Page 93 of Scrimmage

“Is it on my playlist?” She shakes her head no. “I want it on there.”

She puts her hand on her hip. “First of all, you don’t even want your playlist. Second, I can’t.”

“I do want the playlist. Fucking send it to me. I thought you would have by now just to try to piss me off, but why can’t you add it?”

She looks at her fingernails. “It’s not released.”

“Oh yeah? You got the hookup for music?”

“Sort of.”

“Fuck a rockstar and he wrote you a song?” I snort.

She doesn’t answer. I wouldn’t be surprised. Everything I know so far about Ashland never makes sense.

“You did didn’t you?”

“I don’t see why it would matter if some asshole with a guitar wrote me an album,” she says haughtily.

“An album?” I can already feel something probably resembling jealousy rising.

She deflates into the couch, giving up. “I thought we discussed the talking thing.”

“Are you embarrassed?”

“If I let you hear the song will you leave me the fuck alone about it?”

“Maybe,” I smirk.

She scrolls on her phone for a minute before pressing play. It’s the goddamn flute song. I should have seen it coming. She has a placid look on her face, and I don’t know how she’s holding it together because I start to laugh. I grab the keys and shake my head going to the car while she keeps the song playing. When we get into the car it doesn’t stop.

“Okay, fuck. I get the point. Don’t ask questions.”

“One more for good measure.”

I hate her and I like her all at once. It’s fucking confusing. She’s too funny for her own good. I park in front of her house and all of the lights are on. Penny made it back. I grab Ashland’s bag from the trunk and open her door. She fucking listened.

“I have an away game this weekend,” I inform her.

“Okay, and?”

“You have your convention, don’t you?” I overheard enough in my few minutes in the studio to know.

She nods. It’s like she’s embarrassed.

“How are you going to get there?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

I push the keys into her hands. “Just take my car.”

“It’s a stick.”

“I’d be shocked if you don’t know how to drive stick.” I know I’m right by the upturn in the corners of her mouth. “Good. Take the car.”

I don’t give her time to rebuttal before walking away.

As I walk through campus I try to analyze myself. What I’m doing is atrocious, really. It’s a little manipulative. A lot manipulative. I don’t plan on taking the car back any time soon. I have the Jeep. If I keep giving her what she doesn’t know she needs, she’ll keep focusing on me. That’s exactly how Cole wormed his way in. It’s fake freedom. Let her believe that she’s abusing my generosity and that I’m wrapped around her finger. She won’t be able to discard me though. It just means she has to consider my demands before blatantly disregarding them.

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