Chapter 16 Donovan
CARRIE: It’s time to get you a girlfriend.
I stare at the message. Make it make sense.
Sure, this was my end goal all along, and the whole reason spending time together with Carrie.
Still, though—something must have happened to randomly spur her into action tonight.
We do a lot of talking, and it’s the first time she’s ever said anything like this.
I’m tempted to just fire off a “WTF,” but instead I sit there with my thumb hovering over the screen.
It’s a no-brainer—of course I need a girlfriend.
But do I need one right now? Back when I found out about Amelia and my fuckup, it was the only thing I could think about—becoming the perfect boyfriend and finding a girl I could protect, the way I never protected my sister.
A chance to make good. But now I feel in less of a hurry to get with anyone, and all I can think is—why should I?
“Want another drink, Don?” Lewis yells over from the makeshift bar.
I nod. Tod’s party is in full swing, and no matter how many drinks I knock back, I’m finding it hard to get into the vibe. Carrie’s messages had lifted my spirits a little, but this last one just sent me spiraling.
Pocketing my phone, I decide I’ll wait before shooting back a reply.
I grab the glass from Lewis. This should do the trick.
He sinks back in the couch beside me. “Anyone on your radar?”
“Not yet.”
“Who are you, and what did you do with Don?” He frowns at me. “You need to get your ass moving or the hot ones will be gone. You don’t want fangirl scraps.”
He has a point. At this stage of the night, I would normally have a girl hanging off either arm.
I breathe in, narrowing my eyes. I need to focus.
Get back to the old, adventurous me. But deep down, all I really want to do is hang out with my buddies and send spicy messages to Carrie.
What the fuck is wrong with me? This is what I wanted—isn’t it?
Becoming Mr. Nice Guy, thinking of more than just where my next fuck is coming from.
So why do I feel so weird? Cute asses are everywhere—I should at least be sneaking a few quick glances, right?
Maybe this is all happening just a little too fast. Maybe I should… Fuck. I’m so confused.
I jerk my head up. Gaggles of girls are filling the living room—some of them I recognize, others look like freshmen or transfer students.
A willowy blonde catches my eye—face half-concealed behind a red plastic cup, a tentative smile playing at the corners of her lips. I find myself smiling back at her. Gotcha!
“Nice.” Lewis nods approvingly.
I take a swig of my beer, my eyes still locked on hers.
Old me would have jumped right out of his seat and headed straight over to get her warmed up.
But the new Donovan hangs back. Carrie would be proud.
The girl is cute, low-key. More chill than the other girls she’s with.
She’s the opposite of my usual type, which probably means I’m growing as a person, or something.
So why is this knot of discomfort lodged in my chest?
Adam strolls over and stands right in front of me, blocking my view.
I glance up at him, and slowly but surely, other guys wander over, the conversation turns to cars and sports, and while I’m tempted to whip out my phone, I fight the urge and keep it safe in my pocket.
I’m starting to wonder whether Carrie’s message is her way of telling me she’s getting bored of me, and that pisses me off more than it probably should.
Personally, I could keep doing this with her for a long while—no drama, just spontaneous really good sex.
Really, really good sex… What more could anyone possibly want? Shit!
I run through the past few weeks in my head. Maybe her idea isn’t so bad, after all. If I’m not careful, my situationship with Carrie could stunt my progress. I’m getting too used to it—her. And I’m enjoying the sex way too much for my own good.
I don’t want to fall back into my old ways, so by the time I’ve drained my drink, my mind is made up—my coach is right.
If I’m going to make any progress, I need to meet someone for real and put it all into practice.
It sounds a little clinical, maybe—but it’s true.
I suddenly feel like I’m treading water, like one day Carrie will wake up and the spell will be broken, and she’ll be back to her old, bitchy ways.
I need to show her that all her hard work is paying off—make sure she doesn’t give up on me.
DONOVAN: You’re right. This place is crawling with girls, let me find a good one.
I send the message, pocket my phone, and snap my head up. Still there—the blonde hasn’t budged an inch. Go for it, dude. This time, I beckon her over. She blinks slowly and jerks a finger at her chest. Who, me?
I nod. You.
As she eases her way through the crowd, my pulse quickens. Fuck—don’t tell me you’re nervous. How did that happen?
I roll my shoulders, stretching my neck from side to side. It’s just a girl. Just a girl who isn’t Carrie. Relax.
“Hey.”
