My College Life | ✓

Chapter 24

Cover to the right is by Lilzoe :)

(NOT EDITED)

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John's POV~

Amanda.

She was as hot as ever. With her smoking-to-die-for body, and those milk chocolate eyes of her. You could always tell what she's thinking when you gaze into those never ending pools of hers. And right now, she wasn't happy to see me.

Her eyes were sharp, as they narrowed down at me, just staring at me.

I guess I deserve that. I avoided her for the past two months—she has the right to hate me. I'm surprise she hasn't punched me yet.

“Not going to say anything, huh?” I tried giving her another one of my signature smiles, but I guess it didn't work. She was still giving me her death glare.

She raised her eyebrows, watching me with calculating eyes.

“I guess not,” I sighed, running my hands through my dirty blond locks. “Listen I can explain why—”

“—you were avoiding me?” she asked, finishing my sentence for me.

I gulped, as I felt my Adam's apple bobbed up and down. I just hope she doesn't see how freaking nervous I am.

“Yes,” I said, letting out a breath of air when I didn't stutter. “I can explain.” Well, let's hope I can . . . but first I'll try to get her into a better mood, before I drop the bomb on her.

She crossed her arms, leaning forward. “Go ahead.”

“The reason why I didn't go home—”

“Wait a minute,” Amanda said cutting me off, “who said I wanted to hear why you didn't go back home? I wanted to know why you were avoiding me for the past two months!” she shouted, ending her last word in a ear pitching scream.

Okay, ouch.

“I know,” I said, calmly, pretending that scream didn't just cause my eardrums to explode. “Just let me finish.”

“Fine,” she huffed out. 

“Thank you.” I smiled. “Now as I was saying, the reason why I didn't go home was because I followed Danny.”

That caused a sparkle in her eyes.

“What about Danny?”

I grinned. Gotcha.

“Well you see, every time Danny goes home, he comes back acting weird.”

I waited for her to ask, 'how?' but she never did. Instead she looked at me, waiting for me to go on. When I didn't, she said, “Well go on.”

I nodded, following her request.

“Right,” I said, biting the inside of my lip. “Anyways, every time he comes back with weird marks, and every time I asked him, 'how he got them?' his reply would always be, 'football accident'.”

I saw the slightest bit of a gasp, as she gaze behind me, staring off into space. Strange . . . wonder what's she thinking about?

“Football accident?” she whispered quietly.

If I wasn't so close to her, I probably would've missed what she had said. “Yeah. But how can a guy always get hurt playing football? It's strange, don't you think? So after a year or so, I finally got the opportunity to figure out what's really going on.”