Page 65 of The Puckable Playbook

“Hey, if I said something…”

“No.” I stand. “It’s not you. Sorry, I need to be alone right now.”

I start to grab my stuff.

“Len.”

“It’s not you. Promise.”

I rub my chest as I make my way through the crowd of people at the café exit, nearly knocking shoulders with a towering figure. “Sorry.”

“Len? You okay?”

I turn to see Adam standing there. “Fine. I’m good. Sorry.”

Turning, I head out the door and start for the dorm, praying Zaiah’s in class or at practice or just not there. My phone rings, and I pull my bag around to see who it is.Clark. I come to a stop.His name scrolling across my phone used to send goose bumps through me. What kind of person lets two toxic people into their lives?Welcomesthem? Begs for their attention?

I clench my phone and do the first thing I can think: I pull back and heave it into the air.

“Hey!” A body jogs over and snatches it before it hits the ground. I recognize the shoulders, the frame, and I want to die of embarrassment before he spins around and it’s confirmed.

The universe fucks me again.

I’m still alive when Zaiah turns, my phone dangling from his fingers. I stand still, my feet frozen in place as he jogs up to me. “You should try out for baseball.”

I peer at the ground, and within a few seconds, my phone enters my view.

“You missed a call.”

“Good,” I snap, grabbing it and shoving it back in my bag.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say, hiding a sniffle. “I’m overstimulated, I think.”

Flora calls out from behind me. “Len, are you okay?”

Zaiah reaches out, but I slide away from him. “Sorry, I’m good. Everyone can stop worrying.” I back away like I’m a mouse trapped in a corner by a big, hungry lion. “I’m A-Okay. I’m suddenly tired. I’m going to take a nap.”

“I can make sure you get back alright,” Zaiah offers, stepping forward.

The concern on his face is so pure. But do I trust myself anymore? Apparently, I’m a horrible judge of character.

“I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself. Thanks.”

I turn before they can say another word. My feet pick up the pace, and when I’m about thirty yards away, I glance back to see if anyone is following me. Luckily, no one is.

My phone buzzes with a text from Zaiah when I hit the steps to Knightley.

DON’T THROW ME.

Text me when you’re home. I mean it. If you don’t, I’m going to come looking.

A smile starts to curve my lips, but I stuff it down. When I arrive at my suite, I lie in bed and text him that I’m okay, then pull the covers up over me to hide away.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Zaiah

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