Chapter Six Scarlett / Evan #2
For some reason, she seems genuinely pissed that I’m not entertaining her, and my chest jolts.
After she told me to drop our conversation in the library, we didn’t talk for another hour before she got a text and said she had to go.
I know that what I said must’ve got to her, but I thought she’d be in a better mood by now.
“I need a haircut,” I explain, and her chin lifts up. “And I’m sure Miles would’ve murdered me if I didn’t rep NU in some way. I’d much rather wear this than a jersey.”
“You’re right. Not everyone can pull one of these off,” she says, gesturing to her own jersey and the leggings she’s wearing.
Her shirt is a few sizes too big for her, an oversized, casual look I’ve seen only a handful of times.
She’s got her braided ponytail threaded through the back of a cap too. “Just some friendly advice—”
“Friendly? I didn’t know we were friends.”
“We’re not. We’re partners for a project that could determine whether or not I get an internship, so I’m trying not to be a total bitch.”
I nod slowly. “Right, of course, and you’ve been doing such a good job at that so far.”
She glares at me. I smile. “Do you want the advice or not?”
“Please, go ahead. I’m sure it’s going to be fascinating.”
She takes in a breath like it’s taking everything in her to be nice to me for one second. I’m not exactly making it easy for her. “You don’t look half-bad when you’re not wearing that stupid tie. The backward cap suits you.”
I can’t help the shit-eating grin that crawls up my face. “Did you just call me hot?”
“When did I ever say that?”
“I’m pretty sure I heard a sliver of a compliment in there.”
She huffs out a frustrated breath. “All I’m saying is that you look more approachable when you’re not wearing a suit. It makes you look less like a pretentious asshole with a God complex, until you open your mouth. Unless that’s the look you’re going for.”
“You see . . . A pretentious asshole with a God complex is exactly what I’m going for, angel.”
The lights in the stadium dim, but I don’t miss the way Scarlett’s neck flushes with anger. “I’m just trying to help—”
I pat her knee condescendingly and whisper, “Shh. The game’s starting.”
I swear the woman growls at me, and I feel a little smug knowing I got under her skin again today.
As the players skate onto the ice, the student commentator announcing each player, the girls jump out of their seats, cheering them on. It’s a mystery to me how easily Scarlett can switch from being a complete ass toward me to this ball of energy when she’s with her friends.
I find myself getting engrossed in the game, focusing on Miles and Xavier as they assist each other in two goals.
A part of me envies the bond these guys have with each other.
You can feel it from the stands in the stadium, watch it play out with every shift and celebration after each goal.
Maybe if I stuck with the sports I did growing up, I’d have a lot more friends than I do now.
Another shot lands and Wren jumps up from her seat, screaming and yelling like a complete madwoman. Miles sees her and points his hockey stick her way before making a heart with his hands. Kennedy lets out a dreamy sigh, while Scarlett gags beside me and I laugh.
When the second period ends with the teams tied, Kennedy and Wren talk across me, conversing over tactics. I consider getting involved and explaining to them that half the terminology they’re using is for football, but I bite my tongue.
Scarlett stands and smooths out her shirt. “I’m going to get some snacks. Does anyone want more popcorn?”
“I’ll have some. Salted, please,” I say, giving her a bright smile.
Scarlett’s smile mirrors my own. “I wasn’t asking you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, standing from my seat. “I’ll just come with.”
Scarlett bites the inside of her cheek, turning to her friends. “Ken?”
Kennedy shakes her head. “I’m good.”
“Wren?”
“Snacks, yes! I’ll come too,” Wren replies excitedly, but just as she stands from her seat, Kennedy tugs on her arm, flashing her a look and pulling her back into her seat. “Maybe not.”
“Have fun,” Kennedy says, wagging her eyebrows and flicking her gaze between Scarlett and me.
Scarlett just rolls her eyes, walking off without me, but I chase after her, almost tripping up the steps.
She’s trying to lose me in the crowd, but I don’t give up that easily.
Arguing with her is way too much fun, and I’d rather do that than sit for a minute longer in the stadium.
