“This is so stupid.”
I’m talking to myself, because I’m alone in my hotel room, being lame. A sharp sigh of frustration puffs from my lips as I stare at the ceiling.
It’s eight P.M. and I’m the only person on the planet—under the age of seventy—poised to go to bed this early. But I have nothing better to do, and sleep is the only guarantee I won’t do something I’ll regret.
Like, taking Joss’s advice and heading to Trip’s room to deal with my West problem. Joss had even stopped by my room on her way to the party, and when I told her I was passing, she gave me her number in case I wanted to talk about everything later.
Of all the members of the dance squad, she’s by far the most tolerable.
As a last-ditch effort to do the right thing, I check in with Scar.
“Are you in bed?” she asks after saying ‘hello’.
“How could you possibly know that?”
“I can hear the lameness in your voice,” she teases. “Isn’t your boyfriend there? Why on earth aren’t you out doing something fun right now?”
I sigh and, apparently, don’t answer quickly enough for her, because she’s on my case again.
“Get up, Blue!” she yells into the phone.
I don’t even bother telling her West isn’t my boyfriend. People seem to believe what they want to about that situation.
“Give me the phone,” I hear Jules say in the background. “Did I just hear right?” she asks. “You’re seriously in bed right now? While there’s an entire football team on the same floor? And I’m guessing very little supervision?”
“You don’t understand,” I whine.
“What I do understand is that you’re making the south side look really bad right now. Please, for the love of all that is holy, get up and do something,” she pleads.
I glance at the clock. “There’s a party, but—”
“No buts,” Jules snaps. “Get up, shower, put on something cute, and go!”
I’m smiling, although I don’t really believe heading to Trips room is the smartest thing right now.
“We could always watch something together on Netflix,” I suggest next.
“I’m hanging up,” Jules barks. “And when I check in later, you better have your ass out of that bed. Understood?”
It’s impossible not to roll my eyes, knowing I’m about to actually go through with this.
“Fine,” I give in.
The next second, the line goes dead and I slither out of bed, making my way toward the shower.
Here goes nothing.
As soon as I knock, I regret it.
On the other side of the door, I hear chill music and laughter. Surprisingly, despite knowing there are a ton of people inside, they aren’t super loud.
“Sup, Southside,” Dane answers with a grin. He’s leaning on the door and I can’t help but to peer over his shoulder, in search of the one I shouldn’t even be thinking about.
“Hi,” I say flatly, because I’m always leery of him and both his brothers.
“Come in,” he says a little too sweetly for me. So, naturally, I’m eying him as I enter the room. “Grab a beer, get comfortable, and if you spot anything questionable or illegal,” he adds, “just … unsee it.”
I offer an uneasy smile, feeling the vibration as the door closes behind me. Several girls from the dance squad are focused on me, and they’re practically snarling as I pass by them. They don’t even have to worry about me. I’ll be avoiding them at all costs tonight.
Bunch of snobs.
There’s another room connected to Trip and Austin’s. From the looks of it, that one’s packed, too, and I assume it’s where another pair of players are staying this weekend.
A bucket of ice sits on the dresser. Beside it, a stack of red, plastic cups and a cluster of empty beer bottles. How they smuggled this stuff in here without getting caught, I’ll never know, but I would imagine this group has plenty of experience with such things.
But anyway, I’m not here for any of this.
While I showered, I decided Joss is right. If I’m going to move on, if I’ll ever have any measure of peace where West and I are concerned, a conversation is one-hundred percent necessary. No more of this BS with him not stating clearly what I’ve done to warrant his hatred. I’m not expecting it to go well, but I’m sick of this. All of it. Either we fix things and move forward—whatever that means for two people like us, the broken. Or, we burn the bridge that connects us.
And when I say burn it, I mean we burn that bitch down to the studs.
“You came!”
Joss is clearly a little tipsy, which accounts for the overly enthusiastic greeting. I’ll take it, though. At least someone’s happy to see me. She hops off the chair she’s seated in and squeezes me around my neck like we’re old friends.
“Yeah, guess I had a change of heart.”
I leave out the part about how Scar and Jules pretty much threatened me.
Joss backs off a bit, but apparently notices how my eyes dart around. Doesn’t take her long to figure out who I’m searching for.
“Last time I saw him he was headed back to his room,” she whispers with a smile.
“Alone?” I ask, feeling my heart race with the question.
“Far as I know,” she adds with a shrug. “Room 271.”
I appreciate the fact that, even drunk, she’s still discreet.
I offer the best smile I can give. “Thank you.”
She nods and staggers back into her seat, picking up whatever conversation she was having before spotting me a moment ago.
Seeing as how I didn’t want to come here in the first place, I’m beyond eager to leave. And, no, not because I’m in a rush to confront King Midas. Actually, it’s the opposite. My ego is still wounded from being ignored before and during the bus ride and, again, since settling into the hotel. We’ve been here for hours and he hasn’t stopped by my room to say a single word.
If his goal has been to make me feel iced out, mission accomplished.
Was it ever even real, though? What I thought he’d begun to feel? Or is he just like all the other guys—horny and heartless?
I’m a little embarrassed I’m even asking myself these questions. Of course, he’s like the rest. Actually, he’s worse.
The walk to his door is a relatively short one. Just a trip down the hall and around the corner from Trip’s room. But the spaces between these are notably bigger. Doesn’t take long to realize the difference is that the rooms down this hallway are suites. Already frustrated, this discovery only adds to my disgust with this guy.
Couldn’t even slum it in a regular room like the rest of us for one weekend?
My hand lingers in the air, and then I just do it. I knock. Then, I fix my clothes, because despite every ugly thing he’s done, and every terrible thing he’s said, I still care what he thinks of me.
Damn him.
I hear his heavy steps padding toward the door, and then there’s a pause. I imagine that he’s looking through the peephole, realizing it’s me. For a moment, he seems to hesitate to turn the lock, but then he does, and despite thinking I was ready for this, it’s a completely different story as we stand face-to-face.
