40
Blake
“It’s so good to see you, Blake,” Carla says, her red-painted lips morphing into a flirtatious smile as she looks up at me. Her arm is wrapped around my waist, and I can literally feel her breast against my side.
Since she’s a SoCal native like me, I’ve known Carla since I was a fourteen-year-old boy. We went to high school together, even dated a little during our sophomore year, and despite the fact that we’ve both been at Dickson since we left California over two years ago, I rarely see her on campus.
But that’s most likely because we run in different social circles. I know she’s in a sorority, but I can’t for the life of me remember which one. I also know that she’s spent a lot of time fixated on most of the guys on the water polo team.
Word on the street is that she’s dated— bagged —nearly half of them.
“Good to see you too, Carla,” I say, my voice as kind as possible as I purposefully remove her arm from my waist. “How have things been for you at Dickson?”
“Oh my God,” she says, a purr to her words as her hand finds my bicep. “Life in New York is so different from back home, right?”
I nod.
She squeezes my arm. “But, like, good different.” Her smile takes on a seductive edge. “Lots more freedom. And things to do. Don’t you think?”
“New York is great, but I wouldn’t know about the whole concept of freedom,” I retort with a shrug. “I’m too busy on the field ninety-nine percent of the time.”
Her eyes take on the same doe-eyed look I’ve seen so many times on college girls who love getting the attention of star athletes on campus. “You know what I think that means, Blake?”
I quirk an eyebrow. “What?”
“I think that means you should,” she whispers, leaning closer to me so her lips are near my ear, “have more fun .”
Her words are harmless, but the way in which she says them has evidence of propositions of hookups and sex.
“I’m here at this party, aren’t I?”
“Oh, Blake.” She giggles, and her hand is back on my bicep again. “I didn’t mean fun like a party. I meant fun like with me.”
Apparently, there’s no more beating around the bush. Carla has chosen to make her advances clear as fucking day.
“You want to get out of here?” she asks, and just before I can find a way to let her down gently, my eyes catch sight of something across the room.
Actually, someone across the room.
Lexi.
She stands beside Ace and Julia and Finn and Scottie, and I’m shocked that she’s even here, at this frat party. Ace is dramatically telling a story with his usual outlandish hand gestures, and Julia is giggling and rolling her eyes. Finn and Scottie listen on with smiles on their faces. But Lexi isn’t engaged in anything that Ace is saying.
Her eyes are focused toward me .
Our gazes lock, and for the longest moment, I try to somehow gain the powers of telepathy to read her mind’s thoughts from across the room as I search her eyes for any inkling of what she’s thinking or feeling right now.
Her mouth is set in a firm line until she sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and digs her top teeth into it. Something’s off with her normally gorgeous eyes, and I rapidly realize by the hunched shape of her shoulders and the discomfort within her gaze that she’s upset.
Her eyes flit to the girl standing beside me, and I don’t miss how they home in on the way Carla’s hand is still gripping my bicep.
I look down at Carla and back at Lexi, and it only takes my brain a hot second to put the pieces of the puzzle together—Lexi thinks I’m here with the redhead.
Truth be told, I came to this party by myself. And even that took a Herculean effort. Ever since Lexi told me I needed to move on, I’ve had a hell of a time getting my ass out of bed and to practice, much less finding the desire to socialize with a bunch of rambunctious college co-eds.
My heart isn’t even close to mended, and just looking at her causes the most acute, intense, terrorizing pain to spread throughout my chest. I miss her. I love her. But she made it clear she doesn’t want to be with me.
But despite how she broke my fucking heart, seeing her here, standing across the room with an expression on her face that makes her look as if she’s moments away from crying, the only thing I want to do is go to her. Pull her into my arms. And tell her everything is going to be okay.
She’s the first to break eye contact, averting her gaze from mine with a snapping whip of her head. But shortly after that, she turns on her heel and starts heading for the door. Ace is still rambling on about something, and Julia and Scottie and Finn are none the wiser, but I don’t miss the fact that Lexi is leaving this party.
And it sure feels a hell of a lot like she’s leaving this party because of me.
Fuck. I feel like the worst kind of asshole. She probably thinks I’ve moved on and done it so easily. Which is absolutely absurd. I’ve been pining over Lexi Winslow ever since I first met her at Double C a year ago. And I’ve spent this entire summer trying to make her mine.
Quickly, I remove my bicep from Carla’s grip, and she looks up at me with confusion on her face. But I could give two shits about this chick. No offense, but there’s only one girl I want, and she just left this party.
I don’t even bother giving Carla an excuse. Instead, I turn on my heel and head straight for the path Lexi just took. But once I step out the door and onto the pavement, I move my head back and forth erratically, searching up and down the sidewalk for Lexi’s pretty blond hair.
Fuck.
I don’t know which direction she went, and I pull my cell out of my pocket, a large part of me tempted to text her.
But when my eyes catch sight of the last message she sent me, the very one that grew hands, reached inside my chest, and ripped my heart out, a deep sigh escapes my lungs.
She’s made it clear she doesn’t want to be with me, and yet, here I am, still trying to chase her down.
“Boden!” someone exclaims from behind me, and I turn around to find a few guys from my team walking toward me.
“What the fuck you doing out here?” Ron asks, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
“Just catching a little fresh air,” I mutter, but my eyes are still glancing around the sidewalk and the street in search of the girl who got away.
“Pfft.” Ricky laughs. “Let’s get you back inside, QB. We’ve got some partying to do! Coach gave us tomorrow off, and I’m going to make damn sure we have a good time.”
He doesn’t even give me a moment to respond. Instead, he pretty much drags me back toward the front door, and before I know it, I’m inside the building.
The music is still pounding from the DJ’s speakers at the back of the house. And everyone in the place is laughing and chatting and dancing and partying. They’re carefree and happy and living up the notorious college experience with everything they have.
And everything inside me wants to go to Lexi. Wants to talk to her. Wants to get on my fucking knees and beg her to realize how goddamn good we are together.
My phone is still in my hand, and the urge to text her, to check on her, is too strong to deny. I want to say a million things. But I settle on the simplest option.
Me: Are you okay?
Lexi: Yeah.
Her response is succinct, but it feels like complete bullshit.
Me: You didn’t seem okay, Lex. You seemed upset. I’m worried about you. And I fucking miss you like crazy.
Lexi: Blake, I’m sorry to say this, but you need to stop texting me. I’ve moved on, and you need to move on too.
There it is again. She wants me to move on.
And I’m going to have to learn how to do just that with the giant hole inside my chest I fear will never heal.