Chapter 14 Distracted
Chapter fourteen
Distracted
Jasmine Chamberlain
“Did I see you talking to Shepherd?” Marigold asks, tucking her tiny notebook back into the messenger bag slung across her body.
She’s the only one of the roommates who came tonight.
Saylor had to study, and Aurora said she’d rather dance on broken glass.
Which I thought was a creative—if intense—way of saying no thanks.
“Yeah, I ran into him,” I reply, unsure of what to say about the encounter. It was…nice? But something about that seemed wrong. As if we weren’t allowed to have a nice talk at a party. And my stomach was swooping and swirling like a kite on a breezy autumn day.
Marigold’s eyes narrow. “Did he say something to you? You look weird, and you said you were going to grab water, but you didn’t get any.”
I blink and look down at my empty glitter-covered hands. When my friend Emmaline from cheer called me over to take a photo of her and Shelly, I came right back, forgetting what I had set out to do in the first place.
“We just talked. Nothing happened,” I tell her.
Marigold raises a brow like she doesn’t believe me and slides her notebook out again. Her purpose for coming tonight was not to celebrate the team’s win or have a good time. No, it was to observe. She said the best writers were the ones who saw everything, felt everything, then documented it.
“Are you writing about me?” I ask with a nervous laugh.
She looks up from the tiny leather notebook, black pen poised over the page. “Yes. Your behavior is fascinating.”
My brows furrow together. “How so?”
“You talk about how you hate Kingsley and then you get so distracted by him that you forget to get water.”
I roll my eyes. “First of all, I never said I hated him. Second of all, parties in general are very distracting. Emmaline calling me over is actually why I forgot the water, not Shepherd.”
“If you say so,” Marigold says in a tone that says she’s not fooled.
I cross my arms and pop a hip out. “Fine, let’s say you’re right, wouldn’t you be the same way if Jameson were here? Enemies can be distracting.”
She doesn’t look up from her notebook, scribbling a little faster. “He is here, but you don’t see me talking to him,” she points out.
“He’s here? Where?” I ask, craning my neck as if I’d be able to tell who he is based on his name alone.
“By the door, talking to some blonde sorority girl,” Marigold mutters.
“You may not be talking to him, but you sure are aware of his whereabouts,” I say with a pointed look.
She shoves the notebook in her bag again. “Fine, you win. We’re both a little distracted by dumb guys tonight. Can we chalk it up to our hormones and drop it?”
I find Jameson across the room. His eyes meet mine, but not because he was already looking at me. No, that dark gaze is set squarely on Marigold, who’s either oblivious as a newborn or purposefully avoiding him by looking anywhere else. Maybe both.
His dark hair is messy, as if he runs his hands through it a lot, and too long for my taste with the way it hangs over his forehead. But he’s tall, muscular, and has this perfect brooding face that reminds me of Levi’s brother Adrian.
“He’s…” I trail off at the look on Marigold’s face. “Totally staring at you,” I opt to say instead. Which only makes her face twist up more.
“He is not.”
“He so is. Which you would know if you quit pretending he’s Medusa and you’ll turn to stone if you look at him.”
“I have looked at him. He was busy with the blonde, as I’ve already said,” Marigold huffs.
I glance over again. Still staring. Unabashedly.
My skin warms on behalf of Marigold. There’s something about the way he looks at her that’s unnerving.
As if he’s being chained to the wall he’s leaned against and would do anything to cross the room and be with her.
The blonde chatting him up doesn’t stand a chance.
The expression Jameson wears is the same tortured one my brother-in-law, Levi, used to wear before he and Dahlia finally got together.
“I think it’s a pretty one-sided conversation,” I inform her.
She cuts her gaze to the side to catch a glimpse of Jameson. Whatever she sees makes her gaze fall to the ground, pain twisting her features.
“I need to go,” she mumbles. “I should rest. I haven’t slept all week.”
She hasn’t, but we both know that isn’t why she’s about to run out of here.
“Do you want me to come with you?” I ask.
Marigold shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll text you when I make it back.”
I nod. I was about to ask her to do just that. “I’ll see you later. Be safe!”
We exchange a quick hug before she weaves her way through the crowd.
She doesn’t go to the front door, though.
Instead, she heads toward the back, avoiding Jameson altogether.
He watches her the entire time. Whatever happened between them to make them enemies, something tells me Jameson wishes it hadn’t.
“Jasmine,” Emmaline yells near my ear, making me jump. She’s giggling, an arm linked with Shelley and the other with another teammate of ours, Kate. “One of the guys said we should do a stunt outside. Do you want to be our flyer?”
