Chapter 21 Lewis #2
She flashes me a quick smile, and I double back, speeding off through the woods, my foot hovering over the brake for a split second, tempted to hang back for her.
Dude—no.
I push the thought away and hit the gas.
BY THE TIME I GET to the gym, I’m a bundle of jitters. I jump out of the car and sprint over to the court, where the game is already mid-flow and Donovan is shooting me a disappointed look that makes my insides clench.
Coach catches my eye. “Conley…! Get your sorry ass over here!”
I trot over to join him on the bench.
“I’m sorry, Coach.” I hang my head. “I got held up.”
He peers at my mouth. “Is that fucking lipstick?”
I brush my hand over my lips. I hate myself so hard right now.
“You know the draft is in a few months, don’t you?”
I nod.
“You better play like Michael Fucking Jordan today, kid.”
Sounds easy enough.
“Unless you plan on staying stuck on the subs bench for the rest of your life.”
He’s so pissed at me, but that’s nothing compared to the self-loathing burning at my edges. I usually pride myself on being capable, dependable—this is the kind of fuckup that gets me breaking out in hives.
“Get your shit together—I mean it.”
Coach jerks his chin at the court, and I race over to join the team, pushing all the toxic thoughts out of my head. I need to tap into my inner top-tier athlete and give him space to shine.
“Better grab your tissues, boys!” I yell. “You’re about to get your asses handed to you.”
One of our opponents laughs. “Let’s see that pretty smile, Conley—just so we can wipe it off your face.”
I bare my teeth at him and return his handshake. “Love the glass-half-full attitude, Finn. It’s cute.”
Don tosses me the ball and as soon as I catch it, I’m sparking. There’s no such thing as a “low-stakes game” to me—just opportunities to win every time. And I plan on making the guys forget I was ever late.
With every minute that drifts by, every basket I sink, my guilt fades, and by the time we win the game, I’m golden. Thank fuck for that. A defeat would’ve wrecked me.
Finn ambles over to join us. “Okay, guys. How ’bout a round on you? Make up for that beating we took…”
Don grins. “Sounds fair to me.”
“How ’bout the Java?” I say, draining my water.
“Awesome—see you there.”
On our way to the bar, Don decides to grill me hard.
“What happened back there, dude? You never forget practice.”
I bat back a flicker of annoyance. I was hoping we’d just discuss this later.
“It’s hard, juggling the whole mentoring thing, that’s all. It’s a little overwhelming.”
It’s only a half lie. The situation with Amy has gone off track, and that’s my own fault, I know.
“I get that, but still… You gotta keep it together, buddy.”
The worst part is that basketball wasn’t the only thing I messed up today.
Now that I think about it, SexyBikini’s trip was sloppy, too.
I fucked it up, and that only makes me want to double down to make sure it never happens again.
I’m going to have to rethink how I deal with Firebird.
Suddenly, Don’s “no sex with the trainees” makes perfect sense, and the truth is that every time I’m in a car with Amy, we end up getting it on.
Donovan moves on to something to do with Carrie, but I’m only really half listening, and by the time we get to the Java, my mind is still whirring.
Carter’s sister waves at us from behind the bar, we get settled at our usual table, and a few minutes later, Finn and his friends roll up to join the party.
“What’s new with the Campus Drivers crew?” he asks as I sip on my sparkling water.
“We’re cruising.” Don winks.
“I heard you’re training up your replacements; some guy on the football team says you’re onboarding a girl.”
Jeez, can we move on from this already?
Don nods. “Yeah, she’s Conley’s!”
“He said she’s hot.” Finn grins. “Sounds like I’ll be using your app more.”
“Not if I blacklist you,” I growl.
Don kicks me under the table and I glance up. He’s got the strangest look in his eyes. Shit!
“Amy’s gonna be an amazing Campus Driver,” I try. “But she’s not easy.”
“Even better!”
I stifle a grin. Picturing Finn trying to get it on with her is hilarious—he’s so not Firebird’s type. Come to think of it, I can’t think of anyone on campus who would be her type.
Why am I even thinking about this?
As the guys chat, I keep one eye on my phone, checking the time, exhausting myself with my flip-flopping.
Amy suggested I swing by her place after the game, and on any other day, that’s exactly what I’d be doing—no question.
I was the one who suggested we hook up again soon, after all.
There’s an uneasiness about tonight, though—us hanging out is messing stuff up for me.
It’s all gone too far.
I scroll through my messages and start a new draft.
LEWIS: At the bar with the guys, just celebrating whooping their asses. I’ll come by another time.
Direct. To the point. It’s better that way. It’s better I don’t tell her when exactly that will be. I need to create a little space between us. I’m picturing her sitting right there by her phone, because she fires off a reply a second later.
AMY: OK.
Brief. Concise. Somehow, that reassures me. I shove my phone back in my pocket, surer than ever that from this point on, I need to see her less and focus on what’s really important here. This isn’t hard—in fact, it should be easy.