Damon. “Sorry. Just being real.”
“Well, realsucks,” I mutter, under my breath. I hope like hell I didn’t screw everything up.
Chris leans forward, eyes blazing. “Then change the damn game. Stop being the safe option. Be the guy shecan’tignore. The guy who makes her lock herself in the bathroom because her whole world just tilted sideways. Stop being so fucking passive.”
As insane as it sounds, part of me thinks Chris is right. Maybe Iamplaying it too safe. Maybe it’s time to up my game. So, after a beat of silence, I say, “You’re right.”
Chris pumps a fist in the air. “Damn straight, I’m right. The Love Doctor is in the house. Love Playbook, here we come.”
“You’re listening to this guy? Really?” Jace asks, hooking a thumb in his direction.
“No Love Playbook,” I say with a shake of the head.
“But—” Chris protests.
“If I’m doing this, then I’m doing it my way.”
The practice field lights shut off behind me as I jog to my truck, my gym bag slung over one shoulder. It’s Wednesday night, and Coach ran us into the ground, but the burn in my muscles feels good—like I’ve earned something.
I toss my gear into the passenger seat and check my phone. Still no text from Tatum, which is precisely why I need to stop by her place. I’m done with the awkwardness since our spa night, and I’m done with lying to her.
But I can’t say the fact that she hasn’t texted me back doesn’t have me at least a little worried as I hurry down the aisles of the grocery store on my way to her dorm.
A plan blooms inside my head as I grab some of our old weekend ritual supplies—Sour Patch Kid Watermelons, salt and vinegar chips, Big League Chew, and grape flavored Fanta. All things we’d binge on during one of our movie marathons or while playing games and discussing the merits of her latest romance novels. So, it only makes sense to have them for comfort while we play tonight’s game—TwoTruths and a Lie.
I smile to myself as I contemplate how many times we’ve played in the past. I can picture the way she narrows her eyes trying to catch me in a lie, like she doesn’t already know every single thing there is to know about me. Normally, our mission in life is stumping each other, and whoever wins gets bragging rights, but more often than not, we easily pick out the lie.
I wonder if she’ll get bragging rights tonight, but it’s doubtful. The one truth I’ve never dared to say out loud is how I feel about her. But tonight, all that changes. Tonight, I’ll tell her three statements—two truths and one lie. And one of those truths will finally be that I’m in love with her.
The plastic grocery bag crinkles in my hand as I take a deep breath and knock on her door, rehearsing what I’ll say in my head.
My heart pounds against my ribs at the answering silence, so I knock again, a bit louder this time, when the door finally swings open. Only, it isn’t Tatum I see. Instead, it’s Brit, wide-eyed and looking surprised to see me. Which is . . . odd.
“Hey, Brandon,” she says, leaning against the doorframe. “I figured Tate told you, but she’s not here.”
“Is she out with friends?” Despite the awkwardness post-massage, she filled me in on her hangout with the girls, and though I’m happy she’s getting closer to them, her timing for tonight sucks.
Brit shakes her head. “No, she left for Haslett after her morning class.”
“Haslett?” I frown.
“To Ethan’s parents’ house. She’s supposed to have dinner there, something about meeting the family properly,” she says with an eyeroll.
“Oh.” My stomach sinks at the news.
She’s meeting Ethan’s parents. Cool. Cool.
My gaze wanders behind Brit as if my desire to see Tatum might conjure her out of thin air, when I spot a massive vase of roses. A small envelope is propped against them, and I know instantly who they’re from without asking.
Brit turns, noticing the direction of my stare. “Oh, yeah. Those are from Ethan. Crazy, right? I can’t even get my boyfriend to bring me a donut back from the cafeteria.” She snorts, and I try to smile, but my face doesn’t want to budge.
I swallow, hyperaware of the plastic grocery bag dangling from my fingertips, and suddenly, I’m glad she’s not here.
What was I thinking? Offering myself up over candy and childish games while Ethan’s delivering massive bouquets of roses and taking her to meet his parents?
“You okay?”
I startle, focusing back on her roommate. “Yeah. Fine,” I lie, shoving the bag behind my back, as if hiding it might somehow erase the pathetic reality of my intentions and the meager contents. “If you hear from her, just tell her I stopped by.”
