Page 23 of The Change Up
“So we’re on a last name basis?”
She doesn’t answer, just stares me down, and I want to melt under her stare. Chloe isn’t going to make this easy on anyone.
“We aren’t friends, remember?” Chloe folds her arms across her chest, and I can’t help but follow her movement.
“Well, I was going to offer you the extra pizza that was delivered with ours and to see if you wanted to hang out, but if we aren’t friends, fucking forget it.”
She scoffs and shakes her head as she goes to close the door in my face.
“Chloe, wait,” Hudson interjects. I’m going to kill him. “Take the pizza.”
She smiles at him, and it’s a real, genuine smile. The kind I never get and desperately crave. “Thanks, but I already ate.”
He gives her a warm smile and understanding nod; she returns the gesture with a tight-lipped smile before shutting the door in my face.
“Do you always have to be such a dick to her?”
“Fuck off,” I grumble and return to my spot. “Listen, I’ve made a mess out of things with Chloe, and I don’t know how to fix it. So it’s best that we just steer clear of each other.”
“Have you tried talking to her?”
Taking a large bite, I chew the pizza as I think of how I could possibly explain what happened with her without it sounding like an excuse. It’s been so long that, at this point, she has no reason to ever listen to what comes out of my mouth.
“I almost kissed her.”
He chokes on the water he’s drinking. Coughing, he tries to work the water free. “When?”
“During the ice storm.”
“That’s terrible timing. Did y’all talk, or did you just try to take advantage of the situation?”
“There was no taking advantage. It was just a moment we both had, and I thought it was okay.”
“Clearly, you were wrong.” I glare at him before he continues. “Dude, you’re so fucked.”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” Before he has a chance to say anything else, I hit the play button for the game.
He’s right. I’m so fucked. In more ways than one. I swear I can still smell her wildflower scent.
Later that night, I’m tossing and turning waiting for sleep to take me under. After our pizza and a few games ofCall of Duty, I finally decided to answer my dad’s call.
I knew I shouldn’t have. I knew I should have just let it go to voicemail so I could just delete the message instead of trying to answer it. But clearly, I’m a glutton for punishment and need the punishment that his calls bring.
Hell, maybe that’s part of my pregame ritual. Answering a call from my dad as he berates me about how much I suck and how much better the team we are playing is.
While most dads call to go over the game you played and give you constructive critiques on what you did wrong, I’ve never had that. Instead, my dad decides to tear down my game. He’s planted a seed of doubt which only grows and increases the inner demons that I battle daily. These demons remind me that I’m not good enough. That I’m never going to make it to the big league. That I’m going to wash up and be useless just like my old man.
He couldn’t hack it in college, and while most dads would encourage their son to be better than them, he wants me to be worse.
I know I should stop the cycle, but I’m afraid that if he doesn’t have me to punish, he’s going to find a reason to punish Leah. I can’t have that. She’s been through enough and doesn’t need any more of his attention on her. Until she’s out from under his roof, I’ll be the punching bag he chooses to hit over and over again. In a weird sense, maybe I need the hits. Maybe they make me tougher, stronger.
Rolling over, I practice a few breathing techniques we’ve been doing in our yoga sessions as I try to shut my brain down and get a few hours of sleep. But before I have a chance to drift off, a noise sounds from the hallway.
As captain, it’s my job to make sure that all of the guys abide by Coach’s lights-out policy. Tossing off the covers, I make my way over to the door and try to peer out of the peephole.
That’s when I see her.
Blonde hair piled on top of her head. Black tight shorts and sports bra. And no shirt.Fuck.
