Page 60 of Past the Broken Bridges

She looks cute. Sporty. I don’t know why she doesn’t wear more outfits like the ripped black jeans and high-tops she’s in that she paired with her purple-and-yellow LSU jersey. When she asked me to come over before the basketball game, I was more than happy to help her get ready. It got me out of my apartment, where I’d been sulking, andreminded me that we were good after what happened this weekend.

She wasn’t mad the way I was at myself.

For making Dawson think he had a chance.

For letting him assume it was okay to kiss me.

Banks had been right. I led him on.

“You look great, and your butt looks amazing in those jeans,” I compliment, sipping the overpriced Coke she bought for me and trying to brush off the guilt settling into my chest.

Two pink dots appear on her cheeks. “Thank you. Let’s hope Dawson notices.”

“He’ll be playing,” I remind her. Wiggling my eyebrows, I say, “But after…”

When we get to our seats, I scope out the gymnasium where the game is being held. I’m met with a lot of unfamiliar faces, which makes me ease into my seat.

“He’s not here,” Dixie says, slurping her cherry slushie.

Playing coy, I set my purse down between my feet on the bleachers. “Who?”

Dixie smirks. “Dawson said that Banks never comes to these things.”

I’m both relieved and oddly a little disappointed. “Huh.”

She doesn’t make a big deal out of it, just like she didn’t make one out of the kiss. I’m not sure what happened the night at the hospital, but the time she spent with Dawson there must have bonded them enough for her to forgive him the way I had. After all, they’d been onadate. According to Dixie, that didn’t mean they were exclusive. If I were in her shoes, I’m not sure I would feel the same though.

“You can’t avoid him forever,” she tells me, bumping my knee with hers.

I look at her, biting the inside of my cheek.

She shrugs. “Just saying.”

I lean back in my spot, pushing the thought away. Glancing at the court, I realize I have no idea what I’m about to watch. “Do you know anything about basketball? Because I don’t. I tried playing horse with my dad and brother once, and I never made a single basket.”

She stares at the empty court below, studying all the lines painted onto the floor. “I know they don’t score touchdowns,” she replies.

We share a look before breaking out into clueless laughter.

“This will be interesting,” I muse.

* * *

A few hours later, I realize that Dixie isn’t the shy twenty-one-year-old I thought she was. I’ve never heard someone so little yell so loudly at the referees calling the shots when LSU loses. It was a close game, which makes me feel bad for Dawson, who only got to play for a few minutes.

As the crowd starts dispersing, I stand and drape my bag over my shoulder when I hear, “I guess he does come sometimes.”

A tingling sensation shoots down my spine before I even look at where her eyes are. When I see Banks leaning against the doors on the floor of the gymnasium, my fingers twitch.

And he’s looking right at me, as if we aren’t surrounded by at least a hundred people trying to leave at the same time.

How long has he been here?

Dixie takes my hand. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I whisper, voice weak.

She knows I haven’t seen him since the party but has been encouraging me to talk to him. Every time I tell her I will, I find a reason not to.

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