Page 33 of Playing with the Heartbreaker

“Umm, thanks for the drink,” I said.

“Sure thing.” He started talking to a girl from my Algebra class. Julie? Jessica? I leaned against the wall and clutched the bottle, the chill of it grounding me.

Sometime later, Graham sauntered into the kitchen, a can of beer in each hand. “Chloe! There you are. I’ve been looking for you all night. Well, I did play some Zelda first. And Quarters. But since then. This is for you.” He held out one of the cans. He never remembered my no alcohol rule.

“Oh, I’m set.” I raised the water bottle toward him. “Thanks again,” I said to the guy from the porch as I followed Graham into the crowd.

A muscle in his jaw ticked, but he nodded at me. “Have a good night.”

Graham grabbed my hand and led me outside. I grimaced as I squeezed between two large football players who were arguing about whose turn it was at the foosball table.

“Where are we going?” I set my unfinished drink on the porch, thankful to escape the stifling room and too-loud EDM.

We stopped at his car. He opened the door and gestured for me to get in.

“You’re ready to leave already?” I could get behind that.

“Nah. I just want to talk somewhere quiet for a minute.”

“So, uh, what do you want to talk about, exactly?” I asked, as we sat in the front seat. If he thought we were going to do that, he was out of his mind.

He looked at me. “Are you having fun?”

“Sure.” If not fun, I’d at least I’d talked to someone for longer than to ask where the bathroom was.

He heaved a deep sigh. “I mean with me. Are you having fun with me?”

I didn’t know how to respond to this. As far as I’d experienced, Graham did not talk about feelings. At least not without a wink or a joke.

I hesitated, choosing my words. “Of course. I really like you.” And it was true; I did like him. It was his friends I didn’t like much, because he was different with them. Always trying to impress them.

He smiled and then sighed. “Oh, good. Because I think you’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Graham was a big believer in gestures, the grander the better. Not so much with words.

He leaned in to kiss me, but I shied away. I don’t know why I did it. Something in my heart just wasn’t interested that night.

Graham looked hurt at this rejection, but I said, “Oh, it’s not you. It’s the pine-scented air freshener. The smell gives me a headache. Let’s get back inside, okay?” Not a total lie. I’ve never liked the smell.

“You’re right, pine is gross.” He ripped it off the rear-view mirror and tossed it in the backseat with his gym bag. “Back to the party!”

He bounded up the walkway and through the front door, leaving me in the car. I checked my phone. Eleven o’clock on the dot. I texted Sophie.

Be there in five, she responded.

I dropped Graham’s keys in the dish on the counter on my way back inside to wait. I felt weird about waiting in the Jeep by myself.

“Leaving already?” Porch Guy checked the clock in the entryway.

“I’ve got a headache. My ride is on her way. I don’t want to make Graham miss the fun.” Why did I feel like I owed this stranger an explanation or care what he thought of me?

“No judgment,” he laughed. “I’m Rhoads, by the way. Simpson.”

“Chloe Baker,” I called over my shoulder as I pushed my way through the crowd and out the front door toward Sophie’s headlights, crisp night air swirling my hair.

“Yeah,” he said, almost too soft for me to hear. “I know.”

Now, crouched by Graham’s Jeep, I remember that was the night I’d officially met Rhoads. We’d circled each other as part of our respective soccer teams, but we hadn’t spent much time one-on-one. Weird that I haven’t thought about it until now. Though this is probably the only other time the three of us have been in such close proximity.