Page 37 of Change Your Play

Cleo stepped to the dusty ground in white heels and a smooth pencil skirt that showed her legs. Her red hair was pinned back with a twist. So put together. The complete antithesis of me in every way.

Her lips parted when her eyes locked on mine.

“Miles?”

“Do I need to run over his car?” Coach Lawson jerked a thumb at me.

“No—he—” A bright blush rocketed across her face, almost as flaming as her hair.

Thatwas hope.

If Cleo wanted me to fuck off down the highway, she would've told me to fuck off down the highway. She brushed a few strands back and gave me another glance.

“Sir, can we have a couple of minutes?”

Coach Lawson gave me a long look and scratched his beard. “Alright.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“We're heading in for beers. If you need us to run over his car, just call.”

“Yes, sir,” Cleo reaffirmed, with absolutely no indication that she wouldn't take advantage of that if she needed it.

I couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride. My vixen knew exactly how to take care of herself - even if it ended up with her flattening my car to pieces.

She hurried across the gravel, and I reached through my window to fetch the stapled pieces of paper.

“Miles—”

“I got your note.” I held up the papers.

Her eyes zeroed in on the crumpled marks from how often I'd pulled them open during the drive.

She swallowed. “I spent a lot of time on that.”

“I'm sure you did.” Balling them up between my hands, I crumpled the letter into a ball and tossed it back into my car. “You just left.”

“It's better if we have…an understanding about this.”

“Sullender talked to you,” I said flatly.

“He—that had nothing to do with it.”

“So, he got punched for no reason?”

“You—?” Cleo shook her head and smoothed down her pencil skirt, shifting back and forth in her heels like she was readying for a track race and not breaking my heart. She squeezed her eyes shut. “This is the most practical decision.”

“Bullshit.”

“Just because you don't want to hear—”

“You're the kind of person who delivers an apology to somebody's face. Instead, you hopped on the bus and stomped me to little pieces—bullshit.” I took a step closer. “And I could take it if you were done with me, I could, but you're clearly not done with me and I'm never going to be done with you. So, I'm calling it. Bullshit.”

She stared, blinking. “You don't know me.”

“And I want to get to know you. I want to figure you out, one puzzle piece at a time, every day, for the rest of my life.”

“I—” She stopped herself. “Miles, you don’t understand.”

---