The Love Playbook (Boys of Ann Arbor U #1)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

CHARLOTTE

I flop back on my best friend, Brynn’s, bed, and groan. “Ugh. Come with me, please. I’ll even pay you.”

Brynn laughs, pushing her long blonde hair out of her face, as my head lolls to the side, watching the way she neatly folds another sweater and places it in her suitcase. “If I hadn’t already told my family I’m coming home this weekend, I totally would.”

“Is the prospect of going to your father’s for your birthday really that bad?” a soft soprano asks from behind me.

I glance over to where Elizabeth, Brynn’s roommate, sits on her bed, a worn novel in her lap and a packed suitcase beside her.

“Considering his new flavor of the month will be there? Most definitely. And after I spend dinner with him on Friday, I get the added bonus of going to my mother’s for the weekend where I’ll be grilled about said flavor.” I prop myself up on my elbows and give Brynn a pointed look. “You wouldn’t understand. Your family is wonderful and loving and normal.” I flick my gaze to Elizabeth once more. “What about you, Liz, do you wanna come with me?” I slap my hands together in prayer to emphasize just how much I want this.

Liz scrunches her nose. “Sorry. My brother is coming home this weekend for a visit, so I promised I’d be there. It’s kind of a big deal since he goes to school in California and doesn’t fly home often.”

“You like your family, too, don’t you?” I ask in a flat tone.

Elizabeth smiles and offers me a little shrug. “Guilty.”

“Damn you, lucky bitches.” I release a pained groan and shoot a conspiratorial look toward my roommate, Samantha, at her perch by the door. “Why are we the unlucky ones?” I wave between us.

I lived with Samantha all summer, and it was long enough to swap horror stories. Her family is more dysfunctional than mine. The only difference is her parents are still together and mine aren’t.

I cross my arms over my chest, pouting as I blow a stray lock of dark, chin-length hair out of my face. “Fine. If neither of you will come with me , then take me with you,” I demand, propping myself up so I can shoot Brynn a pleading look.

“I’d love to bring you back to Riverside, and you know my parents would be thrilled to have you . . .”

Hope soars in my chest. From everything I’ve learned about her, Brynn’s family is the quintessential picture of a happy family with the big, beautiful house, stable careers, and parents who are still madly in love after four kids and twenty years of marriage. They’re unicorns; it would make me sick if I weren’t so secretly envious.

Brynn hesitates, shifting on her feet while she chews her lower lip.

“I’m sensing a but here,” I say, my tone glum.

“But do you really want to skip out on seeing your father? He seemed so excited that you were going home for your birthday.”

“Ugh. I knew playing his voicemail to you was a mistake,” I grumble under my breath.

For reasons unbeknownst to me, this birthday trip home seems especially important to my father. So much so he’s been texting me about it nonstop. First, it was about the food. Then the table settings?did I want real plates or was paper okay? Like I freaking care. Then he messaged me about sleeping arrangements, to which I had to remind him I’d be staying at Mom’s. Then it was about his girlfriend, asking if I minded if her son joined us. He’s even texted me about the desserts.

If I get another text confirming my time of arrival, I might go mad.

“You’ve never gone into specifics about your family, even though I spilled my guts to you over the summer, so what’s the deal?” Samantha asks.

All eyes turn to me, and I groan. Ever since I started college, I do everything in my power to avoid my parents, and that includes discussing them.

“Let’s see.” I tap my finger on my lip. “They were college sweethearts who married right after graduation and had a nasty divorce when I was fourteen that may or may not have scarred me for life. Since their split, my father has become a middle-aged player who has done nothing but serial date everything with legs while my mother is . . . well, my mother . . .” I trail off and clear my throat, leaving it at that. “Anyway, let’s just say trips home aren’t fun, and it’s going to be a long-ass weekend.”

A knock sounds on the door, and Brynn grins as she turns to answer it. The second it opens, her boyfriend, Jace, swings her up and into his arms, carrying her over to her bed with a growl. “Damn. I miss you already.”

