Page 32 of Fragile (Cedar Lakes University #2)

Chapter thirty-one

Quinn

My foot taps nervously on the floor. The cheer locker room feels stifling, despite the cool breeze drifting in from the open door. I wring my hands together, eyes darting to the clock every few seconds.

The game is supposed to start at 3 p.m., and it's already 2 p.m. He’s here already. I know because I saw him walk in with Seb and Hudson earlier as I made my way across the parking lot.

He’s here, he’s with the guys, everything is fine. We both blocked his dad’s number for today, so he can’t make him feel like shit over the phone. He’s going to be okay. Nothing is going to push him over the edge.

That doesn’t stop the questions whirling in my head, the niggle I feel that is interlaced with fear, the kind that tells me something could go really wrong. What if today is too much for him? What if he gives in before the game?

Standing up, I pace the empty room. The squad doesn’t usually get here as early as this, and I’m grateful because I’m so strung out. Trying to shake off the overwhelming sense of dread seems impossible. Deep breaths don’t seem to help; the air never feels like it’s reaching my lungs.

He can do this. You need to let him do this . Besides, he doesn’t have Levi’s number anymore. Taking one deep breath, I focus on the cheer routine for tonight. Okay, it’s all going to be fine. I breathe in and out, slow and steady as I smooth down my cheerleading uniform. The clock reads 2:12 p.m.

Is that all? Okay, I need to check on him. It won’t hurt, just one little check.

Grabbing my phone and tucking it in into the waistband of my skirt, I head out the door. The muffled sounds of the team filter toward me, getting louder as I turn the corner. I hear it then, Miles’s laugh, the one that rattles me to my bones. It’s an honest laugh, the kind that I imagine him clutching his belly, head thrown back, thick neck on show, the roses and vine tattoos peeking from his collar.

He's okay. He’s in there with his teammates and friends.

Realizing how ridiculous it would be, let alone obvious that we were more than friends, if I barged in there, I need to let him figure this out for himself. Just let him do his thing. Besides, athletes are notoriously superstitious, and if I interrupt his usual routine, that might throw everything. No, he’s going to be fine. I don’t need to see him. I trust him. I believe he can do this without feeling the need to fall back into old habits.

Resolute in believing in him, I turn on my heels and walk back to the cheer locker room.

On my way back, I notice two figures facing off up ahead. It's too dark to see them clearly, but as I get closer, I realize it's Jay and a girl with the bluest hair I've ever seen. She's gorgeous, all curves and a beautiful face that’s now a bit more visible. By the way she's standing, arms crossed and a serious 'hell no' look on her face, it's clear she's not in a good mood.

“Hey, Jay, you okay?” I ask, and his head turns to me in surprise. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he nods my way, and some of the tension evaporates from his shoulders.

“Olá, Quinn,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. Now I really look at him, his cheeks are flushed as though he’s been in a heated discussion. Hmm, interesting. Walking closer still, I extend my hand to the girl with blue hair and blue eyes.

“Hi, I’m Quinn.”

She looks at my hand, to Jay with a frown, and then back to me, giving me a small smile and a wave. “Georgia.”

Retracting my hand and accepting her wave instead, I say, “I don’t think I’ve met you before. What year are you in?”

“Sophomore.”

“Oh, same as us. Are you studying photography like Jay?”

Georgia shifts, looking a little uncomfortable. “Err, not exactly. I’m an artist, but I take Fine Art Photography, which is how I met your boyfriend here.”

A barking laugh erupts from my mouth, my hand flying up to capture the sound. “Oh.” I swallow the next laugh, schooling my face. “Jay isn’t my boyfriend. He’s my friend, but he’s totally single.”

“Gee, that doesn’t make me sound like the biggest loser. Not just single, totally single.”

Balking and backtracking I squeal, “I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Well, at least I know I can call you if I need a wing woman.”

“Jay—” I begin, but am cut off.

“Well, totally single guy, I’ll see you in class,” Georgia says, bumping shoulders with Jay as she walks past us. “Bye, Quinn.”

I look at Jay, my mouth open, and then back again to Georgia, a million questions racing through my brain.

“Don’t ask.”

Okay, then. Clamping my mouth closed, I roll back on my feet, trying to think of something else to say. Words never usually escape me, but I’m too intrigued by whoever that girl is. I’ve only ever seen Jay kiss a few girls at parties, I know he hooks up, but he’s Mr. Casual. I haven’t seen him interact with so much intensity before. “Okay, hate me all you want, but I need to know who she is.”

Jay sighs loudly. “It doesn’t matter. She’s in my class, like she said. She’s insanely talented, and we…don’t get along. At all. In any way, shape, or form.”