I almost laugh in her face. I watched how much they’ve drunk, and while they aren’t wasted, they’re certainly far too tipsy for me to let them throw me in the air.
“You know what would be an even better idea?” I ask instead of flat-out refusing. Their eyes light up at my tone. “If we did one of our dance routines. I bet you could get Carson to change the music on the speakers.”
While it sounds mildly embarrassing to do a dance routine in front of a bunch of people, I’m worried they’ll find another girl to toss if I say no. Plus, what is college if not four years of embarrassing yourself in various ways?
“I’ll go ask him,” Kate says with another giggle. “Get as many girls as you can. It’ll be like one of those flash mob dance videos, but better.”
I can’t help but laugh. This is going to be awful.
But it’ll be a moment to remember. Grief prods at my tender heart.
I think of my mom, always ready to document our memories, and my dad, always eager to help make the best ones.
I draw in a deep breath, and start looking for girls in cheer uniforms. If I keep ruminating, I’ll end up crying.
My mom would want me to dance. I smile. Yeah, she would get a kick out of this.
Once we’ve gotten all the girls together, Carson cuts the music and steps in front of our group.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he booms in slurred speech. “We have a treat tonight. A special performance from none other than the Thrashers cheerleaders!”
Cheers and applause ring out, making my ears buzz.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I say under my breath.
Claudette, the teammate closest to me, looks over with a smile. “Me either. I might die from embarrassment.”
I laugh. “I guess if we’re going down, at least we’re going down together.”
“I hope this doesn’t end up going viral. My friends back home will never let me hear the end of it.” Claudette is from New York, which she says will always be home to her.
I shake my head, not wanting to point out the number of cell phone cameras already trained on us.
My eyes scan the faces of the crowd before us.
I’m used to performing in front of tens of thousands of people on the field and at competitions, but this is different.
Everyone is so close. They could reach out and touch us.
This was a terrible idea. Why did I think this was better than turning them down?
Right as the music starts, Shepherd pushes to the front.
The smirk he’s wearing says he thinks this is as hilarious as I would if I was an outsider.
I lift my chin, paste on my best cheer smile, and join my girls in our routine.
If I’m going to do this, I’m going all out. Even if my face is on fire.
We finish our dance with only a few minor hiccups from our more tipsy squad members. Applause roars through the house, and I lean against Claudette, laughing. The crowd starts to disperse again, but Shepherd doesn’t leave. I walk over to him. He claps as I do.
“I didn’t know the Thrashers did private performances.”
“I think that was our first and last,” I say with a laugh.
He grins. “I wouldn’t be so sure. Carson was eating it up. Expect to be asked at every party from now till the end of the season.”
“I’m going to have to start skipping parties,” I deadpan, making him laugh.
“Everyone would miss out then. You were the best one out there.”
That swooping feeling returns. I curl my toes in my sneakers and resist the urge to fidget under his gaze. “It wasn’t hard to compete, given that most of them have had a few drinks.”
Shepherd shakes his head. “I saw you on the field too. You’re definitely the best.”
My skin flushes. He was watching me? That can’t be right. He must be messing around.
“Did you see we got an email from Kelton? He chose the date,” Shepherd says before I can respond to his other statement.
“Oh, uh, I didn’t. What’s the verdict?”
He pulls out his phone and swipes a couple times before showing me. Wednesdays at 4:45PM. I can make that. I hand his phone back to him.
“Are you going to be able to make it?” I ask him.
He slides his phone back into his pocket, then meets my gaze. “Yeah, I should be there for most meetings. What about you?”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “I’ll be there,” I say, keeping my voice level.
He nods. “Good. It’s been too long since I’ve had the opportunity to beat you.”
I roll my eyes. “Even if you were at every meeting, you still wouldn’t have that chance.”
He chuckles. We both know my trash talk doesn’t hold up. He’s way better than me, but I’m improving each time we play. And soon enough, I’ll wipe that smirk off his face with a devastating win.
“Win or lose, I’m looking forward to it,” he says.
My smile breaks loose. “Me too.”
His eyes meet mine, and something sparks in his gaze.
A challenge? My heart skips. Attraction?
I don’t look away, trying to decipher it, and not wanting to back down in the process.
We stand there for what feels like forever but was likely only a few seconds.
He breaks first, looking to the side, his jaw tight.
“I’ll see you in class?” His voice is gravelly, sending chill bumps across my skin.
“Yeah,” I say, unable to come up with anything better.
He walks away, and all I think for the rest of the night is, What was that?