Page 82 of Love is a Game

Immediately, his eyes find mine, checking in, searching, waiting.

And just like that, the question I’ve been avoiding crashes in.

What happens to us when we leave?

Chapter 25

Tuck

“C’mon, Pen. Haven’t you figured it out?” I frown at my phone perched in the console of Mom’s car, waiting for her response.

Her voice bursts through the speaker, sharp with frustration.

“No. Mainly because I’m drowning in stress over Mia’s damn wedding dress while you’re leaving cryptic notes like some escape room challenge.”

I exhale, watching a pack of teenagers drift out of the school gates—heads bent over their phones, adjusting earbuds, fixing their hair in car windows.

Maybe this was a dumb idea. Maybe I should’ve picked something easier, something that didn’t require Pen to play along.

“Tuck?”

Her voice pulls me back.

“Yeah, I’m here.” I try to keep my voice steady, but the disappointment seeps in, like I’ve absorbed the teenage angst swirling around me.

“Where exactly ishere?” She sighs, and there’s something in the sound—a hint that maybe she’s softening her stance.

“You really can’t figure out the note?”

Another sigh. “You mean this: ‘We’ve never agreed to disagree. Meet me where arguments turned into battlegrounds, and victory was always up for debate’?”

“It’s pretty obvious.”

“So I’m supposed to come to our old school?” The distaste in her voice is clear.

Not the reaction I was hoping for. In my head, she would’ve already been here, rolling her eyes but secretly intrigued, not stuck on the other end of the phone, making it sound like I’d asked her to walk barefoot over nails.

“Just humor me, okay?” I push down the frustration. “It’ll be worth it.”

Silence. A beat of hesitation.

Then finally: “Fine.”

Not exactly enthusiasm. But it’ll do.

Fifteen minutes later, we’re walking the halls of our past. The air smells the same. Old books, floor polish, and a faint whiff of burnt coffee from the teacher’s lounge.

Except Pen is a world away from the schoolkid days.

Sure, she was always striking in her own way, all restless energy and skinny limbs, long, dark braids. Now, there’s a different weight to her presence—womanly curves perfectly encased in tailored military pants and a front-zippered burgundy blouse…the embodiment of sexy self-assuredness.

She flicks her hair. “Okay, tell me. What’s this really about? Some kinky fantasy of yours? Dragging me back here so we can screw in our old debate room?”

Her eyes glint as she glances up at me, as if she wouldn’t be opposed to that course of action. Then, she spots Mom just ahead, poised in the debating room doorway, and flushes the color of her blouse.

“Tuck, Penelope. Glad you could join us!” Mom says airily.

She motions us inside. “Come in, we’re about to start.”

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