Brynn laughs. “I just saw you this morning, and I haven’t even left yet.”

“I know, but just knowing I won’t see you until Sunday night when you get back kills me.”

I roll my eyes and stifle a gag. I was thrilled when Jace and Brynn finally hooked up in our first year, but they take PDA to a whole new level. Even a year later, their mushiness is both awe-inspiring and puke-inducing.

“Okay, enough of the cuteness, you two,” I grumble. “You’re madly in love. We get it.”

Brynn chuckles while Jace beams over at me. “Hey, Charlotte.”

I wiggle my fingers at him in a prissy little wave. “Hi.”

“Brynn told me you’re going home for your birthday?” he asks.

“Unfortunately.”

The second the word leaves my mouth, a bumbling buffoon in the form of Chris Collins, Jace’s roommate and Ann Arbor’s best running back, comes crashing into the room, panting like he’s just run a marathon.

“What the hell, man?” he says, slightly out of breath. “Why’d you leave the field so fast? I told you I wanted to come with you.”

Jace rolls his eyes. “Exactly. Maybe I wanted to see my girlfriend before she leaves without your smelly ass getting in the way.”

“Hey!” Chris points at him. “Not fair. She’s my friend, too, and I have every right to say goodbye. Also, my ass smells divine. It’s like a fucking fresh pine forest down there.”

I shake my head, convinced this water buffalo of a man made it into adulthood on a technicality.

“Besides,” he continues, crossing his arms over his broad chest in a look of defiance, “she promised to make me her peanut butter and chocolate cupcakes over the weekend.” He waggles his brows, and Jace’s head whips in Brynn’s direction, betrayal flickering in his aquamarine eyes. “You’re making him cupcakes?”

“Here we go.” I sigh, shaking my head as I mutter, “This room is not big enough for this many people.”

“Agreed.” Samantha pushes away from the wall. “But I’m out, anyway. I have dinner plans with James.”

“Tell Bar Dude we said hello,” Brynn calls out.

“Later,” Samantha says with a chuckle before she disappears out the door.

“Think you’ll ever call him by his name?” Liz asks.

“Nope,” Brynn and I say in unison, then laugh.

Liz didn’t start school at AAU until the fall of last year, so she wasn’t here during the summer when Samantha first began pining after James, the hot bartender at Bradd’s, solidifying his name forever in our minds as Bar Dude.

With a laugh, Liz stands. “I should probably get going, too,” she says, pulling an AAU baseball cap over her long dark waves, covering the purple streak in the front. “I have a really long drive.” Her long legs eat up the room as she crosses it and pulls first Brynn, then me in for a hug before she says goodbye and disappears not far behind Samantha.

“Look what you did,” I say, turning a glare on Chris. “You’re here for one second, and you’ve already cleared the room.”

“Agreed. You’re like a fucking fart,” Jace says, holding in a laugh.

“Good to see you, too, Lettie.” Chris grins, ignoring Jace, as the annoying nickname he gave me rolls off his tongue. I swear my loathing of him gets him off. “Interesting how I didn’t drive you away.”

I smile sweetly. “That’s because the prospect of seeing my parents earlier than I have to is about as enticing as shoving bamboo shoots under my fingernails.”

“So, you like me more than your parents? I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Of course you would, but trust me, it’s not that hard.”

“Hey, Chris, Jace said something about you heading home tonight, too?” Brynn asks, and I know it’s in an effort to defuse the tension between us.

He walks over to Elizabeth’s bed and sprawls out on it, making himself at home, while I watch him like a hawk. “Yep,” he says, popping the p and folding his hands behind his head. “Since my family only lives about fifteen minutes from here, I’ll be back in plenty of time to get my beauty sleep for the game tomorrow. Unless, of course, Lettie wants me to stay and take her out. We could go to dinner or dancing, get some drinks, then come back and crash at your place since it’s going to be empty.” He winks.

