Page 20 of Fair Catch

“I’m not stupid, Kason. I know what someone looks like when they get caught jerkin’ it,” I snap. “We’re both human beings with biological urges. It’s really not that big of a deal.”

Something about his expression has me thinking it’s a lot bigger of a deal than I’m making it out to be, only for it to be confirmed when he mutters, “I doubt you’d be the one saying that if the roles were reversed.”

“You think I haven’t been caught with my dick in my hand before? Because you’d be sadly mistaken,” I admit, shrugging with indifference. “Shit happens. I needed to get in there so I wouldn’t be late leaving the house. In the past, Quinton and I had an understanding—”

“Except, I’m not Quinton!” he shouts, cutting me off. He shoves the barstool back, a death grip on the counter while he rises to his full height. “I don’tcarewhat kind of understanding you two had or how things worked when he was your roommate, because he’s not anymore. I am. And I don’t want you coming into the goddamn bathroom when I’m taking a shower.”

My eyes flick up and down his body, a snarl on my lips as my voice comes out as a deadly whisper.

“You’re right. You’re nothing like Quinton.”

Tension lines his jaw as he stares at me with pink tinting his neck and cheeks, fury blazing like a wildfire in those green eyes. I’ve hit a nerve. I’m not sure how, nor why, but it’s obvious. His body language is easier to read than a goddamn picture book.

“If he’s someone who could actually call you a friend, I’m pretty fucking glad about that.”

With those parting words, Kason shoves away from the counter and storms down the hall toward his room. A few seconds later, the door slams so hard, it rattles the windows, the walls, the television mounted all the way in the living room.

While his mild insult rolls off my back easily enough, it still takes every ounce of my willpower not to call after him and ask if we’re making these house meetings a weekly thing. That would be more dickish than necessary—a line which I’m positive I’ve already jumped clear over.

I know some ground rules for the apartment isn’t the worst idea I’ve ever heard, and I did have every intention of speaking to him about how we can make this cohabitation a bit more tolerable…after I had my fun first.

But tossing jabs shouldn’t be enough to get him that pissed. After all, he seems to be a relatively cool-headed guy—at least from the encounters where I try to dig under his skin, only for it to fail.

Which means tonight, I struck some sort of unknown trigger in him. And it doesn’t feel nearly as good as I’d hoped it would.

All I really feel is guilt.

Ah, shit.

Blowing out a long, tempered breath, I finish making my dinner, only to eat in silence at the counter. I don’t hear a single peep from down the hall the entire time, nor while I’m cleaning up the kitchen and putting away my leftovers.

As I’m stashing it on the top shelf of the fridge, I’m struck with an idea, and quickly grab a pad of sticky notes. Scrawling a message on one, I slap it on the lid of the spaghetti.

Not sure if you can have this (athlete’s diet and all), but it’s yours if you want it.

No, it’s not poisoned.

-Hayes

It’s not exactly an apology, but it’s a start.

Despite my measly attempt at making nice—and Kason did at least take the food—the rest of the week goes by without the two of us speaking to one another.

Four whole days, and it’s the most painfully awkward four days of my life.

We’ve gone from heated interactions and biting each other’s head off to walking on eggshells any time the two of us are home at the same time, let alone in the same room. At this point, I’m making it my mission to escape as often as possible. To the campus library or the gym or literally anywhere to keep myself away from the apartment whenever there’s the slightest chance Kason might be there.

It’s only thanks to his athletic calendar posted on the fridge that I have a general idea of when he’s lifting, practicing, or has a game, otherwise I’d be gone except to sleep.

The thought alone is as insane as it is ridiculous.

It’s been less than a month of living together in total, and the guy has basically chased me out of my own home. Classes have barely started, and at this rate, I’m praying for the year to already be over now more than ever.

I’m aware that avoidance at all costs isn’t tenable in the long term, which is why I know the two of us really need to come to some sort of compromise—sooner rather than later. And that realization only makes me feel like even more of a dick than I did at the beginning of the week, when he was offering just that.

He has an away game tomorrow evening—again, thank you calendar—so I’m surprised to find the television on and him posted up on the couch in the dark when I arrive home from the library, another excessively long study session under my belt. Long enough to have the first month of reading done for every single class.

All six of them.

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