Playing for Keeps (The Game #2)(12)
Author: Emma Hart

“And Braden will kick your ass if you try and set her up with anyone in the frat house,” Maddie points out.

“But the frat house is only a small portion of the incredibly yummy guys in this campus. I mean, come on.” Lila looks around a little and leans forward, lowering her voice. “Have you seen James Lloyd lately? Holy shit! He’s in my math class and he really is hot as hell.”

“Boyfriend,” Maddie reminds her with a sigh. “Point is, Megs, we don’t want you to feel left out.”

“Have I ever said I feel left out?” I look at them both again.

“Well, no …”

“But I feel like you are,” Lila presses. “And I don’t want you to be. Y’know, in the name of friendship and female loyalty everywhere, it really is in your best interests to let me set you up with some hot guy.”

“In my best interests or in yours?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Yours, definitely yours.”

“And what if I say no?”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter.”

Oh no. I sit upright and my hands grip the arms of the chair as I stare at her. “You haven’t, Lila. You haven’t.”

“She has.” Maddie nods her head.

Lila grins. “You have a date tomorrow night to Mark’s party.”

~

I can’t think of anything worse than Lila setting me up with someone. Her taste in guys is questionable. Very questionable. I’ve been here twenty minutes and I’m starting to feel like Harriet in Jane Austen’s Emma. God knows Lila’s matchmaking skills are on par with Emma’s. They’re both crap. The only thing Lila has going for her is Ryan – she figured her love life out way before Emma did.

I know every single date Lila sends me on is destined to crash and burn because of the way I feel about Aston. Of course there’s no way to explain that without digging myself a giant hole. There’s no way to explain every guy will pale in comparison to his cocky, self-assured smirk and forceful, needing kiss. Goddamn that kiss …

Six days, and I’m still here grasping onto a memory of what could have been. Six days, and the knowledge I did the “right” thing is slowly turning into regret for not doing the wrong thing. Knowing I did the right thing is twisting my stomach.

But who is it the right thing for? Braden?

Something might be the right thing for someone else but that doesn’t mean its right for you.

Right thing or not, I’d still be here having this date. I’d still be sitting mere meters from Aston sweeping into the kitchen, pretending to give a crap about something that isn’t his eyes burning holes into me.

I slam the shot glass down on the bar after emptying it. Christ, I’ve become that girl. Alcohol to tolerate a date.

“So,” the guy opposite me says. “You look a little bored.”

I laugh lightly. “No, I’m sorry. I just had a rough day, y’know?”

He nods. Shit. What’s his name? Ugh, stupid frat boys are rubbing off on me. I sweep my hair to one side, smoothing it away from my face, and lean in close. “Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?”

And your name. Please.

“Well, I’m majoring in Biology …”

And I’ve switched off. I don’t mean to, I really don’t, but science is pretty much Chinese Mandarin to me. It’s too realistic; I deal with fiction. I do swoon-worthy scenes, heart stopping declarations of love, and incredible guys that give girls like me unrealistic expectations.

Disney, I’m looking at you.

I pull my glass toward me and take a drink through my straw, nodding my head and pretending to be interested in Mr. Biology. Pretending because my attention is on the dark-haired girl in standing in front of Aston. Closely. Very closely.

He picks up a bottle of beer and looks up. As if he can feel me looking at him, his eyes slam into mine. They’re flat, almost emotionless, almost dead, and I go cold. Nothing. That’s what I get from this. Nothing.

I smile but I don’t feel it. I only feel an irrational annoyance bubbling in my stomach and that coldness from his gaze spreading through my body.

“Hey.” I lean forward and place a gentle hand on Mr. Biology’s arm. “I’m so sorry, but I’m not feeling great. I’m gonna head to my dorm.”

“Oh. Um, sure. I can walk you back.” He makes to move.

“No!” I take a deep breath. “No, I’m okay, thank you. It’s not too late.”

“Oh, sure.”

“Thank you for a nice evening.” I smile weakly and get up, spinning around.

Nice, Megan? Is that all you have? God.

My lack of convincing adjectives aside, I need to get the hell out of this frat house.

He – Aston Banks – is taking me over. He’s grabbing hold of me and shaking me like a martini.

I push open the front door and step into the mild California evening air. I take a deep breath, heading back to the dorm room with a hasty step.

I need to make like Cinderella at midnight.

Chapter Eight – Aston

Time goes too fast. Too f**king fast.

Since I kissed Megan, I’ve slowly retreated into my own mind. Every day brings a fresh set of memories, slicing open a fresh set of scars. Every day cuts open a new wound that bleeds for hours. Every set of memories starts a fresh onslaught of cuts inside my mind that will never heal. Each one has its own shape, its own meaning, its own pain.

Each one is a reminder of why I can’t give Megan what she deserves. Each one is a reminder why I should have stayed away from her in the first place and why I should now.

Broken. Shattered. Mismatched.

They’re the first three words I think of when I have to describe myself. They spring to mind instantly.

Useless. Worthless. Nothing.

They’re the next three. The words that were drummed into my mind so many times, by so many voices, for so long. They’re the words that creep under your skin, worm their way into you and never leave.

A good word can linger with you for a few fleeting moments while a bad one will never leave.

It’s too close to the words that both shattered and made my life. The words that broke and saved me.

She’s gone.

I rub the heels of my hands in my eyes, bending forwards, and take a deep breath. This … Thinking of her this weekend, the woman who was supposed to protect me no matter the cost, is inevitable, I know. That doesn’t mean I want to. It doesn’t mean I have any f**king intention of remembering the woman I have to call my mother.