Breaking the Playbook [COMPLETED]

Chapter 8

LOLO'S POV

The air is thick with summer heat as I make my way down to the field. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows across the grass. The stadium is mostly empty, the silence only broken by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional chirp of birds. It's quiet here, a welcome contrast to the chaos in my mind.

I've been coming here a lot lately, sneaking in during the off-hours when no one's around. The field feels like a sanctuary, a place where I can breathe and sort through the mess that's become my life. Today, though, it feels different—like something is about to change, like the calm before the storm.

I sit on the bleachers, let the metal cool against my skin, and pull my knees to my chest, staring out at the field. My thoughts drift back to last night, to the way Brooks' voice sounded over the phone—low, hesitant, and full of unspoken promises. We've been talking more, slipping into these late-night conversations that always seem to last longer than they should. There's something about the darkness, about the quiet of the night, that makes it easier, to be honest, to let down the walls we've both built so carefully.

But as much as I crave those moments with him, they also scare the hell out of me. Because every time we talk, I feel myself getting pulled deeper into something I'm not sure I can handle. The lines are blurring, and I know it's only a matter of time before we're caught up in something we can't control.

I hear the sound of footsteps approaching, and my heart skips a beat. I know it's him before I even turn around. There's a familiarity to the way he moves, the way his presence fills the space around him. I can feel it—him—before he even says a word.

"Lolo," he calls out softly, his voice sending a shiver down my spine.

I turn to see him standing at the edge of the bleachers, his blue eyes locking onto mine. He's wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans, his hair tousled from the breeze. There's a quiet intensity about him, something that's always been there but feels more pronounced now.

"Brooks," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.

He climbs the steps, stopping a few feet away from me. For a moment, we just look at each other, the silence between us heavy with unspoken words. There's so much I want to say, so much I need to ask, but the words seem to stick in my throat.

"Mind if I join you?" He asks, his voice gentle, like he's afraid of breaking the fragile peace between us.

I nod, scooting over to make room for him. He sits down next to me, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his body but not close enough to touch. The tension between us is palpable—an electric current that thrums just beneath the surface.

"I've been thinking a lot," he says after a long pause, his eyes fixed on the field in front of us.

"Yeah? About what?" I ask, my heart pounding in my chest.

"About us. About this...thing between us," he admits, his voice thick with emotion.

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "What about it?"

He turns to face me, his eyes searching mine, as if he's trying to find the right words. "Lolo, I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be around you and do not want more. Every time we're together, it's like I'm fighting this constant battle with myself."

I can feel my pulse quicken and my chest tighten with anticipation. "I know what you mean," I whisper, my voice trembling. "It's the same for me."

He exhales slowly, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his own confession. "I've tried to stay away, tried to keep things professional, but fuck, Lolo, I don't think I can anymore."