Page 59 of Pinkie Promise

My stomach drops like a tonne of bricks as I spin the phone back around and take in her text.

It reads:you shouldn’t come, the roads are dangerous. I let my phone fall to the table so that I can drop my head into my hands and groan.

Tanner snickers and takes another pull on his beer as we both get to our feet. Obviously I’m fucking going, if only to drive her safely home.

“Where are you heading?” I ask as Tanner drains his drink and shoves on his trainers.

He shrugs. “Austin’s coming back to the house and we’ll drive over to some girl that he knows’ party. See who’s there. Might stay the night.”

“Don’t even know if driving back here will be an option,” I say as we both grab our stuff and leave the apartment.

“And yet, you’re still goin’,” he says, sliding his eyes over to mine.

We stare it out, neither of us wavering. “And?” I ask finally as we reach the bottom floor.

He jerks his chin at Austin, who’s waiting in his car just outside the now-open front door. “So you like her. Like, you’d happily get tornadoed in a snow storm level of liking her.”

I roll my shoulders and grunt. “Okay, I like her, now shut up.”

He grins and I give him a rough shove as we leave the building. Before it can turn into a full-blown hockey brawl Austin throws open the passenger-side door and says to Tanner, “Hey man.” He tips his chin at me and asks, “You coming?”

Tanner ducks down into his seat and throws a smirk at me. “He’s busy. He’s tryna wife up that cheerleader.”

Austin raises his eyebrows, his expression impressed. I shake some hail from my hair, well aware that it’s starting to stick like snow. “She’s still seeing you?” Austin asks. “Y’all have been going at it for weeks.”

Tanner’s smirk gets even bigger at Austin’s phrasing but he doesn’t say anything to correct Austin’s assumption. I give him an appreciative jerk of my chin before saying laters to Austin and trudging over to my truck.

I’m surprised that I don’t end up skidding during the drive because the roads are almost slick enough to play a decent game of hockey on. By the time that I reach the sports building my abdomen is in knots wondering how the hell Fallon will have got herself here. I park up and make my way to the room that Fallon has been training in, rapping on the door when I see that it’s locked as usual. I can hear muffled talking coming from the other side and it pauses momentarily when she hears the knock.

I shove my hands in the front pockets of my joggers and wait for her to open up.

The lock twists and the door opens a millimetre. Fallon’s big eyes look up at me from the crack.

Hey, she mouths. She pulls the door open so that I can get inside and I see that she has her phone held up to her ear. I can also see that she’s wearing her cheer skirt today and I’m instantly hard as fuck. I lock the door after myself and Fallon turns back around to the mirrors, padding to her usual mat and saying quietly into her cell, “I know, he’s right, I know. Look, I have to go now. Text me if you decide you’re staying there, okay? Okay, bye.”

Her hair is damp. My jaw clenches.

When she disconnects the call and settles her phone on top of her gym bag I notice that her hands are slightly trembling. I close the distance between us and take one of her wrists so that I can hold still her frozen hand.

“Fallon, you’re shaking.” I look down into her eyes and she stares stubbornly back at me. “You walked here?” I ask.

I get a defiant chin-lift in response.

“You know how dangerous that was?” I ask her. “Why the hell didn’t you stay at home?”

“Why didn’tyoustay at home?” she retorts, lightning flashing in her eyes. Damn if I’m answering that one. “This day has been bad enough. I told you that you didn’t have to come here.”

My body is immediately rigid. “Why has your day been bad?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I do want to know. Who was on the phone?”

She throws her head back and lets out a dramatic sigh. She’s wearing one of her sparkly cheer tops and the little crystals all over her breasts are making it hard for me to concentrate.

She swallows hard and turns around, allowing me to hold her back against my front, and she watches me cautiously in the mirror.

“It’s December, right? Well, my grant’s due for submission and the professor – Dr. Ward – who I asked to be my referee hasn’t responded to my emails since November. I need her to give me my reference before the Christmas break so that I can submit it in time, and I’m starting to think that she’s bailing without telling me. It shouldn’t have been a big deal to her – I mean, it’s just a random reference – but I guess that sometimes the staff get weird about giving recommendations when they know that their peers will be reading them or something, so…”

---