21 proving it
By Friday night, I'm already in a bad mood before the game even starts.
Which makes absolutely no sense considering we're undefeated, the stadium's completely packed again, ESPN apparently decided Missouri State football matters now, and Coach has spent the entire week acting like he personally invented winning.
Still.
Something's been off all week.
Mostly because I made it off on purpose.
Distance is smarter.
Necessary.
Football first.
All that inspirational bullshit.
Turns out distancing yourself from somebody gets significantly harder when you live in one room together and accidentally start noticing everything about them.
Very inconvenient for me honestly.
So naturally my solution is making worse decisions.
Healthy coping mechanisms aren't really my brand.
The second the game ends and we win again, I already know exactly what kind of night I'm about to have.
Loud.
Drunk.
Stupid.
Perfect.
Scott notices immediately too because unfortunately he pays attention.
"You've got the face again," he says while we're leaving the locker room.
"What face?"
"The self-destructive one."
"That feels dramatic."
"You bought home tequila yesterday just because."
"It was on sale."
"You don't even drink tequila."
"That sounds irrelevant."
Scott stares at me for a second before shaking his head. "You're spiraling over a girl."
I laugh immediately. "Absolutely not."
"Sure."
"Allen."
"Bennett."
"You're deeply irritating."
"And you're emotionally constipated."
"That phrase should be illegal."
Scott just grins before slapping my shoulder hard enough to almost dislocate it. "Try not to ruin your life tonight."
"No promises."
-
The party's worse than usual.
Or maybe I am.
Probably both.
Music pounds hard enough to shake the walls while people crowd every room shoulder-to-shoulder, football players getting shoved drinks every five seconds because apparently winning games turns us into local celebrities.
I lean into it on purpose tonight.
Drink faster.
Laugh louder.
Flirt harder.
Like if I act enough like the version everybody expects, eventually my brain will stop replaying Everly staring at me like she noticed me pulling away.
Which she definitely did.
That's the problem with psychology majors.
Too many observations.
A brunette slides into the empty space beside me at some point while I'm halfway through another drink.
"You're Bennett."
Not a question.
I smirk automatically. "Depends who's asking."
She laughs immediately. "God, football players really recycle the same lines."
"That one's classic for a reason."
"Mhm."
Her name's Chloe.
I think.
Honestly there's enough alcohol in my system now that names feel optional.
She's pretty though.
Funny enough.
Keeps touching my arm every time she laughs, leaning closer every few minutes while we talk over the music.
Normally easy.
Usually automatic.
Tonight I have to force myself into it slightly, like I'm playing a version of myself instead of actually being him.
Which should probably concern me more than it does.
"You wanna get out of here?" Chloe asks eventually, fingers hooking lightly through the sleeve of my hoodie.
And this time I don't hesitate.
That's the point tonight.
Prove it.
Shut it down.
Move on.
Simple.
"Yeah," I say immediately.
-
The walk back to campus is cold enough that Chloe keeps moving closer beside me, arm brushing mine while she talks about something I'm honestly not listening to anymore.
Because somewhere between leaving the party and reaching the dorm building, my stomach starts tightening slightly.
Not nerves, just something unsettled.
Too late now.
I unlock the dorm room and immediately freeze for half a second.
Everly's awake.
Of course she is.
She's sitting cross-legged on her bed surrounded by psychology notes and highlighters, giant hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands while music plays quietly from her laptop.
Her eyes lift the second we walk in.
And fuck.
There it is.
Tiny.
Quick.
Almost invisible.
But I catch it anyway.
Her expression drops slightly before she fixes it immediately.
Too fast for Chloe to notice.
Not too fast for me.
Everly glances between us once before forcing out a small smile. "Wow. Romantic."
Chloe laughs awkwardly beside me while I shove my hands into my pockets.
This is fine.
Perfect actually.
Exactly what I wanted.
So why does the room suddenly feel wrong?
Everly starts gathering her notes calmly like none of this bothers her at all, but she's moving slightly faster than usual now, not looking directly at me anymore while stuffing papers into random folders.
And suddenly every instinct in my body tells me to tell Chloe never mind.
Which is deeply fucking inconvenient.
Instead I hear myself say, "Can you give us the room for a bit?"
The second the words leave my mouth, something twists hard in my chest.
Everly pauses slightly, just slightly. Then nods once like it doesn't matter.
"Yeah," she says easily. "Obviously."
Too easy.
She slides off the bed before grabbing her hoodie and phone, movements calm enough that Chloe probably thinks this happens all the time.
Which technically it does.
But not like this.
Everly finally glances at me properly while walking toward the door, expression completely unreadable now.
"Have fun, Bennett."
Then she leaves.
The door shuts softly behind her. And suddenly the room feels too quiet.
Chloe steps closer immediately afterward, fingers hooking into the front of my shirt while kissing me before I can think too hard about anything.
So I let it happen.
That's the point.
Forget it.
Shut it down.
Move on.
Simple.
Except it's not.
Because halfway through kissing her, my eyes drift automatically toward Everly's bed.
Empty now.
Blanket still messed up from where she'd been sitting there ten seconds ago.
Something sharp settles low in my stomach immediately.
Wrong.
The whole room feels wrong now.
Too unfamiliar somehow.
Chloe pulls me back toward her again and I force myself to focus, hands settling on her waist automatically while she laughs softly against my mouth.
Normal.
This is normal.
So why the fuck do I feel like I'm making a mistake the entire time?
-
Later, Chloe's half asleep beside me while I stare at the ceiling feeling absolutely nothing except annoyed.
Not at her.
At myself.
The room's dark except for the small lamp beside Everly's bed that she apparently forgot to turn off before leaving, warm yellow light spilling across the empty mattress while silence settles too heavily around the room.
I keep looking over there without meaning to.
At her hoodie tossed across the chair.
Her guitar beside the desk.
The stupid sticky notes she leaves everywhere.
Everything feels off without her actually here.
And suddenly it hits me all at once, sharp and undeniable.
I did this on purpose.
Not because I wanted Chloe.
Because I wanted to prove something to myself.
That I could still be this version of me.
That Everly didn't matter.
That nothing changed.
Except now I'm lying here beside another girl thinking about my roommate instead.
Which feels like a pretty obvious fucking answer.