Page 56 of The Game Plan

Which he took in defense of me.

That I didn’t ask him to take.

But he stepped up. He refused to let O’Rourke spew his hateful bullshit.

I should feel grateful. I should feel appreciative. I should feel—

There are no rules about how I should be feeling. It’s okay that I’m conflicted. I can be thankful for his defense and also resent his actions at the same time. Physical violence is unattractive. There’s no right way to feel about my new friend bashing in the bully’s face.

Are we friends? Are we more? He likes me, and I like him, and we’ve had sex, so I have to think there is some implication of possession there. I’m not ready to start going around calling him my boyfriend, but if he wants to be exclusive… yeah, I’m okay with that. I don’t want some other woman getting her claws in him. I want him all to myself.

I don’t think what O’Rourke said was particularly heinous. He’s done worse things than call me a cheap whore to my face, and I’m sure behind my back as well. I’m certain he’s behind all of the poisonous gossip about me online. Just looking at him makes me feel slimy, like I need a good shower. Josh Sinclair and I aren’t friends, more acquaintances than anything else; I have no idea how he tolerates hanging out with O’Rourke on a daily basis.

Aleesha lobs a ball at me, and I swing low, my bat missing the ball by millimeters. She gets ready to reset, and I settle into my stance, balancing, preparing. On the second try, I connect, the ball soaring into the midfield. The third pitch is a pop fly directly to our shortstop. The fourth ball? That beauty hits the back wall. One more inch and it would have been out of the park.

Coach gives me a high five as I retake my place in the dugout, chugging my water. The last few days, I’ve had an unquenchable thirst for grape Gatorade. I can’t imagine why.

I haven’t seen Miles since I crawled out of his bed somewhere around two o’clock in the afternoon on Sunday, when both of our stomachs started growling. After I went home and showered the scent of sex off of me, my roommates and I hit up the ASC, but he was nowhere to be found. It didn’t feel right to knock on his door like he did mine last weekend. He probably needs some space to figure everything out, and me barging in on him and demanding more of his time isn’t fair. He needs time to process everything. Truth be told, so do I.

I started this semester knowing that I don’t have time for fuckboys. Not that I think Miles is a fuckboy. I don’t have time fordistractions. And Miles is definitely a distraction. A very welcome one, the place between my thighs reminds me. It’s been awhile since I last got laid, and even longer since it was any good. He was attentive and effective, and if he fumbled around a bit, it was only in his eagerness to prove himself. I certainly enjoyed myself. I have no complaints.

Well, maybe one. I don’t know what we are. Then again, it’s equally my responsibility to question what we are. I don’t think he’s a “hit it and quit it” type of dude. His interest isn’t going to up and vanish now that he’s scored. I can give him some time to figure everything out on his own before I start pushing to define the relationship.

Do I want a relationship?

I don’t have time for one. I don’t have time for anything that isn’t school or softball or the sorority.

For Miles… I’ll make time.

Maybe.

I don’t know.

I like him. He’s cute and he’s funny and he’s kind and he’s just so—so—I like him. And he likes me. Isn’t that enough? Can’t that be enough?

There’s no easy answer. Mulling it over in the shower, on the walk to the ASC, during the team meeting, on my way to the sorority house… I still don’t have an answer.

There is a cluster of Gamma brothers on the front porch. They’ve been hanging over at our place ever since the president of the frat started dating Wendy, our sorority president. I nod hello and go to open the door when it swings open.

“Sam. Hi.” Jake blinks at me, like he’s not sure what I’m doing there.

“Hi?” This is my sorority house, not his. Hell, I have evenmoreof a right to be here than he does.

“We missed you at the party on Saturday,” he says.

“I had plans.”

“Oh?”

My face flushes against my will at the memory of Miles’s body pressed to mine, his thick length pressed between my legs.

“Yeah. It was… I’ll be there next week.”

Jake nods, his smile a bit distant. “Cool.”

We have never been anything but friends. We met at a frat party freshman year, when we were both rushing. I’m the one who introduced him to Stacey, who was in my rush class and ended up pledging Theta. We’ve been friends ever since. He’s a self-proclaimed geek, a computer science major and political science minor who wants to go into the FBI and prevent terrorism. He loves to talk conspiracy theories and serial killers.

He’s also on the clean-up committee for the Kappa formal, so if nothing else, I’ll be entertained while I pick up trash and clean up after drunk people.

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