Page 16 of Calm Before the Score

I would do just about anything for her at this moment, but she doesn’t need to know that. I motion for her to walk to the passenger side so I can help her buckle in.

After we stop at the nearest gas station to get Violet a Coke Icee and M&M’s, we pull into the parking lot of her apartment complex.

“Thanks for the ride,” she slurs as she grabs the handle of the car door.

“Wait.” I grab her arm, jolting to stop her. There’s something I need to say.

“I’m sorry for earlier. I didn’t mean to go caveman on you.”

“Be more specific, Mr. Football.”

Why does this girl need so many details?I pinch the fabric of Locke’s jersey between my fingers. My brows furrow. “It bothers me.” I exhale and meet her gaze. “I’d rather see you in mine.”

Her eyes get wide, and her breath catches as she coughs to cover it up. “Ok.” She stares at me with an intensity in her eyes that I haven’t seen before. “Hartley won’t come home until much later. Do you want to come in? I’m not sure I can make the stairs by myself.”

Without question, I turn the car off and help her to the apartment door.

15

Violet

The emotional whiplash is real. I went from grinding against Ryan’s muscular body to arguing with him, to screaming at him outside of the bar, to giving up and letting him buy me snacks. The way he ran after me at the bar and demanded I go home with him frustrated me to no end.

I was having so much fun, and he ripped me away from the hot guy flirting with me. The other part of me appreciates that he cares about my safety, but my gut tells me it’s more. I fought him because I couldn’t have him thinking he could boss me around like that, but deep down, I liked it. The only protection I have ever had was in my best friend, Hartley, but lately, I haven’t needed him as much as I once did.

As I stumble up the stairs to my door, I find it hard to believe Ryan is behind me. This is far from how I pictured this night going, but the alcohol coursing through my veins tells me to just go with the flow.I don’t know what made me grab his hand. I feel this gravitational pull toward him—the kind that you can’t resist even when the whole world feels like it’s pulling you apart.

“Hartley doesn’t come home after he goes out?” he asks.

“No. It’s a Saturday night after a home win. He won’t be home until the morning at least.” I giggle because I know Hartley, and he’s reckless. “You don’t have to stay. I know it's the first home win and all. I wouldn’t want to bore you with wine and TV shows.”

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” Ryan replies, and if that doesn’t make me melt into a puddle right there in front of him. We head into the apartment, and Ryan darts to the kitchen, “You need to eat something. What do you want?”

“I’m good. I don’t think my stomach can handle much of anything at the moment.”

“Trust me, you’ll thank me in the morning. You need something with carbs or grease. Pick one, and I’ll whip it up.”

“Umm.. Ok.. There should be bread left on the counter and cheese in the fridge. What about grilled cheese?” I ask.

“Easy enough,” he replies. I show him where the pans are, and he commands the kitchen. His back muscles flex through his shirt as he flips the sandwich over to get the crisp just right. My face heats at the image of him taking control in other places besides the kitchen. Before long, he’s serving up the most delicious-looking grilled cheese on earth. The first bite elicits a soft moan and is actual heaven on a plate. I think I might die right here, right now. Cause of death: amazing grilled cheese.

“That good, huh?” he asks with a cocky grin painted on his face. Is this man good at everything?

“So good. I think you’re onto something with the food. My head feels less foggy already. Want to know a secret?” I ask, batting my eyes because something inside me is telling me to flirt my butt off.

“What kind of secret? Do I want to know?” Ryan chuckles, and before I can tell him, I jet off to Hartley’s unoccupied bedroom to score his “secret” wine stash.

“The party can continue!” I say, flashing the bottle of wine. Part of me wants this wine to mask my ruminating thoughts that take over at night.

“I think you need to pump the breaks on the alcohol before you’re vomiting all night,” he says with a hint of sincerity.

“Why? I’m having so much fun, though,” I whine.

“Ok, one glass, and then I’m cutting you off.” Reaching over to get the bottle out of my hand, his fingertips brush against mine. I watch as he opens the bottle and pours me half a glass.

I clear my throat. “What about you?” I gesture for him to take a glass.

He hesitates for a moment but nods and pours himself a glass, too.

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