Page 17 of Fragile

“Why are you growling and mumbling over there, Cooper?” Indie asks, mirth lacing her tone.

His brown eyes narrow on her. “I’m not growling,” he says indignantly. “But if Iwasgrowling, I’d tell Mackenzie here to get lost and find another girl to hit on.” He changes in an instant andflashes a calculated grin at Zach, causing tension to slice through the table. Jeez Louise, is it hot in here?

Zach’s eyes go wide as he straightens and steps away from me. “I’m not, I mean… Quinn, you’re great and really beautiful, but uh… I just got out of a relationship, and I’m not really looking for anything.” The poor guy looks like he might throw up, which does wonders for a girl’s self-esteem.

My cheeks flame, the heat creeping under my skin like a disease, but I’m a pro at hiding how I’m feeling. “That’s okay. I’m also not looking for anything. These guys ran away with the matchmaker idea. Ignore them.”

Zach looks around nervously, and as he finds all eyes on him, a little blush colors the apples of his cheeks. “Okay, cool. There are some guys on my team who—”

“No,” Miles booms, and everyone swings their attention to him.

“No?” I choke out, staring at his stupidly handsome scowl.

“No hockey players,” he says casually, stabbing his fork into his salad and ignoring my death glare.

The balls on this guy. If I didn’t love him, I’d hate him. “Oh, and football players are better?” I challenge.

“Yes, we are.” He swings his gaze to Zach. “Sorry, dude, she won’t be dating anyone from your team.”

Faking a thought, I tap my chin. “I didn’t realize you were the boss of me.” I turn to Zach with a flirty smile. “If any of your teammates are single, tell them I’m throwing a party in a few weeks, and I’d love for them to come.”

Zach’s eyes flick between Miles and me, but then he nods and smiles. “Sure thing. See you all around.”

Hudson makes a low, whistling sound. “I can’t wait to come to your party, Quinn. Wait, I’m invited too, right? No, don’t answer that. Of course I am.”

For the second time today, I roll my eyes at Hudson. “Yes, you’re invited. All of you are.” I look at Miles and scowl. “Except you.” Because I’m feeling petty. And despite his protective stance today, he doesn’t want me. He wants to keep me safe. Well, maybe safe is boring. Maybe I’m done playing it safe. Maybe I’m done with possessive, growly boys who have no intention of doing anything about it.

He guffaws, but I see a little smirk lift the side of his mouth.

Even though it was a spur-of-the-moment idea, I’m having this party. Now I need to rally my best friend into helping me organize it.

Chapter seven

Miles

When you’re faced witha decision for your future, no one tells you how many roads there are to take. No one tells you that it’s so multifaceted when you make decisions for yourself as an adult. There’re needs versus wants, right and wrong, morals and dilemmas. But that gray area? The in-between, it’s huge. Often, the answer to what we want and doing what’s right isn’t always the same.

The little white pill weighs heavily in my hand. A tiny, embossed line on the one side grazes against my fingertips as I sit at my desk in my room.

Waiting.

Battling with myself, because I know the consequences. I know the risks.

Yet, every time I think of being able to impress my dad, I take it. Consequences be damned. Rinse and repeat. This is my third game doing it—fourth, if you count last year. And each one, I’ve gotten a better reaction from him. Can I do this without help now? The question plagues me. I hate the low and themood swings and the shitty feeling afterward, but the high from knowing my dad is proud of me again? I can’t stop chasing it.

My phone buzzes on my bedside table. I glance over, and it’s like he knows I’m about to do something that could fuck up my whole career.

I place the pill back on my desk, next to the Tylenol pot I keep it in, and swipe the screen, mustering up all the energy I have to lift it to my ear. “Morning, Dad.”

“Did you call him?” Dad’s voice is sharp, no greeting, no warmth—just straight to the point.

I hesitate. “Uh...not yet.”

“Youwhat?” His tone drops, lower, more dangerous. “I told you days ago, Miles. And I’ve sent reminders. How hard is it to pick up the damn phone and make an appointment?”

“I was going to, but—”

“But what?” he snaps, cutting me off. “Too busy? Too tired? You’ve got an excuse for everything, don’t you?”

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