Breaking The Rules

Chapter 26

The plastic chair I was sitting in was causing my back to grow stiff. It popped as I shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. If I knew I could disappear without being noticed I would have been long gone by now. I slid the back of my knuckle along the chilled glass of stale, bowling alley, beer. That and the half destroyed platter of nachos was the only thing keeping me sane.

The crashing of rolling balls and pins drowned out any conversations happening more than a few feet away. Across the polished lanes, neon lights blinked in a tacky rainbow of colours, illuminating the space with an almost dreamlike quality—fake and repetitive.

Mila was up for her turn; one of many that I asked her to take on my behalf. She leaned down to line up her shot. She wore fitted black track pants, and she knew what she was doing—her hips swayed, drawing glances from a few guys in the next lane over. Most nights, that would be enough to rev my engines. I'd be all over it, savoring the view, but tonight... I just wasn't feeling it.

She drew her arm back and swung, sending the ball down the lane with a smooth, practiced roll. It collided with the pins in a clean strike, and she let out a delighted laugh, doing a little dance as she threw a grin back over her shoulder. If possible, her inky hair appeared even darker under the strobe lights.

I forced a smile as she made her way back to me, as if I wasn't just planning my escape moments ago. Mila slid into the chair beside me, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the soft scent of her floral perfume wafting up my nose. Usually, it enticed me. I knew full well that she was showered, shaved, and prepped for me. But even her clean scent wasn't doing it for me.

"Another strike," she mused. Her manicured finger traced a tattoo on the back of my hand, trailing down to my wrist. "I think you owe me another drink."

"Guess so."

Mila leaned in, tilting her head as if she were trying to figure me out. "So," she murmured, giving me a suggestive smile, "whose place are we going back to tonight? Yours or mine?"

My eyes drifted down at her hand on my arm, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my sleeve. This was the point where I would have given her a teasing grin, some sly comment about getting her out of those track pants. I couldn't muster the energy.

"Actually," I said, my voice sounding strange even to my own ears, "I'm kinda beat. Rain check?"

Mila's face fell just a fraction. A heated match striking behind her eyes. But that was quickly replaced by a playful pout.

"Fine, leave me hanging," she said, only half-teasing. "But you better make it up to me."

"I always do," I replied, leaning in for a chaste kiss.

She sucked me in, her kiss lingering a little longer than comfortable. I forced myself to respond. To give her something in return. But as I broke away and headed towards the door of the bowling alley, I felt nothing but relief.

_ _ _ _ _

I was on autopilot the whole drive back home. The night air whipped past me as I tore down the dark streets, headlights cutting through the shadowed paths. The steady hum of the bike and the empty streets were comforting, and I found myself taking my time, savoring the familiar freedom that came from being on the road, alone and uninterrupted.

When I reached the Hockey House, I cut the engine, letting the silence settle around me for a long moment before climbing off. There were no other cars in the driveway, which meant that Hendrix wasn't home. Booker wasn't either as I vaguely recall him mentioning something about studying. Uncharacteristic, but I didn't question him.

As I made my way to the front door, I noticed the house was quiet. Maybe no one was home and I rushed back to an empty house for nothing.

I unlocked the door, allowing it to creak open. As expected, the front of the house was dimly lit, but a soft flicker of light from the living room caught my eye.

Curious as to who was home, I kicked off my boots by the front door and made my way through the hallway. There, on the couch, was Celeste, snuggled under a blanket with Oliver nestled in her lap, her wide eyes fixed on the screen. She zeroed in on some black and white horror movie, one of those grainy, faded films with exaggerated acting. She was so absorbed she didn't even notice me at first.

A particularly tense moment must've come up because her eyes went impossibly wide. Her mouth gaped open as her grip tightened on the blanket that was tucked under her chin. She looked petrified, her body tense, and I couldn't help but laugh under my breath.

"You didn't peg me as a horror buff," I said, trying not to startle her as I leaned against the doorframe.

She jumped anyway, her head whipping toward me, a look of pure panic flashing across her face before she realized I wasn't some serial killer out to murder her. She exhaled, her body visibly relaxing as she tried to compose herself.

"Jeez, Maverick!" she said, pressing a hand to her chest. "You almost gave me a heart attack."

I smirked, strolling over to the couch and taking a seat on the armrest. "If you're this freaked out, why are you watching it?"

She rolled her eyes, but her tongue flicked out, wetting her lips. "It's for class. I was supposed to watch it with Easton, but he canceled on me last minute. Something about an 'emergency' with his game development project."

"So you're just sitting here, freaking yourself out?"

She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, but her eyes flicked back to the screen as a shadow moved behind one of the characters. "I can handle it," she said, though the way her fingers were buried in Oliver's fur said otherwise. "But I will admit, I probably should have started watching this earlier in the day."

I glanced at her, taking in the way she looked, wrapped up in that thick blanket, her face a mix of interest and dread. Oliver shifted in her lap, his tail flicking lazily, seemingly oblivious to the terrifying scenes on the screen.

"Alright, scoot over," I said, flicking my chin in her direction.

She shifted, making room for me on the couch. I settled in beside her, my arm stretched out along the back of the couch. The chill I had experienced on the back of my bike melted. The air in the living room was warmer. Cozier.

We sat there in silence for a few minutes, the eerie music and haunting scenes playing out on the wide screen. Celeste seemed to sink a little deeper into the couch as the minutes ticked by. Her eyes were glued to the screen, and I found myself watching her more than the movie.

"How does this not freak you the fuck out?" she whispered, half-turning to look at me, eyes wide.

I offered her a small, thoughtful smile. "It does."

Her brows knitted, clearly confused. In her eyes, my actions weren't matching up with my words. My body didn't stiffen like hers, nor did my breathing shutter. But I wasn't talking about the movie. It was her that freaked me out—the way she was getting under my skin. Deeper than any tattoo ink had ever dared to travel.

I was drawn to her even though I knew it was a bad idea. The way, sitting there next to her, I felt more at home than I had all night.

She looked back at the screen, shifting as the movie built to another intense moment. I'm sure she wasn't even thinking, it was pure instinct taking over, but her hand found its way to my arm, her fingers gripping my bicep as she anticipated the next jump scare.

I chuckled, but didn't move her hand. "I thought you said you were gonna be fine?"

"Shut up," she muttered, but there was a small smile on her lips, her fingers still holding onto me.

The movie wore on, and I found myself sinking further into the couch, caught between whatever was happening on screen and the warmth of Celeste beside me. I could sense her nerves, the way her body tensed, the way she clung to me without even realizing it. And, God, I wished I could stay there all night, just sitting with her, allowing her warmth to seep into me.

But the rational part of my mind reminded me that I'd just walked out of plans with Mila. That I wasn't supposed to be there, enjoying this, letting it feel like anything more than a bit of company.