Page 28 of The Game Plan

She gulps down half of her drink, her eyes wide. “Wow.”

“The guys are probably playing video games or watching a movie. It’s super chill. No pressure.”

Her sigh of relief is like a punch to the gut. She doesn’t want to hang out with me. With us.

“Yeah, okay,” she says, and my heart skitters to a stop. “Video games or a movie sound fun.”

My beer is half full. I don’t want to drink it. I took it more for something to do with my hands than anything else. Setting it down on the nearest flat surface, I turn to Sam, who’s draining her cup.

People move out of the way for me to pass. Sam follows in my wake. There’s a tug on the back of my hoodie.

Looking back, she has her hands on my sweatshirt, holding on. She’s so close I can smell her sweet perfume through the stink of stale B.O. and pot clouding the room.

Without thinking about it, I offer her my hand. To my eternal surprise, she takes it, her small, calloused palm sliding against mine.

Sparks dance along my arm, coalescing into a ball of fury deep in my gut. My cock jerks to life again at the innocent contact.

She squeezes my hand and I take a deep breath, turning towards the front of the room and the hazardous path to the exit.

Are people talking about us? Is anyone going to see this and comment? I’ll just die if they start giving her shit for leaving with me. It’s bad enough people are being assholes because we ate dinner together a few times. Her best friends are giving her a hard enough time for deigning to spend time with us. I don’t pretend to think this will be any better for her.

In the gym the guys on the football team clapped me on the back. They all think I’m sleeping with her. She’s hot, there’s no doubt about that. She’s a fucking catch.

She just won’t be caught by me.

Finally out of the house, I breathe in fresh air for the first time in way too long. Beside me, Sam’s still holding my hand. We’re side by side now, walking at a more sedate pace than my frantic escape from the frat house of hell.

“Thanks for getting me out of there,” she says, squeezing my hand. “I was starting to go crazy in there.”

“Me, too.”

She doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to let go of my hand, so I don’t prompt her. If this is all I get from her, I’ll go to sleep tonight happy I got this much.

The first drop of snow takes me by surprise. It’s cold, yes, but not nearly cold enough for that. The flurries start in earnest as we cross the quad to head back to our part of campus.

Sam lets go of my hand, and I mourn the loss of contact. She spins in a circle, her arms outstretched, her head thrown back.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s snowing,” she says, like I’m crazy for not understanding.

“We live in Boston. It snows three quarters of the year here.”

“It’s the first snow of the season. Isn’t it beautiful?”

It’s October.

She’sbeautiful. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair is pulling out of her braid, and she’s never looked more gorgeous in her life.

But I can’t say that to her. We’re friends, and tentatively so. We’re still learning about each other. Something clenches deep in my gut. I don’t want to be her friend. I want more.

After a few minutes of admiring the snowfall, Sam seems to gather herself. She skips over to me, wrapping her arm around mine and taking my hand again. It’s all innocent, incidental contact. It still sends my pulse pounding like a ten piece brass band.

Like I predicted, my roommates are on the couch. Tonight they’re playing Jeopardy! on the big screen TV, Wes against Barrett and Tucker combined. They don’t bother to look up when we enter.

“Hey, y’all,” Sam says. “Whatcha playing?”

Wes pauses the game. All three guys turn to look at her, eyes wide.

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