I clasp my hands in front of myself. “Oh, yippie. My dream date. Dinner and syphilis.”

Chris barks out a laugh, and I have to give it to him; at least he has a sense of humor.

“Oh, Lettie, Lettie, Lettie. You think your jokes will turn me off, but really, they just make me want you even more.”

My cheeks burn as his eyes heat, thawing all that ice blue.

I smash my lips together, tamping down the flush spreading down my neck.

“At a loss for words?” Chris grins. “I tend to have that effect on women.”

I scoff. “More like they’re hoping that if they stay mute, you’ll get the hint and leave. ”

I glance away from his piercing blue eyes and focus back on Brynn as I get to my feet. “Since no one wants to save me from the flames of hell, I guess I’d better go.”

“Hey, maybe the flavor of the month’s son will be hot?” she says, her tone hopeful. “It might make tonight bearable at least.”

“I mean, you’re not wrong, but with my luck, he’ll resemble this Neanderthal.” I hook a thumb toward Chris.

“Flavor of the month?” he asks, glancing between us. “What did I miss? Are you going on a blind date?”

A bitter laugh tumbles from my lips. “If only.”

A swirl of color passes by my window as I drive through the town of Lockport where I grew up. The leaves have already started to fall, blanketing the grass in a kaleidoscope of yellow, orange, and red. I crack open my window, inhaling the earthy scent of them as I pass when I near Pappy’s Pumpkins. Their roadside stand sits mostly empty; only a few large pumpkins remain. Unsurprisingly, the field on my right is mostly picked over.

I soak it in as a memory surfaces. Me standing in a field of pumpkins while my parents argue. My mother bursting into a fit of tears and dropping the large orange squash I had painstakingly chosen on the ground, smashing it to bits while everyone around us gawked. Eventually, I had no choice but to settle for a different pumpkin with the promise of an apple cider slushy from Dad to appease me.

We never did carve them that year.

My thoughts churn out another memory as I pass the school on my right. Arguments on the opening day of my first school play. Waiting on the soccer field for hours after practice because my mother forgot to pick me up. No-shows at choir concerts and teacher conferences post-divorce because Mom couldn’t get out of bed.

I grunt and focus back on the road as I lift the paper cup to my lips and take a sip of my chai tea, trying to ease the nausea bubbling in my gut, but it’s no use. Coming back to Lockport always brings with it a clutch of painful memories. I know there was a time when life was grand and my parents got along, but I can barely remember it. Too much has happened since, and time can’t heal all wounds, at least not when the perpetrators keep picking at them.

I take a right at the post office, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white as I contemplate turning around and spending my birthday alone at the dorms. Exhaling, I come to a stop at the red light by the fire station and flick my blinker on at the same time my phone rings.

A glance at the screen reveals it’s my mother.

My stomach sinks. She doesn’t call often, and she knows I’m visiting Dad first, which means she can only want one thing . . .

Focusing back on the road, I wait for the light to turn green, then turn, ignoring the call as it goes to voicemail, only for it to ring again, her name flashing insistently.

With a sigh, I hit the answer button, waiting a moment as my stereo connects with my phone before I answer. “Yes, Mother?”

“When are you getting here?”

I bite back the smart retort that wants to come out and instead say, “Mom, we’ve already discussed this. You know I’m going to his house today for dinner. I’ll be over later tonight, so we can spend my actual birthday together tomorrow.”

“I can’t believe it’s your first visit home in nearly six months, and you’re going to see him first?”

While it’s true I haven’t been home since before the summer semester started, my mother’s been doing well. When I left for Ann Arbor U a little over a year ago, I did so with the intention of getting away. I needed an escape. At home, I was a rat in a maze, constantly having to navigate my mother’s moods and depression, only to perform damage control when she went into one of her spirals.

At school, I forget such a problem existed, for a while at least. I can simply be Charlotte Baker without the stigma of a sick mother.

