Chapter 14 #2
As insane as it sounds, part of me thinks Chris is right. Maybe I am playing it too safe. Maybe it’s time to up my game. So, after a beat of silence, I say, “You’re right.”
Chris pumps a fist in the air. “Damn straight, I’m right. The Love Doctor is in the house. Love Playbook, here we come.”
“You’re listening to this guy? Really?” Jace asks, hooking a thumb in his direction.
“No Love Playbook,” I say with a shake of the head.
“But—” Chris protests.
“If I’m doing this, then I’m doing it my way.”
The practice field lights shut off behind me as I jog to my truck, my gym bag slung over one shoulder. It’s Wednesday night, and Coach ran us into the ground, but the burn in my muscles feels good—like I’ve earned something.
I toss my gear into the passenger seat and check my phone. Still no text from Tatum, which is precisely why I need to stop by her place. I’m done with the awkwardness since our spa night, and I’m done with lying to her.
But I can’t say the fact that she hasn’t texted me back doesn’t have me at least a little worried as I hurry down the aisles of the grocery store on my way to her dorm.
A plan blooms inside my head as I grab some of our old weekend ritual supplies—Sour Patch Kid Watermelons, salt and vinegar chips, Big League Chew, and grape flavored Fanta.
All things we’d binge on during one of our movie marathons or while playing games and discussing the merits of her latest romance novels.
So, it only makes sense to have them for comfort while we play tonight’s game—Two Truths and a Lie.
I smile to myself as I contemplate how many times we’ve played in the past. I can picture the way she narrows her eyes trying to catch me in a lie, like she doesn’t already know every single thing there is to know about me.
Normally, our mission in life is stumping each other, and whoever wins gets bragging rights, but more often than not, we easily pick out the lie.
I wonder if she’ll get bragging rights tonight, but it’s doubtful.
The one truth I’ve never dared to say out loud is how I feel about her.
But tonight, all that changes. Tonight, I’ll tell her three statements—two truths and one lie.
And one of those truths will finally be that I’m in love with her.
The plastic grocery bag crinkles in my hand as I take a deep breath and knock on her door, rehearsing what I’ll say in my head.
My heart pounds against my ribs at the answering silence, so I knock again, a bit louder this time, when the door finally swings open. Only, it isn’t Tatum I see. Instead, it’s Brit, wide-eyed and looking surprised to see me. Which is . . . odd.
“Hey, Brandon,” she says, leaning against the doorframe. “I figured Tate told you, but she’s not here.”
“Is she out with friends?” Despite the awkwardness post-massage, she filled me in on her hangout with the girls, and though I’m happy she’s getting closer to them, her timing for tonight sucks.
Brit shakes her head. “No, she left for Haslett after her morning class.”
“Haslett?” I frown.
“To Ethan’s parents’ house. She’s supposed to have dinner there, something about meeting the family properly,” she says with an eyeroll.
“Oh.” My stomach sinks at the news.
She’s meeting Ethan’s parents. Cool. Cool.
My gaze wanders behind Brit as if my desire to see Tatum might conjure her out of thin air, when I spot a massive vase of roses. A small envelope is propped against them, and I know instantly who they’re from without asking.
Brit turns, noticing the direction of my stare. “Oh, yeah. Those are from Ethan. Crazy, right? I can’t even get my boyfriend to bring me a donut back from the cafeteria.” She snorts, and I try to smile, but my face doesn’t want to budge.
I swallow, hyperaware of the plastic grocery bag dangling from my fingertips, and suddenly, I’m glad she’s not here.
What was I thinking? Offering myself up over candy and childish games while Ethan’s delivering massive bouquets of roses and taking her to meet his parents?
“You okay?”
I startle, focusing back on her roommate. “Yeah. Fine,” I lie, shoving the bag behind my back, as if hiding it might somehow erase the pathetic reality of my intentions and the meager contents. “If you hear from her, just tell her I stopped by.”
“Sure thing,” Brit says as I spin on my heel, practically sprinting down the hall.
The fluorescent lights above me buzz with an irritating persistence as I take the stairs in record time, then push through the large wooden doors of Oakridge Hall into the cool night air.
I toss the bag into the trash can on my way to the truck with a thunk that matches the mournful thump of my heart, and by the time I reach my Bronco, I’m shaking on the inside.
I slam the car door harder than necessary, sitting in the silence, hands gripping the steering wheel, my knuckles as white as the moon.
Closing my eyes, I imagine Tate all dressed up at some fancy restaurant and sitting beside Ethan with their hands clasped, his parents beaming at them from across the table, like some picture-perfect fucking family.
Something she’d never have if she were with me.
My mom was never very involved in my life.
She did what she needed to raise me, but once I was out of the house, she never looked back.
And my father, well, I think the last time I talked to his ass was a few years ago.
After my parents divorced when I was ten, he had zero qualms about moving across the country.
His weekly calls became less frequent until I could no longer remember the last time we had a real conversation.
I can’t offer Tate what Ethan can, and it fucking kills me to admit it. There will be no mixed family holidays or vacations or showing her off. Not when my parents don’t give a damn. Hell, Tate’s family has been more like family to me over the years than my own.
I slam my fist against the steering wheel, and my knuckle splits over the stitched leather.
Who am I kidding? This isn’t about family dinners or roses or any of that superficial bullshit. It’s about the fact that while I’ve been playing it safe, waiting for the perfect moment, when Ethan’s been making moves. Big ones.
I start the truck with a vicious twist of the key, and the engine roars to life, like it shares my anger.
My temperature instantly rises as a love song blasts through the stereo.
The lyrics make me want to drive off the proverbial bridge, so I flick it off and peel out of the parking lot with a satisfying squelch of the tires while I wonder if I’m fucked.