Page 13 of The Love Dare
The answer is obvious.
She shouldn’t.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, the wall around his heart re-forming with each nonchalant word. “I get worse on a daily basis at practice. Go back to your boyfriend. I’m fine. Really.”
“He’s not?—”
Tyler’s already racing down the stairs. But the last thing he needs right now is forced conversation with people he hates. Instead of crossing back through the kitchen, he hooks a right and slips out onto the patio. The lights from inside beam across the sitting area, so he walks around the corner toward the pool and collapses into a lounger. Overhead, the sky is dark, not a star in sight. Even the moon is in hiding. His head throbs in tune with the beat pumping through the windows, but he wasn’t lying when he said he was used to far, far worse. The ache is nothing compared to the emotional wasteland ripping through him. He tries to close his eyes and drift away into the shadows, but he can’t stop picturing it.
Picturing her.
Picturing them.
Is she kissing him right now?
Are his hands back under her shirt?
Is she grinding into his strained zipper?
Is that what she wants?
Is it what she always wanted?
Was she wishing for someone else every time he barged into her room?
No.
It can’t be.
But then again, she never went looking for him at parties. He went to her. Always. He invaded her space, never questioning if she wanted him there, because he selfishly hoped she did. Besides, she could have told him to leave if she wanted to. They’re friends.
But that’s not who she is, he realizes. She always puts other people first. If she thought he needed help, she would give it.
God, I’m an idiot.
He pushes the heels of his palms into his sockets, as if he can force the images and thoughts away. But they’re too deep, too invasive. He drops his arms and tries to focus on the blinking light of an airplane passing overhead. His gaze slides to the glow of her bedroom window instead.
What the hell is happening up there?
He can’t stand it.
The knowing.
The not-knowing.
He has to make it stop.
Anxiety and fear and frustration pump through him. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s on his feet, marching back into the house. He blacks out. One second he’s outside, and the next he’s holding the landline meant only for emergencies and dialing a number so familiar he can do it with his eyes closed. Alexandru answers immediately.
“Uldwyna?” The deep voice of his coach fills the line. Their father always uses their full names. “Alexandru? Is everything okay? What’s that noise?”
Tyler leaves the phone on the counter and walks back to the pool to wait. His turmoil calms the second he hears the carscreech to a stop out front. When the music abruptly cuts, he breathes deeply for the first time in what feels like hours. By the time the yelling begins, he’s already hopping the back fence into the alley.
It’s for Alex, he reasons.He needs to be ready for Michigan on Friday.
What a complete load of shit.
Especially since the last place he looks before he drops to the other side of the fence is not toward the living room where his friend is undoubtedly taking a verbal lashing, but to the second-story window where a familiar, lone form sits curled up against the curtains.
