One week of college is officially in the books and I am exhausted. All I really want to do right now is melt into the covers of my bed and ignore all responsibilities for the rest of the weekend. Between morning training, classes, practice, and assignments already lining up, I'm functioning on borderline zombie status.
Unfortunately, I'm not currently cuddled up in blankets with a warm cup of hot chocolate. No, I'm far from it. Instead, I'm standing out front a decently sized house, taking in the ridiculous tiki torches lighting a path up to a door with a plastic Hawaiian printed tapestry.
Apparently this whole luau theme Lindsey told me about is an actual thing. I kind of thought jean shorts and my bright turquoise shirt had luau vibes, but as a group of girls saunter past me in hula skirts and bikini tops, I soon realize the theme is not just a gentle gesture but a full on notion to embrace.
I slowly make my way up the steps, taking a few deep breaths before walking inside. Most of my team is already here, having gone to the football game together earlier. I, on the other hand, chose to actually accomplish an assignment before joining them for some social interaction. I'm not completely opposed to a good time, and since I skipped out on the game, I figured a party might actually be fun. Besides, it's the first weekend away from home and the freedom of attending a party without any questions or curfew sounded far too enticing.
Walking through the threshold, I'm hit with a wave of festive island cliche. Pretty sure someone wiped the summer Dollar Store shelves clean and plastered every inch of this place in over the top decor. We're talking inflatable palm trees, colorful lights strung along the walls, tables lined in fake grass and flower garland strung like intrusive ivy all over the walls.
"Mia!" I don't have to turn to know my roommate is behind the loud shriek from my right. "Mia, you owe me a shot, come on!"
"Hey, Linds," I turn to face my already intoxicated roommate. She clearly got the luau memo seeing as her top is a bright green bathing suit.
"Here," she passes me a neon pink shot glass, nearly spilling the liquid in the process.
"I'm good."
"You don't drink?"
My eyes flash back down to the shot in her hands. "I do. Just not always."
"And today isn't always?"
I can't help but laugh. "What?"
"Come on," she pleads, ignoring my confusion. "It's the first party of the year. Drink with me."
Seeing as she's already plastered, I think I'll stick to being the sober, clear headed roommate tonight. "Maybe next time."
"Ugh, fine. But at least come over here with the girls." Her hand is in mine before I can respond, pulling me over to a group from the team. They're all wearing similar outfits to Lindsey. More bathing suits, lots of flowery patterns, and hula skirts galore.
"Mia! You made it!" Natasha slurs, springing to her feet and wrapping me up in her arms.
"Okay," Lindsey jumps back in, pulling me down to the couch beside her. "First, you missed one hell of a football game."
"Did they win?" I question, genuinely interested to know how they did. You know, school spirit and all that.
"Oh, they won," Natasha wiggles her eyebrows and I have no idea why that was necessary.
"Okay...that's cool, I guess."
"I honestly can't figure out if they're hotter in those tight fucking pants or wearing next to nothing," Lindsey sits forward, grabbing her cup and taking a large sip.
I follow her line of sight, trying to make sense of whatever she's trying to say when I connect with the group of guys standing in the kitchen, all dressed to the nines in flowery shirts. Some are rocking only boardshorts, letting their rippling muscles put on one hell of a show. As much as I'm dying to roll my eyes at the flashy egos lighting up the entire place, I can't help but appreciate what I'm actually seeing.
And that's when my eyes land on him. Grayson's laughing at something, a beer in one hand and a girl beside the other. She's a petite little thing, smiling up at him with those eyes girls flash his way all the damn time.
"Lindsey's been in a trance since she watched them kick ass tonight," Katrina, our first baseman, rolls her eyes.
"Come on, you can't tell me watching them completely dominate a game and then be sitting in the same room as them with all of those...muscles...and testosterone..." she shudders, yes, she actually shudders before continuing, "isn't doing it for you?"
My eyes involuntarily gravitate back to Grayson, only difference is, this time, he's looking back at me. We've been in this state of avoidance all week. Seeing him in class was a complete shock, and I did my best to disappear after that. Only problem is, we somehow can't actually manage to keep our distance. Whether it's the dining hall or getting a damn coffee, we always seem to be in the same place at the same time.
