less how it shoots. I get a scarily similar feeling with Rigbee. When I have her in my arms, I couldn't give two shits about anything else. The feel of her skin when my touch gives her goosebumps. The way she turns her head halfway to look back at me when I've got a hold of her from behind, even that goddamn smirk she doesn't realize she gives me when she thinks she knows something I don't, it's consuming me and driving me downright fucking insane.

"Hey, man, I'm really liking the trajectory of the Marqs too. It seems to shoot really flat, like an Autococker," I hear Lawrence say.

"Yeah, it's a bit older, but that means you can get them a shit ton cheaper," Lyle walks up to us and puts in his two cents as he fucks around with his Shocker.

Huh. When you think about it, comparing Bug to Paintball isn't much of a stretch considering how dirty some of it sounds.
Autococker, Shocker.
Shit, I need to focus.

"And they really aren't outmatched by any new guns. In speed, efficiency or recoil. Ain't that right." Lawrence looks at me for my response.

When I don't give him one, he puts his hand on my shoulder and gives me a knowing glare. My muscles tense—the urge to punch something creeps up my spine. Unknowingly until now, this girl has been driving me crazy. I have never been not with it before a game, ever. Not since Amy, and I don't count that particular time period.

Some of the team are already dry firing into their barrel condoms.
Condoms,
another one.
Gah! Pull it together
. I quickly grab the rest of my pods, check my air, and make my way to the field, trying not to think too much about Bug. However, the mere fact she will be watching makes her all I think about.

"A-A splatter balls!" I watch the team scream as they take the field. I don't know what they're yelling means. Doesn't matter, though, because if I know one thing, it's watching Roman play paintball is pretty freaking sexy. I can tell he is completely in his element. To be honest, it's really hard to tell who is who out there. They all look the same in their protective gear and with them wearing masks and goggles, but I can easily pick my man out of the bunch. The way he moves is so natural, fluid. Every time he dives behind a bunker, which I now know is called drifting—thank you, Thomas—I get scared he got hit or hurt, but he always sits back up and lets the other team have it. I didn't know how watching him would put giant butterflies in my stomach. Every time I hear the ref guy call something, there's a burning in my chest, where my heart sinks, and I have to remind myself Roman knows what he's doing. Who would've thought I would end up getting so into the game? I freaking hate sports. I officially don't hate paintball.

I am watching a few of the other guys I know from the team when I see Roman do the slidey thingy, making it behind the next bunker up just in time. But, instead of getting right up and shooting, he stays down and starts rubbing at his knee. After a few seconds, he turns back around and finishes whatever move he was making so I hope he's all right. Atomic-Anarchy knock out the last guy on the other team and the crowd goes nuts. After the small celebratory hugs and fist pumps, the team heads back to the tent.