By the time I get to the concession stands, she’s standing against a vending machine talking to some guy. Her back is to me, but she’s playing with her braid, clearly entertaining the guy that’s checking her out. I could move closer, find out what they’re talking about, but I think better of it.
He disappears after exchanging numbers, and I inch a little closer to Scarlett as she decides what she wants from the vending machine.
“Are you that easy to win over?” I tease.
She scoffs. “Easy? No. But he was an attractive guy who knows how to respectfully compliment women without being an ass about it.”
“Right.”
She punches in the numbers on the screen for the treat she wants. “If you’re impressed by his skills, Branson, I have his number if you want some pointers on how to successfully score a hookup.”
“I can do that on my own, thank you very much.”
Scarlett leans down to pick up her candies. “You can, huh?”
“Yep,” I say, switching places with her to get my own. “It’s not that hard.”
“I think you must have a lot of faith in your own species, Branson. You’d be surprised how many guys our age have no idea what to do with their hands.”
“Not all guys,” I say, grabbing my packet from the bottom of the vending machine. I shrug, smirking as I add, “I play piano.”
Scarlett’s brown eyes light up with intrigue as we move out of the queue for snacks. It’s a subtle change, but I notice it nonetheless. “And that suggests what exactly?”
“Well, I’ve never had any complaints.”
“Haven’t heard any good things either.”
“Have you been asking around about me?” I grin, but she gives me a blank look.
“You wish.” She shoves her candies into her bag, sighing. “Besides, that poor guy probably wasted his time asking for my number. I don’t think I even have time for that this semester.”
I hum. “Living the celibate life, I see.”
“You’d know a thing or two about that, wouldn’t you?”
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Come on, Branson. You’re way too uptight to have regular sex. You probably schedule it in your diary for once every three months just so your dick doesn’t explode,” she says, laughing to herself.
“Is that right?” I mock.
My chest tightens slightly and Scarlett steps into me, the toes of our shoes just coming short of each other.
She lifts her chin, defiant as always, and I don’t back down.
She’s a lot to handle close up. Too much to see.
Dark-brown eyes. Perfect arched eyebrows.
Faint freckles that are fading without the summer sun.
Reddish-pink lips that tilt up into a sly grin.
One of her hands comes out to reach the bottom hem of my shirt and I forget how to exist entirely. She twists a small piece of the fabric in her hand, eyes still on mine as she says, “Yep. A good fuck might straighten you out.”
I swallow hard. “Are you volunteering?”
“I would rather die.”
Something tells me that isn’t completely true. She wouldn’t be this close to me if that were the case. Or maybe this is another one of our games. Another thing we do to get on each other’s nerves.
Sometimes I forget to breathe when I look at her.
Mostly because my brain is too busy working on some insult to fire back that I forget to fill my lungs with air.
Other times it’s because I remember the photo shoot she did for Voss Couture last year that was plastered all over my feed.
It was the first time I had ever seen her be anything other than this snarky, confident, rich girl with an attitude problem, and it threw me off guard.
I didn’t speak to her for a week after that.
After that moment of weakness, I’ve tried my hardest to stop spending time with her as much. I know myself too well. And I know her enough to know that nothing good would come of it.
I step back from her abruptly and she jerks her head back in confusion. I smooth out my shirt with one hand, desperately wishing I had a tie on just so I could fix it. I shift my weight on one foot and then the other, smoothing out my shirt again.
Everything feels off. Maybe it’s just me that can sense it, but it’s there, swarming in my stomach, slowly making its way up to my throat and getting stuck there.
This isn’t a big deal. I know it’s not. But my body is having a hard time believing that’s true.
I clear my throat, but my voice still comes out hoarse when I say, “I’m going to head home early. Tell Miles I’ll see him later. Say bye to the girls.”
“Seriously? There’s an entire period left,” Scarlett says, clearly taken aback. I blink at her. “Since when couldn’t you handle a bit of teasing?”
Since I realized how much of a bad fucking idea it is.
“I’ll see you at the library next week, Scarlett.”