“My birthday was a week before that.”
She rolls her eyes at me, which only deepens my frown. I hate it when she acts like I'm just some dumb jock. “Yes, and I missed it, so we had to go out last week. So? Yetties tonight? We can't stay in on a Friday night.”
“Why the hell not?” My hackles unexpectedly rise, as does my voice. Her eyes flick to the still open doorway. “Is chilling with yourboyfriendthat boring?”
“What? I didn't mean it like that. Of course it isn't.”
“Are you sure? Then why do we never stay in?”
“Because going out and mingling is what you do in college. We have the rest of our lives to sit on the couch on Friday nights. We're not middle-aged yet.”
Growing increasingly annoyed, I place my plate back on the table and stand up. “Never mind, then. You go mingle with your friends at Yetties. I still have some studying to do, maybe watch some Netflix. I'll just bore myself that way, not you.”
“Jesus, Tyler,” she says, using my full first name for once, which she only does when she’s agitated. “Don't be a baby. I just want to have some fun.”
I look at her, my frown deepening, before grabbing my bag and hoodie. “Yeah, great to know that I'm not any fun. I'll text you later.”
I leave her and my half eaten sushi behind as I make my way downstairs again. Curious looks follow me, but I ignore them. Jesus. Maybe I’m overreacting a bit, but this isn’t the first time she’s done this. She always,always,wants to go out, go somewhere, be anywhere with anyone.
As long as we’re not alone.
I don’t know what’s up with that, but I don’t like it. Shaking my head, I stroll to my car and throw my bag back in the bed of my trusty Ford pickup. The bag that I had packed with fresh clothes, intending to stay the night. I love her, or at least I think I do, but there are moments when I wonder if it's me she loves back, orjust the idea of my name. I know she thrives on attention, maybe even craves it. I've always understood that about her, and it never used to bother me because I was always up for a night out.
But the last couple of semesters? Not so much anymore. I’m so swamped with training, to become the best damn college QB in the whole country, and maintaining decent grades on top of that, that I’m kind of over all that partying.
Okay fine, maybe Idosound middle-aged. Screw that.
As I start my pickup, I pull out my phone and shoot off a text.
Me: Pick you up at eight am?
I drive off, not expecting an immediate reply from Jace considering he has a gig tonight. And eight am might be a bit early for him, but I always prefer to be at my parents' house at a reasonable hour. It allows me to enjoy Mom's epic weekend breakfast spread and still have plenty of time for some sun and surf.
As happy as I am for the first week back in college, I’m anxious to go home and hit the waves. During the season I won’t have the luxury of time to surf. But since there's no training this Saturday–our final Saturday off before the upcoming season–I'm seizing the last opportunity.
Five minutes later, I pull up in front of the two-story jock house that's been my college dwelling. Just as I park, a notification pops up on my phone. A quick response after all.
Jace: Your wish is my command, your highness.
I can't help but grin, shaking my head.
Me: Well, I command you to be ready at eight. Where u live?
Jace: Wanna go for a run first?
Now that’s a surprise. Considering last Monday's post-performance state, I would’ve bet on him nursing a hangover tomorrow as well.
Me: Sounds good. Meet @ the bench at 0630.
Jace: I’ll be there. See ya then.
I close off the text thread and keep staring at my phone, tapping my head back against the headrest rhythmically.
Allright, maybe my reaction was a bit over the top. I know my girl. She enjoys going out, to the bar, to hang out with her girlies. While I do desire some quiet nights in, spending time with her, this being her final year of college... I sigh, hating it sometimes that my rational side always can get her perspective on things. But I just don’t like it when we have a disagreement, I wouldn’t go so far to call it a fight.
Swallowing my pride, I search for her name and get over myself, although I do know that I have every reason to be upset.
Me: I'm sorry, honey. Exhausted from this week's intense training. Can you forgive me? The season's about to start. I'm wiped out.