“Someone doesn’t like you ?” I squeak in disbelief. “The sweetest guy in our group and she doesn’t like you?” I’m gesturing wildly to him, as though he doesn’t know who he is.

He laughs, but it’s more to placate my ridiculousness. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go get my SD card for my camera. Até já.”

“Adeus,” I reply, saluting him as he leaves.

My phone buzzes against my hip, and when I fish it out, I see Miles calling me. Fumbling to answer, I almost drop it twice in my haste to swipe. “Miles?”

“Hey.”

“Everything okay?” I ask, desperately trying to keep the shake of nerves from my voice, but it doesn’t stop my pulse quickening at the thought that something has gone wrong before the game tonight.

“Yeah, it’s just… I…” He pauses, and all I can hear is his breathing—steady, slow, constant. The silence stretches, making my heart race even faster. “I wanted to hear your voice.”

My shoulders sag in relief, the tightness in my chest easing slightly just as the realization sinks in. He came to me when he clearly needed something else. He came to me. “Well…” I clear my throat. “Here is my voice, just for you. Are you sure everything is okay?”

“Yeah,” he exhales roughly. “It’s better now I’m talking to you.”

My poor, loved-up heart can’t cope with him being this way with me. The flirting is fine; I’m used to it. It’s always been more of a joke. But this? This heartfelt side to him. It makes my feelings intensify to supernova status. Like, seriously, the human torch would have nothing on me, and I didn’t think that was possible. I’ve only glimpsed him being this honest and raw a few times in my life, and now he’s directing it all to me. I melt faster than a snowman in sunshine.

“I had an email from my dad. I think he’s trying to find other ways to get in touch on game days. I didn’t open it, but I felt…”

He doesn’t need to continue to tell me what I already know. He wanted to take something to ensure he doesn’t land on his bad side. He wanted to make sure he was going to play the game of his life for his dad. And this is why I need him to stop, because he doesn’t see it, but he is amazing. He’s one of the most talented wide receivers at his level, and he doesn’t need anything but himself.

“It’s okay, I’m glad you called me.”

A rush of air brushes against the speaker, and I imagine him tugging at his hair. “I’ve gotta go warm up in a sec. I just wanted to talk to you. Tell me something. Anything.”

My mind stutters on what to say, and I find myself blurting out, “I have on my lucky underwear today.”

He laughs, and I think I want the ground to swallow me whole. Why did I say that?

“The ones with the strawberries?”

My embarrassment disappears slightly at his response. “It’s disturbing that you know that, and until recently had no intention of getting into my pants.”

“I know a lot about you, Queenie. Like how you love to eat fries and dip them into vanilla milkshakes, which, by the way, is illegal. How you always find a song for every occasion, and how you organize your playlists by friendships. Or how you always wear those strawberry panties when it’s game day.”

Closing my eyes, I cringe. “Did I…show you? Is that how you know?”

He chuckles. “I wish. No, you told me once when you were drunk in freshman year.”

I scoff a laugh, half impressed and a whole lot freaked out that he remembers and banks away so much information about me. “Well, there is something you don’t know about me,” I say suggestively.

“I’m listening,” he says with a deepness to his voice that gives me goosebumps.

“I’ll make you a deal, Miles Cooper. If you win tonight, score a touchdown, play your heart out on that field, then I’ll surprise you after the game.”

“Surprise me?” His voice takes on a new edge, excitement mixed with something more intense. Something I’m becoming addicted to.

“Now, chop chop, Cooper. You’ve got a game to win if you want to score tonight.”

He chuckles, and the adrenaline from that noise hits my heart like a shot. “Jesus, where did you come from?”

“Your dreams,” I say boldly, the words slipping out before I can second-guess them, but I don’t back down. It’s out there now.

“You got that right, Queenie,” he says with conviction, and it has my stomach flipping. “You’ve given me the best kind of motivation.”

I laugh, but inside, I’m a mess. A jumbled, in-love-with-my-best-friend kind of mess. “And here I thought you might need a picture, so you knew I was serious. I guess I’m more convincing than I thought.”

“Woah woah, wait a second, a picture?” he asks, his voice breaking. “I want that. I’m not convinced. I’m not at all. In fact, I was thinking about throwing the game because I’m nervous, sooooo nervous. You know what would make me feel better? A picture from you.”

I can’t hold back my giggle. “Go play your game, Cooper. And win. First down.”

“All the way.”

Hanging up while feeling victorious, a full-blown smile warms my face. And just to mess with him a little more, I take a selfie with my tongue poking out and send it to him with the caption, ‘Find me later, but only if you’re ready for some fun.’

His reply comes through immediately.

Miles

Challenge accepted, hope you’re ready Queenie xo

And what does me in the most? Is the little kiss and hug at the end of his message.

R.I.P to my heart.