But ever since my father started dating this new woman over the summer, I can sense her demons creeping back in. Her moods have changed. Even the tone of her calls feels more like the mother I grew up with and less like the one who pulled herself together by the metaphorical bootstraps when I left home.

Still, I bite my tongue, because there’s no right answer here. If I went to her place now and Dad’s tomorrow, I’d be accused of playing favorites since I’d be spending my actual birthday with him. It wouldn’t matter if I spent five minutes at his place and the rest of the weekend at hers; it wouldn’t be enough. Never mind the fact that Dad has made an effort to see me while I’m at school, on my own terms, while everyone and everything has to cater to her. Dad has his faults, but at least he tries.

“Sorry, but I wanted to spend my birthday with you. I figured it would work out better this way,” I say, hoping to appease her.

Mom huffs. “I heard his new girlfriend will be there.”

And there it is.

I bite back a groan and contemplate driving into a tree. A visit to the emergency room seems a nicer way to spend my twentieth.

“Yep,” I say, my tone sharp.

“Is it true? Are you going to meet her while you’re home?”

“I don’t know,” I lie.

“I heard it’s serious this time.”

Fuck small towns.

“Yeah, I don’t really know, Mom, but I’m almost there. Can I let you go?”

“Sure. Fine. I wouldn’t want you to miss precious seconds with your father. Forget about the fact that I’m all alone and the one who really needs you.”

Right. Mom always needs something.

On that note, I bite my tongue and turn onto Lattimore Drive, my father’s new street with his fancy new house. “I know, and I’m sorry, okay? But I’ll be there tonight. Why don’t you go take a bubble bath or have a glass of wine?” I suggest, knowing she’ll do no such thing.

“You know wine makes my anxiety worse.”

“Right.” I chew on my lower lip as I pull into my father’s driveway, making a mental note to pilfer some of my father’s wine before heading to her place next, because if I’m to survive, I’m going to need it. Shit, I’ll need a whole wine cellar.

“Well, I’m here. I should go,” I say.

“Do you see her? Is she tall? I bet she’s tall. He always hated how petite I was.”

“Mom?”

“She’s probably blonde, too. With big blue eyes and?”

“Mom?”

“Bet she wears designer clothes. Probably never worked a day in her life, either. She’s probably after his money. It’s the only reason I could imagine anyone wanting to put up with that old toad.”

“Mom, you’re the same age, and you also stayed home with me.”

“So?” she says, sounding offended.

“So, you didn’t work outside the home, either.” Never mind the fact that she’s collected alimony for years. In fact, it’s the one thing that’s kept her afloat over the years since she can’t seem to hold a job.

“What are you trying to say?” she asks, sounding offended. “Is being a stay-at-home mom not work? Was I just lazing around all day?”

“You know that’s not what I meant. Just . . . You know what? Forget it.” I shake my head. “I have to go. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

I hang up the moment she starts ranting about something else, knowing it’s the only way to get her off the phone, and also knowing I’ll pay for it later.

I turn the ignition off and sit there for a moment, barely resisting the need to bang my head against the steering wheel. Instead, I glance up at the sprawling two-story with its sunny yellow exterior and big white porch, while mentally preparing myself for what waits inside.

Blowing the fringe of dark bangs out of my eyes, I open the door and trade the stuffy interior of my beater car for the crisp, cool autumn air.

Several leaves swirl by my feet as I make my way toward the porch. A smiling scarecrow perches by the wooden stairs, its stitched mouth curled into a mocking smile. I flip it the bird while I pass, climbing the porch steps before I hesitate at the door.

Even though my parents have been divorced for years, it still feels strange walking inside either of their homes without knocking, and even weirder that I feel like I need an invitation. I thought, or at least I hoped, that after leaving for school and spending so much time away, when I returned it might feel a little different?maybe a little less like a noose wrapped around my neck and more like coming home?but I was wrong.