Breakaway (Beyond the Play, #2)(30)

Ugh, Alfred. I can’t believe I was ever going to blow him. This whole “seize the dick” plan is getting shakier by the day.

I really ought to re-focus on the chemistry textbook in front of me, since next week’s test is looming and all I’ve done so far is add a new spicy scene to my book. It’s been over an hour since I dragged myself out of bed. I’m in the library, nestled in my favorite chair. My bag of gummy bears and upbeat studying playlist would help in any other scenario, but I’ve been staring at this one page for the better part of my time here.

I give in to the urge to take out my phone and send Mia a Snap. She replies almost immediately, so she’s finally awake. When I left earlier, she didn’t even stir. I have no idea what time it was when she came in last night, but it was a lot later than me. She says she’ll head to the library with coffees, which is a draw on the productivity front—I could use more caffeine, but she’ll want to know about last night. I’m about to accept defeat and move on to my Spanish homework when my dad calls.

On either Fridays or Saturdays, or with this weekend, both days, we usually don’t see each other, because he’s busy with work and I’ve never gone to see a game. Ironically, Mia has; we have some other friends who go regularly, and we have standing invitations. I also have a standing invitation from my father, courtesy of two seats right behind the McKee bench that are permanently reserved for me. The last time I watched him coach was at his final game at Arizona State, and that happened three years ago.

“Hey,” I say cautiously. “Everything okay?”

“You went to Haverhill last night?”

My stomach drops. “How did you hear?”

“That’s for upperclassmen, bug.”

“I can handle an off-campus party.”

“You don’t know who goes to those things.”

I swallow as I twirl my hair. “Just other students. Who told you, Dad? You promised not to look at my social media anymore.”

“I know,” he says. “I didn’t, one of the guys mentioned to me you were there.”

“So now you have your players spying on me?”

He sighs deeply. “Penelope, I just wanted to make sure that everything is okay. That you’re focused on the right things. You need to be dialed in on school, not running around off-campus parties. I thought we were past that.”

“Going to one party doesn’t mean I’m not working hard, Dad.”

“I just don’t want you falling into old patterns.”

“No,” I say. “That’s unfair and you know it. How many of your guys went out to celebrate the win last night? If that’s fine for them but terrible for me, you’re no better than Preston’s parents and everyone else.”

I hang up. The moment the call ends, I shove my phone back into my bag and burrow my head in my arms. This is the exact reason it’s better if he doesn’t get involved in my life outside of academics; we always end up arguing. He’s not as bad as Traci Biller, because as far as I know, he’s never called me a “manipulative slut,” but I couldn’t help letting the words slip out. I hate when he brings up my past, especially since I’ve tried so hard to move on. He keeps telling me he knows I’ve changed, but how can I believe him when things like this happen?

For what feels like the millionth time, my chest aches like someone just stuck a rusty knife right into the center. I miss my mother. I miss the family I used to have. When she died, my dad retreated so far into his grief that I barely saw him. It had been the three of us, and then suddenly the glue holding us together was gone, and he couldn’t handle it. Going to parties and getting drunk, blowing off school and my training to hang out with Preston and his friends, acting like nothing mattered—it was better than coming home to an empty house because Dad slept in his office yet again. I paid the price for it, in the end, and I guess in some ways I’m still paying it.

Someone puts their hand on my shoulder. I look up, startled; it’s just Mia, holding out a coffee.

“Thanks,” I say, wiping at my eyes quickly.

“Chemistry going that badly?” she teases as she pulls over another armchair. “Or wait—I don’t have to go beat up Cooper Callahan, do I?”

I shake my head, a smile on my face despite myself. “Pretty sure he’d win that one.”

“Absolutely not. I could take him. I’d jump on his back and claw out his eyes.”

“As much fun as you’d have,” I say, “it was just something stupid with my dad.”

She pulls her laptop out of her bag, along with a highlighter and a bunch of articles that no doubt need annotating. “Everything okay?”

I bite my lip. Talking about Cooper, even though he rejected me, sounds a lot better than getting into the thing with Dad, so I say, “I saw him last night. I helped him get his sister home, and then... he escorted me home.”

Mia raises her eyebrows. Even though I’m sure she’s hungover, she’s wearing makeup; I opted for my usual mascara but couldn’t muster up anything beyond that. “What happened to that other guy I saw you with?”

I explain the whole thing, from the vomit situation to the moment I shoved Cooper out of our room. By the end of the story, I’m blushing. It wasn’t like I asked Cooper on a date. I offered him sex—repeated sex, no strings attached—and he turned me down. What’s wrong with me that I couldn’t entice a guy whose middle name is practically “casual” to agree to that? It’s pathetic.