Regardless, I've done a pretty good job at avoiding him. I know it's immature, and I know I can't run from him forever, but I just...I don't really know how to do this. I don't know how to act like nothing happened between us. I don't know how to ignore the reminders that still heat my thoughts late at night. The feel of his fingers against my skin is a memory I haven't quite escaped, the way he made sure I was taken care of, the way he worked every ounce of me.
I quickly pull my eyes from his, continuing to brush away any shadow of reminiscent thoughts. Thoughts I most definitely do not have time for. Not with classes and softball. Two things I've worked way too hard for. Besides, it was one night. One night to forget about everything, to give into primal desires and just live in the moment.
One moment.
In the past.
"I mean, yeah, they're pretty hot. I'm just able to control my drool," Katrina teases, causing Lindsey to ever so politely flip her the bird.
"Whatever. I'm getting a drink."
My eyes flash to the cup in Lindsey's hand, the one that's still three quarters full. "You have a drink."
Her eyes sparkle as she stands, taking another large gulp. "I won't for long."
With that, she takes off for the kitchen, making her way toward the specimens she's been ogling.
"I don't think your roommate's coming home tonight," Natasha laughs, shaking her head.
There's a good chance she's right.
I spend the next half hour with my teammates, discussing classes and practice. It's easy talking with them, like I've known them for years. It's made the transition easier, working together as a team is quickly becoming second nature, something that doesn't always happen when team dynamics change.
Heading back from the bathroom, I stop in the kitchen and grab a water from a bucket of ice. Most people have cleared out of here by now, forming a crowd either outside or in the living room, and I take a moment to notice how bare and boring the kitchen really is. Now that there's not a noisy football team standing in it.
The counters are a plain white, there's no backsplash on the wall, nothing hung on the fridge. I don't know what I expected the kitchen of a frat house to look like, but I'm not sure it was this. Half the cupboards are missing knobs, though. I guess that fits the vibe.
"You know, this is a luau," his voice comes in behind me, causing me to jump. Abandoning all thoughts of cabinet hardware as I slowly turn, preparing to see him.
I've done a pretty decent job avoiding this very moment, but I guess coming face to face was inevitable. What I'm met with is a vibrant array of Hawaiian flowers, backed in palms and set against an off white background. I give my eyes a moment to adjust to the pattern in front of me before pulling them up to meet the chocolate abyss looking back at me.
"Ah, that would explain the whole senior retirement look you've got going on."
He smiles, causing my eyes to dip to his mouth briefly before returning to his.
"Oh, don't hate the shirt, Tink."
"Is that what we're calling this?" My hand raises without a thought, resting against the flopped collar. The material of his shirt is softer than I expected as my fingers run along the smooth edge. I let it fall, taking note of the three buttons he's left undone, revealing the lean, toned muscle beneath. "A shirt?"
"Yep, a very festive one." His smile morphs into a laugh as he closes the distance between us. "Come on, would it have killed you to show a little spirit?"
"You mean, prancing around in a bikini top?"
Those decadent eyes of his drop, lingering briefly on my chest before rolling their way back up to meet mine. "That's one option. I mean, you look good in a bikini top. You also look good in a sundress..." his words trail off for a moment before that little sparkle finds his eyes. "You also look good in not a sundress."
Oh, for crying out loud. "You're still the same old Grayson."
"Charming? Handsome? Sexy?"
"Cocky. Arrogant."
"You know..." His hand reaches up, fingers grazing the tips of my hair. My instincts say to move back, but my body seems to go rebel on me as Grayson continues his thought, the low, gravelly tone of his voice searing into me. "I remember those qualities working pretty well for you this summer."
Why does he insist on reminiscing?
"Yeah?" I hold my own against the memories, my eyebrows rising in a challenge. "Well, I seem to remember the appeal of your pitch being that we wouldn't see each other again."
That smile of his only widens. "And yet, fate had other plans."
"I'm not sure fate had anything to do with it."
"Then what would you call this?" He gestures between the two of us with one hand while the other continues to play with my hair.
"Coincidence."
"Spurred on by fate."
"Good grief." I look up, locking eyes with him. He's closer than I realized, a sense of heat filling my gut.