She’s a little higher pitched than I expected. I’ve grown all too used to my love coach’s lower, smoother voice.
I pat the seat to my left. “What’s your name?”
“Cheyenne.”
“Nice to meet you, Cheyenne.” I smile. “Donovan. You new?”
She nods. “Freshman.”
“How you liking it?”
“People are nice enough. Good vibes.”
She’s rubbing her heels back and forth against the chair legs, braiding her fingers nervously.
I decide to step things up a gear, studiously ignoring Adam’s and Lewis’s encouraging smiles.
She’s really pretty. But I’m struggling to break the ice here, and I suddenly feel just as awkward as she does.
What happened to all that confidence you used to have?
After ten minutes of exhausting, ass-clenching conversation, a teammate scoots over to grab me for a game of beer pong.
“Duty calls!” I smile apologetically. “Listen, Cheyenne—this was cool. Let’s check in later?”
She beams at me. “Sure. Enjoy!”
Her cheeks flush to match her dress. She’s shy, I realize. It must have taken a lot for her to come over and join me. But I’m feeling on edge. I need to get some fresh air before this night goes down as one of the worst in living history. The whole point of coming here was to fuckin’ relax!
This definitely isn’t my proudest moment, but I drop her a salute and dash out to the yard, grabbing a shot of something orange on my way. And that’s when all those beers I’ve been pounding finally shut my overthinking brain right up.
THE NEXT DAY, IT FEELS like something crawled up and died in my skull. I have no idea how I got home, and I have no memory of the whole second half of the night, either. I do remember Carrie’s latest big idea and that false start with Cheyenne, though.
I manage to drag my ass to class and eat lunch alone before hitting the gym hard all afternoon. Anything to shake off the beer fog.
We’ve won all our scrimmages so far, but my dad would kill me if he found out I’ve been hitting the bottle when the season hasn’t even really started yet. Treadmill. Weights. Pool. I punish my muscles as hard as I can, draining my mind, pushing my body to exhaustion.
Once I’ve sweated myself dry, I head straight for bed.
This would normally be when I head over to Carrie’s, and I would normally always be the one to message first. Not today, though—today, I need space.
The whole “get yourself a girlfriend” thing is fucking with my head.
What I need right now is a good night’s sleep.
IT’S BEEN TWO DAYS SINCE I last saw Carrie. Two days since I last heard from her, in fact, and I’d never tell her this, but I kind of miss her.
I cut through the park and spot her at the table where she usually hangs for lunch. My heart lurches. My mind has been working overtime since her last message. I can’t stop wondering whether things are going to be different between us now. Guess it’s time to find out.
“Ms. Wolinski!”
She doesn’t look up from her notes. And instead of a “hey,” all she does is arch a brow. Great.
I sit across from her. “Bad day, huh?”
She slams her folder shut and leans her cheek against her fist. When our eyes meet, a hundred different feelings hit me all at once.
“Hey, Donovan. It’s been a while.” Her voice is super weird and flat.
Ouch. Is she salty over how quiet I’ve been the past two days? Why am I dealt with the old Carrie—ice queen supreme? She was the one who suggested we shake things up, not me! If anything, I should be pissed at her. I decide to cut straight to the point.
“You’re gonna be proud of me, Carrie. I’m working hard on my new assignment—I even have a short list of potential girlfriends ready for you.” I flash her a smile. “Good news, right?”
“Music to my ears.”
“Wanna see?”
She blinks. Slowly, she starts unwrapping her sandwich, and I’m waiting for her to say something—anything—but she’s staring at her turkey like it holds the secrets to the universe.
I take in the creases along her forehead, her scrunched nose.
The tip of her tongue flicking between her teeth, her mouth, those plump lips I’ve yet to taste.
I want to kiss her, I realize. Just to taste her—just to see whether she’ll bite back as hard as when we talk. Get yourself together, Don.
She nods her head, like she’s wrapping up a conversation with herself, then she looks up at me, her face relaxed and open.
“Hit me with it.”
I snap back to the present and reach for my phone.
I checked the student directory and took screenshots of potential candidates—and as a Campus Driver, I know most of the faces here.
I pull up the first photo and tilt my screen so she can see. She nearly chokes on her sandwich.
“Is this a joke?”
I grab her napkin and dab at my phone.
“You just spat all over Charisma,” I say sadly. “I was expecting something a little more encouraging. I’m disappointed in you, Carrie.”