Chapter 2 The Opposite Sex
The Opposite Sex
Maisie
My heart rate kicks up, anxiety swirling in my gut.
Karsen has never been fond of me interacting with the opposite sex, which is ironic considering he practically has a gaggle of women that follows him around.
Connor is my teammate, and he was just introducing himself.
Karsen doesn’t have to go all possessive asshole on him, but he won’t see it that way.
I slip out from under Karsen’s arm, and Connor tracks the movement. “Karsen, this is Connor. Connor—Karsen, my boyfriend.”
Karsen reaches out to shake Connor’s hand.
When Connor extends his own, Karsen grips it tight, pulling him in so they are eye to eye, although Connor has some height on Karsen.
Connor doesn’t so much as flinch at the abrupt movement.
“Stay away from my girl,” Karsen seethes, “or we’ll have a problem. ”
Connor’s eyes flick to mine, but I don’t know what to say.
This is a wild overreaction on Karsen’s part, but no good will come of calling that out right now.
He’ll only escalate, probably yell. He’s always been possessive—I’m starting to admit that to myself—and not in a good way.
We’ve been dating for two years, and I’ve been forced to let go of several guy friends in my life.
In the past, Karsen would say that I don’t need guy friends because I have him.
And if I did befriend a guy, he’d yell, we’d fight, I’d cry, and it was never worth it going through all that to keep the friendship.
Not that Connor and I even got a chance to be friends yet.
Connor’s jaw ticks. “I think I’ll let Maisie decide for herself.”
A small sense of relief pulses through me. It’s like Connor can read my mind somehow and knows I want all of this nonsense to stop.
Karsen expels a cocky grunt from the back of his throat, then he squeezes Connor’s hand one last time before letting go. He turns toward me, eyes ablaze. Shit. We need to leave before Karsen loses it. My chest tightens.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Connor shift toward me.
“Let’s go,” Karsen says, snapping my attention back to him. No room for argument. I don’t particularly want to go with him right now, but it’s for the best.
Peeking back at Connor, I see his fists are clenched, and he looks like he’s ready to fight Karsen off for me. His eyes are pleading with me, brow furrowed in concern, but I don’t know what to say. I give him a disheartened half-smile, then turn to walk with Karsen out of the building.
As we step out into the North Carolina sunshine, Karsen says, “I don’t like how that guy was looking at you.”
“He wasn’t looking at me in any sort of way. He was being friendly.”
“Well, stay away from him anyway,” he retorts, grabbing my hand as we walk toward the dining hall.
I don’t argue with him. There’s no point. I’d lose. I always lose when we argue. God forbid he be wrong about something. So, we walk in silence until we reach the dining hall.
We make our way to a table of his party friends. Karsen is big into going out, and as the freshman star soccer player, he’s already racked up quite the popularity. We sit, and immediately a blonde with legs that seem to stretch on for miles—the opposite of my short diver legs—walks up to the table.
“Great game this past weekend, Karsen.” Her face doesn’t mask any of her interest. Her bottom lip is sunk between her teeth, and her manicured hand gently brushes his shoulder. It’s like I’m not even here.
“Thank you,” he says with a cocky smile. Sure, he doesn’t flirt back, but he doesn’t do anything to show he’s taken, either.
As dinner progresses, this happens a few more times, and each time I wait to see if he’ll react differently. He doesn’t.
Karsen doesn’t say a word to me for the entirety of dinner.
He doesn’t even look at me. Not once. I might as well be invisible.
No one else at the table addresses me, either, too consumed by their totem of popularity.
I eat my food and slowly shred one of my napkins for something to do with my hands.
I miss the old Karsen. The one who sent flowers to ask me on a date and bought me a dress and heels, telling me to wear them.
Sure, it wasn’t exactly my style, but it was the thought that counted.
I can’t remember the last time he did something for me.
He didn’t even help me on move-in day. He had already been here two weeks ahead of my arrival for soccer, and yet he chose to hang out with his friends instead.
Though my mom waved it off, my dad was pissed.
As I’m reaching the crux of my self-pity party, Karsen reaches over and squeezes my knee, which I hadn’t realized was bouncing.
“Wanna go get ice cream?” he asks, and I light up like a Christmas tree.
Ice cream is practically my religion, and the notion reminds me he’s not all bad.
I was probably overreacting. We’ve been together a long time.
Couples have rough patches, right? Maybe that’s all this feeling is. It will pass.
I squeeze Karsen’s hand over my knee. “Yes, please.”
He pulls me from the table, never mind that I wasn’t finished eating, and we head back into the heat of the day to cool off with my favorite thing.