The Player Next Door ✓

49 | Toxic

Chapter 49: Toxic

Luke was ready to leave the parking lot.

He watched me have a private convo with his rival and saw Austin get powdered sugar over everyone... this was just not how Luke liked to spend his time.

"Churro?" Austin offered.

"OK," Luke had enough, "We're leaving, and you'll leave my girl alone."

My eyes opened wide. Christopher turned his head to look at me and I looked at him looking at me. I think I almost doubled over.

Chris pointed at me, "Does she know that she's your girl? 'Cos I don't think she does."

"Yeah, well we haven't had that discussion yet."

And we didn't.

With Austin and Chad around, there couldn't be any deep discussions. With me still reeling from the last incident – Jake's kiss, Luke's comments, the wasp – I was not in a good space to articulate rational thoughts.

The music in the car park was turned up.  The crew smoking weed got rowdier.

"Millie," Luke said, facing me with an intensity that weakened my resolve, "We need to talk.  I need to know if... you know what, never mind.  The vibe's gone.  This isn't the time."

"What?" Austin asked, half a churro sticking out of his mouth, "Was it something we said?" 

Luke shoved past him, muttering something about personal space. He was angry that we didn't finish our conversation and it was reflected in his behavior.

So we parted ways. I knew a conversation with Luke was overdue, but I couldn't quite face it yet. It turns out, I wasn't ready to face much.

Even at school, I felt cowardly. The last time Jake and I talked... we hadn't done much talking.

His lips touched mine and I had bolted out of there faster than the Road Runner escapes Coyote.

These emotions have gotten complicated. I don't know what word in the English language to use. What is the word that describes my feeling now? Part fear, part anger, part lust, part sadness. And part excitement. Strangely, I was excited for what was to come.

Tomorrow will be better than today.

I took a deep breath and clutched my book against my chest. 

Today, I had to face one Dawson brother. I waited for the bell to ring before I stepped into English Lit. I didn't want to come a second earlier and face small talk with my seat mate.

Jake was already in his seat. 

He didn't look at me when I sat down next to him. He was writing poetry in his notepad again. Either poems or lyrics. His right hand moved across the paper, giving me a view of the tattoos that peaked out of his shirt sleeve.

The teacher was busy introducing today's theme. We had begun reading Taming of the Shrew and the class was more animated with this play than the last. I barely noticed.

Jake had captured my attention. I was enraptured by his movements; his smooth cursive handwriting, the way his body moved as he felt the emotion coursing through him. I could see the cathartic feeling that writing poetry had on him.

"Luke didn't like the idea of us," he said to me, "He freaked out when he found out."

I gulped in my throat. Jake must have sensed me staring this whole time. And, in terms of heavy topics of conversation I did not want to discuss, he went straight for the jugular.