Chapter 14

Me: Cody walked in on me having a *moment* to myself.

Brynn: Like a self-care night?

Me: I mean…kind of.

Brynn: OHHHHH! Hahahahaha like you were giving yourself some self-care *wink*

Me: How much do you think an Uber will cost to get back to CTU from College Station?

Brynn: OMG stop!

Brynn: How did it even happen?

Me: Noise-canceling headphones + a spicy book.

Me: Oh, and I forgot to lock the connecting door. Apparently, Cody thought I needed help.

Brynn: Needed help getting that O.

Brynn: I'm sorry. It must've been mortifying. Q is staring at me like I've grown two heads because I'm laughing so hard.

Me: DON'T YOU DARE TELL HIM!

Brynn: …too late.

Me: FML

Mortification still courses through my body as last night keeps replaying in my head. I still can't believe I was loud enough for Cody to burst through the door.

On one hand, it was really sweet of him to want to protect me. Over the last couple of weeks, we've found some kind of common ground with our friendship. Actually, I'm not even sure friend is the right word for him—maybe peer. Or acquaintance? Either way, we are acting civilly toward one another. I mean we are going to be stuck together for the foreseeable future, so it's in both of our interests to get along, especially for those around us.

But on the other hand, he caught me wrist cramped, back arched, and mid-orgasm as my vibrator hit the right spot when the male narrator whispered those filthy words in my ear.

Yep, definitely mortifying.

Thank God he made sure Hudson didn't walk through the door too. I can't imagine the two of them standing there watching me come. Well, I guess I could imagine that. I am a romance reader after all.

Not the point, Chloe.

The bus back to campus is going to leave in ten minutes, and I've been sitting in this dark corner of the lobby waiting for the hotel to fall into a sinkhole and take me with it. But life doesn't work that way, and I really don't want to draw more attention to myself by being late and pissing Coach Weber off.

Slipping my round, tortoiseshell sunglasses down from the top of my head. In my mind, I imagine that no one can see me because the frames take up most of my face. Reaching for my suitcase, I adjust my cross-body over my chest as I make my way to the bus.

Please don't let me run into anyone. Please don't let me run into anyone.

Turning the corner, I glance up and, of course, make eye contact with none other than Hudson Larsen.

Hello, death. It's me, Chloe.

My cheeks heat at the contact, and immediately I duck my head, trying to appear invisible and waiting for the earth to swallow me whole. Hudson quickly averts his eyes as I dart toward the door. The quicker I get out of the hotel and onto the bus, the quicker I can get my headphones on and stare out the window.

What if Cody told the guys what he saw? I mean, isn't that the kind of stuff guys talk about in the locker room?

The bus is mostly empty when I step on it. I head to the same seat in the same section as I normally sit. Only this time, I put my bag in the seat next to me giving the universal sign that this whole row is taken.

Only a few minutes pass before the hair on the back of my neck rises and a warm feeling runs through my body. I know that if I look up right now, Cody Jacobs will be making his way down the aisle.

After a couple of seconds pass, I take a risk and glance up. Ty Billings is heading toward me with his signature wide-mouth grin. He doesn't appear to know what happened last night, and for that, I'm thankful Cody didn't open his mouth…at least not yet.

"Good morning, Chloe," Ty greets warmly.

"Hey, Ty." I return his smile with a wary one. I've really enjoyed getting to know Ty better this semester. I knew that we had similar majors, and we've had a few classes together over the years, but this is the first time we've had the chance to actually get to know each other. The two of us have bonded and typically sit together, but today I just want to be alone.

It's like he can read me like a book. Instead of trying to sit next to me, he reaches forward with a paper cup in his hand. "Here you go."

Sighing, my shoulders fall, and a tight-lipped smile slides across my lips. Guilt swarms my belly. He's been supplying my honey lavender latte addiction regularly, and here I am giving him the cold shoulder.

"Thanks, Ty. You know you don't have to keep doing this."

His smile falters, barely, but it's enough for me to notice. "Noted," he responds, and I watch his expression go from happy-go-lucky to a little distant. "I'm gonna sit in the back today."

"Ty—"

"It's all good, Chlo."

I watch as he retreats, and I feel like the world's biggest asshole.

Sighing, I slide my headphones over my head and return my gaze out the window as I watch the tree-lined streets pass us by on our way back to campus.

You've screwed up again, Chloe.

And just like all the other times, I'm not enough.

I'm switching over the last load of my laundry into the dryer when Brynn bursts through the front door scaring me enough to make me jump.

"Are you being chased?" Carrying my laundry to the kitchen table, I start folding. Being on the road is really screwing up my routine, and I'm running low on clean underwear.

"What? No." Brynn shakes her head as she walks toward the kitchen. She pulls out a Shiner Bock. Popping the top, she takes a drink before hopping up to sit on the counter.

"I've just never seen you run so fast."

