The Deal after all

Chapter 10

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Braylon's POV:

Remember that iconic scene in Batman where Jack Napier plunges into a vat of acid, transforming into the Joker? Well, this was my personal vat of acid moment. I'm irked that I have to spend the day with Hayley now, but causing a scene wouldn't look good. We all cram into the back of the theater. "So, what's on the entertainment menu?" I inquire. "The Power of Love," Emily replies. I groan audibly. "Seriously? What's that all about?" "It's a tale about a cowboy falling for a city girl," she explains. I shoot a glare at Trip. "Who knows, maybe I'm secretly a romance enthusiast." Ten minutes pass, and Trip's tongue is practically fusing with Emily's. Meanwhile, Hayley is sitting beside them, seemingly melting into her seat. I thought she was into this kind of stuff. The movie is a snooze fest, akin to watching paint dry. I feel like I should be doing something, anything. I lean closer to Hayley and playfully whisper, "So, Hayley, is this your regular haunt?" She musters a single syllable, "Eh." "Alright then, what's your idea of fun?" I ask. Her eyes remain glued to the movie screen as she mutters, "Stuff." This is pure torture.I feel like experiencing blunt-force trauma to the head would be more enjoyable than this.

Hayley's POV:

This situation is beyond awkward; every inch of me feels uncomfortable. My dress is scratching and constricting, like it's out to suffocate me. Emily is in her element, her mouth locked onto Trip's like they're the last two people on Earth. Sometimes, I wish I could borrow her confidence for a day. Don't get me wrong, I still find myself attractive, but it's more of a cute vibe than a hot one. My phone continues to buzz incessantly from last Friday's fiasco. I had to bid adieu to Twitter altogether; it turned into a war zone. Exhibit A: "Hayley Graham is my spirit animal." Exhibit B: "Freshman in college and already acting like a total slut. Bet she'll have a leaked sex tape within a week." I've been avoiding my family, yet I can't resist sneaking peeks at their texts.

Mom: "Sweetie, I understand it's uncomfortable, but we need to talk."

Dad: "Respond to your mother."

Mom: "If you think another session with Dr. Dottie would help, let me know."

Dad: "Get back to your mother ASAP."

Grayson: "Hey, Hay-bale, I'm sorry about the other day. You need to know why I did it."

Frankly, I'm surprised my family hasn't alerted the SWAT team. But I'll make that call tonight; I don't want them to bear the weight of my shame. I yearn to make them proud, not cause them pain. I never intended to jeopardize my father's career; all I wanted was to live on my terms. Sometimes, my life make me wish for a simple one. There are moments when I feel like a lion, trapped in a cage at a zoo. "Hayley, are you alright?" Suddenly, I'm aware of tears streaking down my face. Braylon gazes at me, his concern genuine and unmasked. Swiftly, I wipe away the evidence and nod, managing to mumble, "I'm fine. This movie just hit a nerve." He looks up at the screen. "I never realized steamy scenes could evoke such sadness." My face turns as red as a tomato, because right there on the screen, a girl straddles a smoldering cowboy. "Uhh, yeah," I stammer, mortified. He grins at my discomfort. "Come on." He rises and extends his hand. "What about them?" We both glance over; Trip and Emily have vanished, probably off somewhere in their own world. Braylon leads me to the concession stand for more popcorn. "You devoured one large popcorn and you're still hungry?" He wears a confused expression. "Remember, I'm a hockey player," he quips. How could I forget? His clean-cut tan and chiseled body are hard to ignore. We approach the counter; he settles the popcorn bill, then rejoins me. After an eternity of silence, he finally speaks. "Want to talk about what's bothering you?" I weigh my options; opening up to someone I barely know is a risk, but my best friend is MIA. I could text Jamie, but her response is uncertain, and Austin would blab to my brother. So why not. "It's complicated," I confess. He raises an intrigued eyebrow. "Try me"." I pause, then relent. "Remember the party we attended? Someone caught me dancing at the bar on camera, and now it's trending on social media." A mischievous grin spreads across his face. "This is exactly why I keep my Instagram followers in check." As we head back to our seats, I think about the conversation. It feels oddly comforting that someone is interested in my troubles. For once, I'm not in the judge's seat.