Page 26 of Play By The Rules
Thankfully, I woke up untied; otherwise, that would have been an awkward conversation with my friends had they found me like that. Especially dealing with the questions that would have come afterwards.
Questions I don’t have the answers to myself, let alone anybody else. Namely the question of why the hell I liked it, and why I want him to do it again.
Considering Gage and Kyle seem to be missing in action too, I’ve asked Betty if she knows anything about her stepbrother’s whereabouts, but the only thing she’s been able to tell me is that it’s something to do with the gala fundraiser that Kyle had mentioned that day in the hallway.
Knowing they’re all back in London, working together, I try not to be hurt, but an ache forms in my stomach when I think about them bonding over some shitty fundraiser. Hanging with the parents and making new memories together; all the while I remain here, forgotten.
Over the last few years, I’ve pushed thoughts of the future to the back of my mind, but now it’s looming as I see the way the parents bring the guys into the fray, grooming them to take over the family businesses; I can’t help but wonder what comes next for me.
My father has been adamant for years that I study business and will take over for him in running this academy one day, but I have no fucking idea how that’s going to happen when I know next to nothing about any of it.
Mrs. Whittaker drones on, but I struggle to take the lesson in. Betty takes notes, so I’ll steal them later, when I’m not being a depressive bitch and can focus on my studies again.
My phone vibrates on the table, and when I spot the name flashing on the screen, my lips turn down. Adam has messaged me almost daily since he asked me out last Wednesday, wondering when we will get together, but I haven’t replied yet.
I ignore him again, promising myself I’ll deal with it after class.
When the bell rings, I jump out of my seat. Betty is quick to follow, telling me all about the new book she’s been reading. An age gap romance, between a volleyball coach and one of his players by KB Row. She’s so excited that I promise to download the book on my Kindle and start it this evening.
It’s not as if I have anything else to do. In fact, I’ve spent every night this week reading. When your life turns to shit, there’s always a way to escape into someone else’s.
“Have you heard from Noah?” she asks when we make it to the dining hall. I quickly grab a bowl of pasta salad and a Coke Zero, taking it over to an empty table.
“No,” I reply, shaking my head. He’s away for some football tournament, and it’s not unusual for him to forget his phone when he’s focused on training. “Why?”
“Just wondering.” She shrugs, picking at her bread roll. “Anyway, are you ready to tell me what’s got you down?”
Not really.
“Nothing. I’m just tired,” I tell her truthfully. I haven’t slept well since we started here, but over the past couple of days, my sleep has been worse. Whenever I close my eyes, all I see are images of Theodore and me together. I wake up hot and sweaty almost every morning, with damp bed sheets and even damper underwear.
He’s fucking with my head and he’s not even here right now. I’ve never been more confused—or horny.
“Wanna do something tonight?”
I lift my gaze to hers with a smile. “What did you have in mind?”
“We could go bowling or something? Have a girls’ date?” She winks dramatically, her mouth open. Using the word date reminds me of the text on my phone burning a hole in my pocket, but I shove it to the back of my mind and smile at my friend.
“Yeah, I’m down to kick your arse on the lanes.”
The bowling alley is a little way out of town, but for once it’s not some derelict, abandoned thing like most places Betty has dragged me to since we started at the academy. The lanes are nice and clean, and the patrons are nice, normal-looking people—not the pretentious pricks we are surrounded by daily.
“This is just what I needed,” I tell her when we’re setting up at our lane. The clown shoes they make you wear are hanging from one hand while I enter our names into the system.
“I figured.” She laughs, sliding onto the booth behind us to switch her shoes. “I know you don’t want to talk about whatever’s going on, but I’d be a pretty shitty friend if I didn’t at least try to de-funk you.”
“De-funk? Is that even a word?”
“Dunno,” she says, lifting one shoulder. “But I like it. The aim of the game is to de-funk the funky bitch, that is you.”
Sticking my tongue out at her, I plonk down on the end of the leather booth, leaning over to change shoes. “You’ve been funky too, you know.”
“Have not,” she retorts, a flush creeping up her neck when she refuses to look at me. I don’t push, I know she’ll talk about it when she’s ready, just as she’s waiting for me to talk about my shit too. “Ready?”
I send her a nod, and she takes one of the balls before dropping it down the lane.
We spend hours in the bowling alley, and when we leave, my cheeks ache from all the smiling and laughing. OperationDe-funk Fallonwent well, as Betty keeps reminding me. Instead of heading straight back to the dorms, we find a little pub on the drive and stop in for dinner.