"Oh shut up." She tosses her cap at me, laughing. For how fit Brynn stays, she's not huge on exercise. She has the best metabolism I've ever known, which I'm super jealous of. Unlike Brynn, I have to work on maintaining my body, and even at that, I'm a little soft around the edges.

"I've been dying to hear the full story, and it's killed me that you've been at home all day, and I've had to actually be in class today." Bringing the bottle up to her lips, she takes another long pull. "Spill the deets, babe!"

Groaning, I fold the nightgown I was wearing last night when it happened. Blushing at the memory, I toss the garment aside. "It was mortifying, B."

She scoffs. "Oh whatever, I bet he thought it was so hot. Q loves to watch—"

"Brynn!"

"What? I'm just saying there is absolutely nothing wrong with a little self-care."

I roll my eyes and inhale deeply. "Look, I know there's nothing wrong with masturbation," I say, whispering the word.

"Jesus, Chloe, own it." Brynn pauses before yelling. "MASTURBATION! Guys do it all the time, why can't we, as girls, express that we have needs too?"

"Hey, I read romance books for fun. Sure, I love the stories and getting to escape reality, but I also love the smut. I'm not a prude, but I'm private. What's wrong with that?"

"Babe, absolutely nothing. But I hate seeing you beat yourself up over it. I mean, I think it's sweet that Cody came bursting through your door. That's the kind of guy he is. He's caring and protective over his friends. That's what makes him so great."

It's my turn to scoff before mumbling, "Except he's not."

"What do you mean?" Brynn's eyebrows quirk as she stares at me. I feel that stare penetrate the layers I've been building for two years.

"We have a past." I blurt the words out without meaning to. I've gone this long without anyone knowing my whole truth. I'm not about to spill any more secrets in the middle of this kitchen after we were just talking about masturbating. Tugging my laundry basket toward me, I grip the handles and storm out of the room, leaving a confused Brynn sitting on the counter.

A few hours later, I'm nose-deep in a book, forever grateful I used today to write my sports article recapping last night's game, working ahead on assignments, and catching up on the typical household chores—laundry, meal prep, and some light cleaning.

My mind is spiraling. I've caught myself reading the same paragraph over and over, unable to shut off the conversation from earlier.

Brynn and Cody have this unique bond. And while I'm so happy they have their relationship, I'm tired of feeling like an outsider. To Brynn, Cody is incredible. He's there to root her on, make her laugh, give her an ego boost with his flirty texts, and he'll defend her till the end.

But he's not the perfect guy everyone thinks he is.

To me, he's pain, he's sleepless nights, he's self-doubt.

In my almost twenty-one years of life, I've battled with self-doubt more times than not. The feeling of not being enough constantly consumes me. When I stand in front of a mirror, I look back at the girl staring at me and pick apart every inch of her.

I don't feel pretty enough. I don't feel smart enough. I don't feel like I'm ever good enough to get the guy. I want so desperately to be the girl picked first. The girl who gets the fairytale story, the happily ever after.

It doesn't help that I live my life through the pages of romance novels. I always see the girl get the boy. But life isn't a romance novel, and I'm stuck on the outskirts watching all the girls get the boys.

Maybe it's my fault? Maybe I'm broken?

Maybe God made me the girl who stands on the sidelines rooting for her friends. I'm the girl who's there to give pep talks and be a shoulder to cry on.

One day, maybe there will be more to life than being the girl every guy passes over. Until then, I'm stuck being the spectator, the cheerleader, the type of girl no guy wants.

A knock on the door interrupts my endless spiral of unworthiness.

"Come in."

Brynn peeks her head in the doorway with her hand covering her eyes. "Is it safe to enter? All vibrators put away?"

Shaking my head, I can't help but laugh. "Yes, it's put up and on the charger."

"Thatta girl," she says, laughing. "I made dinner if you want to come down."

My eyebrows furrow. "You made dinner?"

"Okay, no, but I did order from DoorDash."

Brynn is a lot of things, but being a good cook is not one of them. Quinton better make good money when he makes it to the NFL because he's going to need to hire a home chef, or he'll be stuck eating cereal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Once we're downstairs, I follow Brynn as she leads us into the kitchen. I pause in the doorway to check out the spread before me. The light-stained, round table that sits in our small nook is set with our neutral, jute placemats, off-white stoneware plates, gold flatware, and wine glasses. Platters of food from my favorite local Italian restaurant sit next to the bouquet of fresh flowers I placed there this morning.

On my drive home from the baseball center, I stopped at my favorite local flower shop—something I usually do on Thursdays since I don't have class. The owner, a sweet widower who lost her husband three years ago, is always excited to see me.

Today she had a couple of arrangements ready in case I stopped by. One was a mixture of blush-colored daisies with a yellow center and eucalyptus sprigs. Very simple but so elegant. The other bouquet was a variety of ranunculus, daisies, greenery, and garden roses in shades of pinks, greens, and yellows.

What can I say, I'm a simple girl—give me flowers, a book, and good food, and I'm happy.

