SCORE (A Stepbrother Sports Romance)(18)
This was yet another loop in the large, entangled knot of our relationship. Between all of the anger, lust, and regret, I didn’t know what to feel. There was no “normal” for us anymore, and I feared the situation was spiraling out of control, becoming too big to manage. The next steps we took were crucial—they would define what would come next for us. Would we finally free ourselves from this vicious cycle or let ourselves sink even lower?
On top of all of these bigger issues, the pettier part of me wanted to be mad at him about Brittney, who was basically his girlfriend at this point. I knew, though, that he hadn’t planned for us to hook up, and I had stopped it. After all the caring things he did for me while I was sick, I couldn’t be angry. In fact, guilt began to plague me. He had been late for class because of me and continuously got distracted from studying. If he didn’t pass finals, it would be my fault.
I decided that lying in bed all day was depressing. I was beginning to feel better, so I decided to go out for a bit. I climbed out of bed and grabbed a pair of jeans and a cream-colored sweater, dressing quickly. I thought about getting something light to eat, maybe more soup or a salad. I went downstairs and climbed into my car, thinking of places I could go.
I wound up driving for a while and finally ended up at a small sandwich shop near campus. I got out of the car, running my fingers quickly through my wavy hair to pull it out of my face. I grabbed my wallet and headed inside, my stomach rumbling after being empty for so long.
I waited in line, patiently reviewing the menu. Finally making it to the front, I ordered a bowl of chicken noodle soup from a young, mousey cashier. I smiled at her as she handed me my change and waited for my order to be filled. Once she handed me the soup, I sat down at one of the tables scattered around the restaurant, grabbing a newspaper from the counter to flip through while I ate.
I ate my soup slowly, moseying through the paper, skimming articles and humming to myself. I was engrossed in an article when I heard a voice, deep and brooding, say my name. “Alyssa?” A guy about my age stood near me. He wore an apron and was cleaning tables, indicating he worked there. He looked familiar—dark and tall, with jet black hair and warm brown eyes.
I wrinkled my forehead. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
He smiled at me. “I’m Matt. I think we go to school together?”
I nodded and smiled back. “Oh, right, yeah. Sorry, I have a terrible memory. You’re on the football team, right?”
“Yeah,” he said with a low chuckle. We talked for a few minutes about school and finals. Someone called his name from the back, but before he left he said, “Hey, are you going to the afterparty for the game on Friday?”
I blinked, unsure if I had been invited. I shook my head and said, “No. I’m helping Blake study for finals all week.”
Matt’s face twisted with confusion and he said, “Really? Blake told me he was going. Weird. Well, if you change your mind, I’d love to see you again.”
I smiled and said sheepishly, “Okay. I’ll think about it.” Matt walked away, and I was confused, wondering why it hadn’t occurred to me that Blake would be going Friday. Well, if he gets to have fun, I might as well have some, too, I thought to myself.
It was dark out when I finally heard Blake’s car pull into the driveway later in the evening. Both our parents had returned from work and had eaten dinner. I wasn’t hungry, still full from my trip to get soup. I debated going to talk to him, but what would I say? I bit my lip and figured distance would be best for now. I flipped quietly through a book, but restlessness made it impossible to focus.
There was a knock at my door, and I practically jumped up to answer it. Blake stood there with a smirk on his face, leaning casually in the doorway. “Hey, kid. Feeling well enough to help me with some homework?” he asked, winking.
I shrugged. I didn’t have much else to do. “I guess. What do you need help with?”
“Sweet. I need you to help me write a five-page paper that’s due tomorrow,” he said with a sheepish grin.
I groaned and asked, “How much of it have you gotten done?”
He bit his lip and swiped a few golden locks of hair from his face. “Okay, don’t be mad, but I kind of haven’t started it yet.”
My eyes widened, and my jaw dropped in shock. “Blake!” I cried. “What the hell?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been busy with practice. Please, Alyssa, I need your help.”
“Fine, fine,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest. “Let’s get started.” I followed him to his room across the hall, even though I had just vowed to keep my distance. I couldn’t help myself, though. I wanted to be around Blake. He sat down on his bed, pulling notes and his laptop from his bag. He opened the computer and powered it on. “I can’t write for you,” I warned him. “That’s cheating.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving my comment off. “Just help me.”
Two hours later, we were a little more than three pages deep, and I was getting sleepy. I sat close to Blake on the bed, notes on my lap as I fed him sentences and points to include. He turned towards me, that familiar intensity blazing in his gorgeous green eyes. My heart skipped a beat, and my breathing sped up, my body once again a prisoner to its own desire. Without breaking our gaze, he said, “You are such a better influence on me than I am on you.”