Page 14 of Fragile (Cedar Lakes University #2)
Chapter thirteen
Quinn
“I’m not saying you need to diversify your glitter gel pens, but your book is a lot of blue, that’s all.” Hudson shrugs with a smirk that’s all trouble as he sticks a bright pink butterfly onto his page. “Any particular reason for that color choice, Jay?”
Jay scowls at him. “No reason, and you aren’t one to talk with your pink book.”
“There’s nothing wrong with pink.”
“I’m not saying there is, but like you said, there are other colors in the rainbow, Hudson.”
“Will you two stop it, please?” I snap, slapping my hands to my knees a little too forcefully with the pencil I’m holding.
Both pairs of eyes swing to me, wide and surprised. “Sorry,” Jay and Hudson mumble.
Sighing, I put down my pencil. “No, I’m sorry,” I admit, running my hands through my hair. “I’m just tired today.”
“Date go that well, huh?” Hudson asks as his eyebrows wiggle suggestively. “Did he play you like a violin?”
“Dude, he’s a cellist. How the hell is he meant to play her like violin?” Jay asks with a creased brow.
My body tenses at the mention of it because a part of me had forgotten about the date altogether. Too hung up on the fact that Miles kissed me and then disappeared. Does he even remember kissing me? Did he do it because he was drunk? Was it so bad that he couldn’t face me? So many what-ifs have plagued me all day. I almost canceled the scrapbook club so I could mope and bury myself in chocolate, but I hate letting people down.
“I don’t want to talk about last night,” I mumble, but not quietly enough, because Indie stands and marches her biker boot-loving self over to me, grabs my arm, and shouts over her shoulder. “Carry on scrapbooking, you two. No arguments or no more pens and tape. We’ll be back.”
As my best friend drags me into my brother’s room, I’m grateful Seb and Miles aren’t here.
She sits on the edge of his bed, crosses her legs, and looks at me pointedly. “Spill.”
I sigh, meandering over to the desk chair and sinking into it. “I don’t know where to start.”
“The date. Then tell me what’s made you sad, because I never see you like this.”
I tell her everything, the ‘nice’ date with Alex and how Miles ended up kissing me and pretending he was drunk. When I’m done, I could easily cry my heart out, because the more I think about it, the more I realize he kissed me and there’s a really good chance he might regret it.
“He kissed you?!” Indie yelps.
“Yup.”
Jaw slack, she finally closes her mouth. “Wait, he wasn’t drunk?”
“Nope.”
“Why did he do that?” She’s fuming at that knowledge, her arms flying around.
With a shrug, I sigh. “I don’t know.”
Her beady blue eyes narrow at me. “Why aren’t you madder?”
“Because…?” I don’t know why I pose it like a question. The issue is, why did he kiss me and then ghost me? I feel the pinch of anger ignite in my gut as I look helplessly at Indie.
“Get pissed at him, Quinn,” she demands, slapping the mattress. “He interrupted your date, he chased him away, kissed you, and then bailed.”
She’s right. He did do all of those things. I stand, suddenly feeling the adrenaline rushing into my body. “I am pissed.” I begin pacing the room. “He kissed me.”
“And sabotaged your date,” Indie adds.
I gesture to her with a ‘thank you’ look. “And I’ll never get that kiss back.”
She huffs. “Asshole.”
I storm over to the bed and sink down next to her, crossing my arms over my chest. “Complete asshole,” I mutter with less conviction.
“How dare he,” she says, hooking an arm over my shoulders. My irritation subsides just as fast as it came, though, because even if I wish I’d had my first kiss with Miles under different circumstances, getting pissed doesn’t help me much. It reminds me that we kissed and nothing else has happened. Indie must feel my mood shift because she asks, “Have you spoken to him?”
I shake my head. “But we go away tonight for the game, remember?”
“Ah, shit, I forgot I said I’d go to that. Why is football suddenly my life?” she groans.
I chuckle. “Because you’re in love with the quarterback. It’ll be fun though. You drive and we’ll have an epic playlist.” I fiddle with a random thread coming from my sweater. “It’ll keep me from going insane thinking about Miles.”
