Page 12 of The Game Plan

“They’re assholes.”

“Forget about it,” he says roughly. “O’Rourke is a piece of shit.”

“You know him?”

He grunts again. I take that as a confirmation.

Everyone knows everyone in some roundabout way. Miles knew who I was. The athletic department is small but tightly knit. I knew enough about him to recognize him as a football player, to pick him out of the lineup. I wonder why he didn’t show up to the party last week. He was at the frat party over the weekend. I caught a glimpse of him, and before I could work up the nerve to go talk to him, he was gone.

He’s cute. Like, insanely cute. His dark hair is a touch too long, his unshaven face stubbly with a few days of growth. His brown eyes are kind. He might pretend to be an oblivious rock, but I know deep down he has a kind soul. Something about him calls to me.

Still, I need a study buddy. And he understands statistics. He explains it so well, I actually almost understand what we went over tonight. He didn’t get upset when it took a few explanations for something to make sense. He didn’t get condescending when I asked followup questions. He just… he was kind, and he was sweet, and even if he didn’twantto help me, he still did it. Out of the goodness of his heart, for another reason, I don’t know.

And then O’Rourke had to go and stomp all over his good spirit. I have half a mind to run back to the dining hall and punch his face in. There was no need for him to make fun of Miles.

We were having such a nice time.

“I learned a lot during our study session.”

He grunts. I don’t know what happened to the communicative (albeit quiet) guy I was with an hour ago. It’s like when O’Rourke descended upon us, he lost the ability to speak in complete sentences.

I understand that. Sometimes O’Rourke makes me so angry that I’m speechless, too.

“I really do want to meet up again.” Regardless of whatever that asshole has to say about it.

“Maybe,” he says.

“Miles. Please.” I stop in my tracks. “I’ll fail without your help.”

An expression I can’t identify wars on his face. He’s hesitant. Is it because of O’Rourke, or was he already going to turn me down before that jerk got involved?

He squeezes his eyes shut and swallows. When he opens them, his rich brown eyes are soulful, wounded.

“You’re willing to be seen with me? Have rumors spread about you?”

Who does he think he is that people will automatically start gossiping about us? We’re both nobodies. There isn’t anyone that cares about the intimate details of what we get up to.

“I don’t care what people say,” I roll my eyes. “They don’t know me, and they don’t know you.”

He’s silent as we make our way down the street.

“Well, this is me.” I hook my thumb towards the softball house.

He nods towards the green and grey house two doors down and across the street. “I’m right there.”

“We’ve been neighbors all this time and we’ve never known it,” I smile kindly. I kind of like that the big guy is my neighbor. He makes me feel safe. Protected.

Which is ridiculous, because all we’ve done is study and walk home together. We’re not friends.

He tucks his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. “Yep.”

“I should get inside. Homework. And we have weights early tomorrow.” I make a face. I’m not a fan of early wake ups.

And for some reason, I don’t want this simple interaction to end. It’s so nice being in his company. I had such a good time tonight, even with the statistics and the volleyball assholes interrupting us.

Miles shrugs into his hoodie. “Well, good night.”

I don’t want him to go. I manage a faint smile.

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