Do Players Fall In Love?

Chapter 28.

Chapter 28.

TAYLOR'S P. O. V.

It's been four weeks. Four long-ass weeks since that beloved night. Obviously Zach and I still talked and we were still friends, but that's it. Now, we are entirely just friends. Whatever progress we had going on was flushed. Zach still had no idea why I would turn my head so that he wouldn't kiss me, or why my body refused to hug him for more than a couple of seconds. He furrows his eyebrows every single time I reject him in that way, but we've never talked about it.

I haven't seen Mackenzie pull up to Zach's house again, but I wasn't stupid enough to let her absence fool me into thinking that Zach was sleeping alone every night. I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss the taste of his lips on mine, but the haunting image of Zach and Mackenzie swallowing each others faces off always snaps me out of missing it.

Thanksgiving has passed, which wasn't much except for a short visit to my grandparents house where my parents and I stuffed ourselves with food. After spending one night there, and catching up with their lives, we returned home with five more pounds of food than we left with. It is now the second last day of November, where your breath could be seen in small puffs and goosebumps are inevitable when leaving the house.

I'm still shivering from the cold night air even when I walk in my house. "I'm home!" I yell from the front door, stripping off my North Face and kicking off my boots. I make my way to the living room to greet my parents.

"Hey, honey." My dad greets, smiling. "How was shopping with Lauren?"

I groan. "The same as usual. She goes everywhere to try on everything but bought nothing." I look at the empty spot next to him. "Where's mom?"

"She's been sleeping since I got here." I laugh and shake my head. "Of course she has." She's been really tired lately from her growing tummy. I turn and head for the kitchen in search of something to soothe my scratchy throat. When I open the fridge, the light that usually blinds me at night, isn't present. I close the door to the fridge and open it once more. The light still doesn't go on.

"That's weird." I mumble to myself. "Dad!"

"Yeah?" he yells from the living room.

"C'mere!" I grab a water bottle and throw a couple of grapes in my mouth, noting that they are still cold.

"What's wrong?" My dad asks, making his way next to me.

I point to the refrigerator while already gulping down half of the water. He opens it and finds the same problem.

"It isn't running." He mutters to himself.

"How do you know the bulb didn't just burn out?" I ask.

While looking inside of it, he says, "The fan isn't on either."

"Why is everything still cold?"

He explains, "That's because the doors were still closed, keeping the cold air inside. I don't know why it's not working."

"Hand me that flashlight," he ordered, pointing to counter.

After poking and prodding around for only a couple of minutes, my dad finally found the problem. "The compressor overheated. It's completely shot."

"How do you fix it?" I ask, eyebrows furrowed with confusion.

My dad sighs and stands from his kneeling position. "I have no idea. I'm a chef not a repair man. I'll just call the repair technician in the morning, it's too late to call them at this time. Just make sure you keep those doors closed so that everything stays somewhat cold."