And that's exactly what I had planned—to curl up with my book, light my favorite clean-scented candle, put on my favorite reading playlist, and spend the evening relaxing in my room before another busy weekend full of baseball.

Luckily the team is home this weekend so I won't have to miss classes, and I can sleep in my bed.

"Everything looks great, but this feels a bit like a date." I wink at Brynn, letting her know that I'm just joking around.

Pulling out her chair and taking a seat, Brynn quickly adds, "Oh you know, just trying to wine, dine, and sixty—"

"Don't even finish that," I say through a laugh. "Save that for Q."

She smirks before reaching for the bottle of Pinot Grigio chilling on the table. The two of us fill our plates with salad, calamari, and fettuccine weesie. While no Italian restaurant is as good as my dad's—and yes, I'm totally biased, and I don't even care—the local Italian restaurant is a good alternative for the days when I don't feel like trying to cook one of my dad's meals.

Twirling the noodles on my fork, I take a very unladylike bite. The rich, creamy mixture hits my tongue, instantly causing me to moan around my fork.

"This is so fucking good," Brynn says around a mouthful of food. I groan in appreciation as the two of us continue to shovel the most unflattering bites into our mouths. Apparently, I was starving and didn't get the memo.

"I'm sorry about earlier."

Setting her fork on her plate, Brynn turns her full attention on me. "You have nothing to apologize for. I took things too far. Clearly, there's more that you haven't shared with me, and that's fine. We all have our secrets, but just know…I'm always here for you."

"Thanks, B."

Her phone buzzes on the table and interrupts our conversation. She flips it over, chewing on her lip, before typing out a response. My eyes narrow as I take in the shift in her body language. Scooting her chair out from under her, she stands and rushes over to the sink.

"What—" I'm interrupted by asking her what's going on when there's a knock at the front door.

"Can you get that? I-I-I need to wash my hands." Brynn flips the handle of the faucet before lathering—and I mean lathering—her hands with soap. She looks like she's about to wash an entire kitchen's worth of dishes rather than her hands.

My eyebrows furrow, and I know I have very large creases spreading across my forehead. "Sure."

Hesitantly, I walk to the front door before glancing through the peephole. His back is to the door, but I would be able to recognize the tall, muscular body that makes up the man consuming my every thought in a crowd of people. Scanning him from head to toe, I take in the way that his jeans hug his lean waist and make his ass fantastic. The long-sleeve he's wearing clings to his back, stretching across the lats he's clearly been working on. Oh for fuck's sake, of course. Of course, he's wearing his powder blue hat with CTU stitched in red across the front.

Why does the sight of a guy in a backward hat make me want to drop to my knees?

Ugh, I've been spending too much time with Brynn.

Resting my forehead against the door, I take a second to give myself a mental pep talk. He's probably here for Brynn. He's not going to bring up last night. And if he does, I don't have to take it.

Taking a deep breath, I turn the knob and face the boy who keeps finding ways to crush me. He slowly turns his body to face me, and my breath catches in my throat.

The carefree boy with a wild spark in his eyes stands before me completely, utterly deflated. His eyes are downcast as he struggles to meet mine. The happy-go-lucky energy that normally radiates off him in ways that feel contagious is long gone.

"Hey, Chlo. Think we can talk?"

Nodding my head as words won't form, I open the door wider to welcome him inside. I have no idea what the hell is going on, and his mood has my guard on high alert.

Cody steps through the door, his frame erasing the space between us causing me to take a step back.

Brynn flies from the kitchen and heads toward the steps. "I'll be upstairs FaceTiming Q. Don't kill each other. I really don't want to have to deal with keeping any more secrets."

Cody nods his head at her and silence falls over the room as we watch her run up the stairs, her bright blond hair flying behind her in her wake.

I bring my bottom lip in between my teeth and turn my attention back to Cody, but when I look back at him, he's already looking down at me causing my breath to stutter. It seems he has a way of doing that.

"Want to go into the living room?"

"Yeah, that works."

"I'm going to grab my wine. Want some?" I gesture my thumb over my shoulder toward the kitchen table where the mess from dinner is still sitting, but it looks like Brynn put any leftovers away. She moved quickly. With a glance at the stairs, I narrowed my eyes as a sinking suspicion that the text Brynn got while we were eating was from the boy at my side.

"Nah, I'm good."

"Beer? Water?"

"Just came here to talk, Chlo."

Nodding my head, I quickly rush into the dining area as Cody turns and walks into the living room. Grabbing the wine bottle, I refill my glass with a hefty pour before following the steps Cody took.

He's sitting on one side of the couch, leaving the other side open for me. My mind quickly flashes to a couple of weeks ago when we were both stuck at the house together. And the look in his eyes before he tried to kiss me. Looking at him today, you never would have guessed it was the same person.

Leaning forward, I watch him try to find a comfortable position. He settles on bending his elbows and resting his body on his thighs. Keeping his body facing straight ahead, his head turns before finding my eyes.

What he says next shocks me.

"I'm sorry for fucking everything up."