“Sold.” Indie pauses for a second. “Anything else on your mind? You have that look.”
“I don’t have a look.”
Indie stares at me pointedly, and I already know I’m going to fold because there’s one name that keeps ringing in my head from last night. It’s kept ringing in my head over and over and the worry has built right alongside the anxiety of him kissing me.
“You don’t think any of the team would do anything stupid, do you?”
“Define stupid, because if you’re talking about the situations with girls that Hudson gets himself into, then I’d say that’s really stupid.”
“Yeah, that boy is something else,” I pause, contemplating what to say. “I meant more like…” I hesitate again, should I even be bringing this up? But if I can’t talk to my best friend then who can I talk to. “…maybe, like, drugs or something.”
Her eyes widen. “You don’t think someone is doing drugs, do you?”
“No, no no.” I backpedal as my hands become clammy. “I read an article about a pro player being tested for drugs, and I just got worried about any of the guys doing it.”
Jesus, that was fast thinking. My heart is strumming in my throat.
“I don’t think the guys we know would do it. They all have too much to lose.”
I nod. “Yeah, you’re right.” Except I still have a niggling feeling in my gut about Levi. Maybe they’re just unlikely friends. I don’t know if I should outright ask Miles, or just keep an eye on things. That is, if I can ever face Miles again after last night.
Indie nudges my shoulder with hers. “You know, I’ll never judge you for anything, and if you want to hate him, I’ll hate him too.”
“Thanks.” I smile softly. “I’m not sure I could ever hate him, though.”
“I’m not sure he deserves you being so good about him.”
Shrugging, I stand, ready to go back to our friends. “He needs someone in his corner. You didn’t hear his dad the other day.”
“I didn’t, but you also need someone to fight for you, too.”
***
Indie and I are some of the last ones to arrive to wave off the bus for our away game. The team's already there, the chatter and energy buzzing around us, as luggage gets flung into the lower compartment with heavy thuds. I glance over at Indie, who's busy checking her phone.
Just as we're about to step onto the cheer bus, Seb appears out of nowhere, blocking Indie's path. “Hey, where do you think you're going?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, a smirk on his face.
“The other Dawson has claimed me today,” Indie shoots back, pocketing her phone.
“But you're my girlfriend.” Seb pouts, sticking out his bottom lip in an exaggerated manner. “I want to ride with you.”
Indie stares at him, a sly smile playing on her lips.
“I’m pretty sure you’ll survive a five-hour bus ride without me.”
“Maybe I don’t want to.”
“Maybe you should stop holding up your team and get on the bus, Seb.”
He sighs dramatically, but a smile tugs at his lips. “Fine, go. But I’m mad.”
“Oooh, mad Sebby, my favorite.” She winks, blowing a kiss to him before stepping toward her car. Seb shakes his head, chuckling as he watches her go.
As I turn, I spot Miles walking across the parking lot, headphones on, a deep scowl etched on his face.
My stomach knots at the sight of him.
Seb notices me watching him. “He got a shitty email from his dad when we were training in the gym last night, put him in a weird headspace again.”
“Another one? Does the guy ever give him a break?” I mutter, deflated.
“Doesn’t feel like it lately. I’ve got him, though. Don’t stress, little sis,” Seb says, before joining his teammates.
The memory of the kiss plays in my mind like a home movie and a sliver of guilt creeps into my gut for not telling my brother. Not that he needs to know anything about my love life—in fact, the less the better.
I watch Miles fling his bag with ease into the lower deck of the bus and a really big part of me wants to rage at him, but the look on his face has me re-thinking my anger. I don’t want to be another person who rages at him, even if he does deserve it. I want to be the one he comes to when he needs help.
Another part of me wants to run up to him and ask a million questions. The first one being, does he think the kiss was a mistake? The thought makes my heart ache. So, I shake it off, forcing myself to focus before I go back to overthinking him kissing me at all. I know worrying won’t solve anything, and it’s not the right time to try to talk about this with him.
So, I concentrate on things I can control, like cheering my little heart out at the game tomorrow.