Page 57 of Play Me
“I have to be.”
I rest my elbows on my knees and let Astrid’s words slip into my brain. It’s a curious choice of words. Those nine letters feel heavier than the entire English language as I roll them around my mind.
Since Wednesday, I’ve pondered that sentence often. I’ve paired it with the things she’s told me and the way she holds her body. Her behavior at the gas station. The flashes of gold in her eyes.
“Some of us didn’t have our needs met as children.”
I might be a dick because I’m tired of trying to convince people that I’m not.What if she’s a control freak because she’s given up relying on people for help?
My eyes widen, and I sit up, wincing like I’ve been punched in the gut.
I open my phone, noting the witch emoji beside her name. I click the info button, and her picture enlarges on my screen.
She’s in a car with her hair pulled back away from her face. Her cheeks are a faint pink, like she’s been laughing. A smile parts her lips and touches the corners of her eyes. I’ve never seen her like this before.
And I know why.
Because I’m ruining her, too.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Astrid
I straighten my shirt—a sapphire-blue top I put entirely too much thought into when getting dressed this afternoon. I’m not the type of girl who obsesses over what she wears. I throw on something appropriate for the occasion and go about my day. But every T-shirt felt too casual, and every button-up too stuffy, and this is definitely not a sundress type of situation. I need to look professional, yet cordial … and I have no idea if I pulled that off.
“I probably should’ve called Audrey for advice,” I mumble, gathering my bag and phone before heaving a breath and then climbing out of my car.
Gray’s neighborhood is abuzz with kids on bicycles and adults on porches, watching the children play. The warm air is perfumed by thick shrubs hosting soft pink peonies in front of the apartments to my left. A screen door to my right is propped open, and eighties music floats on the breeze.
My fingers tap a quick text to my friends.
Me: I’m at Gray’s. Pray for me.
Audrey: You don’t need prayers. You got this!
Gianna: You don’t need prayers. You need condoms.
Audrey: GIANNA.
Gianna: No Bardot this time?
Me: One of you is helpful and one of you is not. I’ll let you think about that.
I slide my phone into my purse and exhale slowly.
This wouldn’t be so terrible if I knew what to expect. My text exchanges with Gray have gone well since our truce, and he’s been amenable to my suggestions with quick replies. As far as I know, he hasn’t missed an appointment or practice either. But I can’t help but wonder if they haven’t gone a little too well. I’m afraid to hope this can work out because when your hope goes up, it’s just a harder fall back to the ground.
I press the doorbell and say a quick prayer of my own since I can’t count on my friends to do it for me.
You’ve agreed to a truce. Don’t go in there assuming the worst.I frown.Don’t give him the benefit of the doubt, either. Aim for a nice neutrality.
Energy flickers in my chest, but I’m not certain if it’s from anticipation or dread. My thoughts run amok as I consider how he’s going to react to seeing me in person again. It’s our first time together since the Magnolia Peace Accord, and my first time at his apartment since Picture Gate. I don’t know whether I’m walking into an ambush or preparing for a picnic.
It’s impossible to steady my erratic pulse as Gray opens the door.
He peers down at me with his dark eyes, studying me intently as if seeing me for the first time. A white cotton shirt hugs his torso, and a pair of black sweatpants kiss his thighs. I don’t know him well enough to know if he shaves routinely or not, but it’s evident that he hasn’t met with a razor since I last saw him—and I hate that he looks even better with the scruff.
