Camryn Quinn is finally getting what she wants...sort of. Moving into a dorm and away from her not so supportive father is a good first step, but like everything with him-it comes with strings. She must attend the college of his choosing for at leas...
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The banquet begins with three more than necessary speakers. All of them indirectly give the exact same speech about this school's football program and how it changed or shaped their lives. That's at least what I was able to pick up through glancing between the stage and Taylor's table. He's seated three whole tables away with his mom and sister and another player whose name I don't know. Each time I look, his eyes are fixed directly on the podium. His jaw is set tightly and his fingers are laced in his lap.
When he finally does look at me, I look away just as quickly. I scramble to the bathroom just as dinner is being served from big trays carried by waiters. The heavy wooden door slams behind me, bringing a gust of cool air with it. I rest my hands on the sink. My head is hung as I take a few deep breaths.
I came into tonight hopeful for the type of reunion with Taylor that would resemble the moments my mom lived for in her romance novels. I was sure that after last night he would be dying for a chance to apologize, to grovel and confirm my suspicions of how he actually feels. Alyssa and Nora both assured me his childish behavior last night was him trying to cope with those feelings. But now all I can hear are the words he whispered to me on Friday night. I don't deserve you has echoed in my brain for the last seventy two hours. I know that Taylor is the type to dwell on his own feelings until it's nearly too late, which is why I need to be the one to make the first move. Just like I had to be the one to lean in first and let my lips brush his. He needed me to give him permission to kiss me back.
But nothing about tonight has encouraged me to actually move forward with my plan. There is an ache in my chest telling me that Alyssa and Nora are wrong. Last night wasn't Taylor's way of coping. Instead, it's a way of telling me that if I put my heart into his hand, raw and beating, he would be the one to make the killing blow.
The door creaks open, but I'm too lost in the tailspin of my mind to look up. It's the touch of a hand on my shoulder that finally pulls me from my thoughts. I look over my shoulder to find Shea with her arms crossed over her chest. She looks absolutely stunning in a floor length red gown with jewel accents on the capped sleeves, another gift from my dad and Katie.
"I'm going to pretend to not be upset that you haven't stopped by to say hi yet," she teases. Her arms quickly unfold and reach for me, pulling me into a hug. I've hugged more this weekend with Taylor's family than I ever have, but something about being in Shea's arms feels almost natural.
When we pull away I look down again. I'm unable to meet her gaze and instead I let my words bounce off the porcelain of the sink before reverberating back to her.
"I was going to, but..." I pause.
But what? The volcano in my mind rumbles with thoughts once more, threatening to revert back to when the worst thoughts I could possibly think would boil to the surface and spill over the rim, putting everyone at risk. I could tell her about how much of an ass her son was to me. About how for months now, he's been sending me mixed signals so strong that transmitters in space could pick up on them, but yet he won't make a move. Should I tell her that I'm sulking in the bathroom because he hurt my feelings? That part of me thinks that maybe it's because he actually doesn't want me? I should be used to not being picked. I claim to want to be independent, to crave it, but right now only patheticism rings in my head.