"Just admit you actually had a good time that night."
"I don't need to admit anything, Grayson."
"Ah," his eyes drop, a confident smirk brushing his lips. "I think I like the way Gray rolls off your tongue a whole lot better."
Bury me.
Thoughts of that summer night flash in front me, and I can't stop them this time. The way he felt inside me, how his fingers worked their own pattern of euphoria causing that nickname of his to roll out on a dreadfully heated exhale. I didn't mean to call him that, I wasn't even thinking, I was reacting to everything building inside me.
I take a deep breath to calm myself. "You are so–"
"What's up guys?" Another voice jumps in, effectively cutting me off and saving me from the resurfacing thoughts of that night.
I turn my gaze away from the boy in front of me, turning to see a familiar face. "Brandon, hey!" I am not at all surprised to see him here. These two are pretty much a package deal. Where one goes, the other follows. I take a step around Grayson, opening my arms to give Brandon a hug.
"Why does he get a hug and all I get is attitude?" Grayson speaks up from behind me.
"Because I'm way cooler than you," Brandon laughs, taking a step back. "Hopefully he's not giving you too much shit already."
I glance over at Grayson then back to Brandon. "I think it's the only way he knows how to communicate."
Brandon's laugh catches Grayson's attention, but he ignores it. "You two just bring out the best in each other."
I can feel Grayson's eyes back on me and, against my better judgment, I let my gaze fall back to his. I hold them there, noticing just how deep his eyes are, how they hold different shades depending on his mood, something I picked up on at camp. And the way he's looking back at me doesn't have the same cocky playfulness it did just a moment ago. The one he has when he's purposefully trying to get under my skin. Right now, they're softer, smoother, more enticing.
"Did my friend here at least have the decency to offer you a drink?" Brandon questions, effectively pulling my attention away.
"No, actually, he didn't."
"She has a water," Grayson jumps in, gesturing to the bottle in my hand.
"Not the point, man," Brandon adds.
I laugh, shaking my head as the short buzz in my back pocket has me reaching for my phone. Seeing a message from Tommy, I briefly ignore the two in front of me, sliding my finger across the screen to see what he has to say.
Tommy: Hey kiddo. Parole hearing is set for ten days. But these things change often, people get bumped for priority cases or brought in early. I'll keep you posted though.
My heart does its thing, the one where it leaps into my throat. Tommy has been keeping me posted about my dad's release, checking in every time he has an update. I just spoke to him today, his usual check in about school and softball. We ended the call with him promising to try to find something out. I guess this is it.
Ten days. Ten fucking days.
"Mia?" Brandon questions, pulling my eyes from my phone.
"Huh?"
"A drink," he says again, bringing my thoughts back to where this conversation was going just a moment ago. "Did you want something? Other than water, I mean."
Right, a drink. My eyes flash over to Grayson's briefly, noting the way he's currently studying me. "I'm good. Actually, I really need to get back to my friends. It was good to see you, Brandon," I smile at him before turning back to Grayson. "I'll, um, I'll see you in class."
Before he has a chance to respond, I turn away, making a trail back to the girls. I feel all funny inside, desperate for a dose of normalcy, for a moment with my friends, for that college experience that's supposed to be consuming my brain. Not parole hearings and ridiculously good looking guys who like to remind me of the things I said when under the influence of pleasure.
What I need is to refocus on why I'm here, on what's important. School and softball. Grayson is a distraction. A giant, neon flashing distraction. It's been one week and I already feel like I'm drowning.
For the last four plus years of my life, I've prided myself on the ability to give both softball and school work the attention they needed for optimum success. It's been a balancing act, one I've carefully crafted to perfection, devoting enough time and attention to both. I know there's an adjustment period, but I just feel like something is going to have to give in order to fully succeed.
Adding the presence of my summer fling into the mix, combined with the shit of my dad, is just another weight on the scale, tipping the balance. And I can't have that. Not now. Not when everything I've worked so damn hard for is right within reach.
It doesn't matter how mind blowingly good that night was, or how I can't seem to completely get it out of my head. What matters is that I stay focused, limiting any distractions that are actually within my control. And that means continuing my mission of avoiding Grayson Adler at all costs.