There’s absolutely way too much for me to process.
I whip my phone out again and text JT.
ME: 911!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Breathe.
I need to remember to breathe, because I am currently not doing so.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Okay, that’s better. It’s a fact that the brain needs oxygen to think, and I desperately need to think.
My eyes dart around the room in a frenzy, searching for answers.
The sound of a FaceTime ringtone cuts through my panic, and I pull it out to accept JT’s call.
“Hey, sorry, we’re warming up before the game,” he says in greeting.
Damn. I forgot he had a game tonight.
“Kayla, what’s wrong?” All the happiness bleeds out of JT’s voice, my face and lack of response broadcasting how hysterical I am.
Like always, my full name coming from a Taylor is all I need to snap out of it. Still unable to find my words, I shift the camera to show the open ring box in T’s hands.
JT blows a whistle through his teeth. “Damn. I take it one of them is Mase’s birthstone.”
Camera back on me, I nod, too in shock for the use of the short version of Mason’s name to have the usual painful effect it’s had of late.
“Wow. Ballsy.”
Another nod.
“What do you need, Kay?” my best friend asks, zeroing in on what he’s deemed the most important part to tackle first.
“You.” This is why I can’t be with Mason. I can’t handle drama without using my best friend as a crutch. I love my other friends dearly, but JT is the one I lean on.
“You have me. Any chance you can catch a flight down here?”
“I gotta check.”
“I’ve got you booked on the seven fifty-five flight out of Newark tonight,” Coach Kris calls out from her desk.
“What?” I look up, confused.
“Go home. Pack. See your person.”
See? Everyone knows JT is my person. Shouldn’t my boyfriend be the one to fill that role? Just more proof not getting back together with Mason is the right thing to do. Now if only I could convince my heart.
“But…what about practice?” I ask the first thing that comes to mind while my brain tries to play catch-up.
“Please…” She waves me off. “You’re no good to me like this. Take the weekend. Get your head on straight, and we’ll get back to it Monday night.”
“I don’t understand.” I hate that I’m missing something. I feel like I’m trying to add two plus two but coming up with five.
Coach Kris comes around her desk, joining me at my side so she can see JT on the screen as well. “I bought her a ticket. She’ll be there in a few hours.”
T spins me around and starts pushing me toward the door. “I’ll have Carter pick me up after practice.”
I stop, pulling T then Coach Kris into a hug.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Always.”
#Chapter24
UofJ411: You forgot a caption @CasaNova87 #ExplainPlease #CasanovaWatch #CasanovasGirl
*REPOSTED—picture of a shirt that reads: “I have no life. My boyfriend plays football.—CasaNova87:*
@Cheril2412: What does this mean @CasaNova87 ? #WhatsWithTheVagueBooking
@Christyhearsbooks: Are you the boyfriend this shirt is talking about? #AreYouSingleOrNot
@Cmd427: Is this a cheerleader bow with your number in it? #KaylaDenningsIsACheerleader
TightestEndParker85: Oh this is cute @CasaNova87, but I have a better shirt I could show you if you want @UofJ411
*REPOSTED—picture of a shirt that reads: “I have no life. My boyfriend plays football.—CasaNova87:*
@TheQueenB: I feel like we NEED to see this. Don’t you think @UofJ411?
@UofJ411: I think I have to agree with @TheQueenB on this one
#Chapter25
A few hours after rushing around to pack and get to the airport in time for my flight, I’m standing outside of JT’s dorm with my fist poised to knock.
The whole trip here, I tried to focus on getting to spend three uninterrupted days with my closest friend when in fact that’s not what this is. I’m running—from my problems, from the drama, from all the things pushing me toward a complete breakdown. If only I could have left my broken heart behind too.
Knock-knock.
The door opens and I’m met with a very muscular, very naked chest. My eyes travel up the planes of said chest and come to a stop on an equally attractive face that breaks into a smile.
“Well, hello, love,” says Harry, JT’s British, soccer-playing roommate.
“Hey, Harry.”
He swings the door wide for me to enter, calling over his shoulder, “JT, someone’s here for you, mate.”
JT gave me a virtual tour of his dorm during one of our video chats, but seeing it in person allows me to appreciate its size and how nice the space is.
Unlike my own dorm back at the U of J, theirs opens directly into a galley kitchen space with the living room completing the rectangular shape, both rooms serving as the center of the suite.
JT and Ian’s—another member of the Blue Squad—bedrooms and a full bath branch off to the right, with Harry and the fourth roommate, Spencer’s, rooms and bath to the left.
Being guys, the large flat-screen on the wall in the living space comes as no surprise, as does the extensive gaming setup underneath. I am impressed with how nice and homey the space feels given four males live here, with the three-person couch, end tables, large armless chair, and blue, white, and black area rug.
A door in the right branch opens and out steps my best friend, still drying his hair with a towel. Next thing I know, I’m scooped into JT’s arms and squeezed against his damp chest in a G-like bear hug.
The towel gets dropped over my head, and by the time I free myself from the terrycloth, JT is pulling a shirt over his own. “I see you officially met Prince Harry.”
“She’s charmed, I’m sure.” Harry lives up to his British-roots-inspired nickname by bowing with a flourish.
Ignoring the bro-dude insult sparring that has commenced, I root around in my bag until I find Mason’s note and slap it against JT’s stomach, eliciting an oomph. “I swear to god, if you don’t let me drink tonight, I’m revoking your best friend card.”
Deep laughter
