College Ruled

twenty

| 20 |
___________

I DON'T go to the game.

I tried, okay. I really tried. I called upon the energy of all the ancestors of mine that must have at least tolerated sports. I even went as far as putting on the freshly-cleaned practice jersey Grayson shoved in my face this morning.

But then the guys left. And the house got quiet. Beautifully quiet. And I ended up getting wrapped into the luxury of having Grayson's bedroom all to myself. Sprawled over his sheets, book laying open in front of me, I simply lost track of time.

Fucking sue me.

By the time Grayson shoulders his way into the room hours later, I'm nearing the end of my current read. He takes one look at me — laying on my stomach on his bed, still wearing his jersey and a pair of pajama shorts — and rolls his eyes.

"You know you have to leave the house to actually see us play, right?"

      "Shh," I hiss, flipping the page, "I'm reading."

       "Right." He drops his duffel bag onto the floor and steps deeper into the room. His hair is mused and sweaty, dirt smudged on his cheekbone. "They still fucking?"

        I gift him another dramatic page flip. "Rigorously." Technically, Scar just used Ash as bait to bring her sister back from the dead, so they were back to hating one another. Minus the hate sex. "Barely even come up for air."

        Grayson hums. "Lucky them."

I roll my eyes. If tonight goes smoothly he could very well be back to sleeping with the lying, cheating Andy whenever he pleases.

So... lucky him, I guess.

I turn another page—one I haven't even gotten to read yet—dramatic flare turning into annoyed impatience.

Not that I even know why, really. I shouldn't be pissed that that's what he wants. He can do whatever the fuck he wishes.

The only reason the thought stirs anything in me is because it's Andy—

Grayson flings a dirty sock at me, dragging me out of my thoughts. It lands on my bent forearm. "Ew, you pig." I shrug it onto the floor.

"Whoops." He grabs it from the floor and drops it into the hamper on his way toward the door. "I'll be in the shower."

"Cool," I drawl, "Thanks for the highly anticipated update."

The door clicks shut behind him, a muffled "No problem" bleeding through the wall.

      I try to turn back to my book, try to pivot my nerves away from where the night is leading, but nothing works. Groaning, I toss the book onto the floor and roll onto my back, head dangling over the edge of the bed.

      "You haven't even moved an inch," Grayson says ten minutes later when he re-emerges from the bathroom down the hall. A towel hangs low on his hips, droplets of water slowly dripping down his chest.

    Even upside down he looks exquisite. 

    Dickhead.

     I try not to stare. "Not true." I tilt my head at him. "Now I'm on my back."

He ignores me, instead walking over to the closet and throwing it open. He grabs a loose, baby blue shirt off the hanger. The hand wrapped around the knotted towel loosens then drops.