Draw the Line

chapter thirty-three

It means my chances of being found out are a hell of a lot higher.

It means I might have just signed my name on the death certificate of my future in the NBA. In shiny, crimson blood.

Weaving through the packed field and lazy current of students as I scan the crowd for Josie. I hold back a smile when I realize that since she's so fucking short, I'm really searching for a pop of color — a ribbon tied in her long brown hair. I head closer to the middle of the field, where the big ass bonfire crackles loudly, illuminating the area in a flickering warm light. Aside from the headlights of the cars pulling in, the bonfire is the only source of bright light; everywhere else is dimly lit by the paper lanterns swaying in the wind, which seems to fit the haunted vibe they were going for.

Not spotting Josie, I jog toward the wall of kegs where most of my team is congregating. They're easy to spot, nearly a head taller than anyone around them, and as I step up beside West and nod toward Luke, who's upside down in a keg stand, I grin when he lifts a hand off the keg, folding his fingers, leaving his pinky and thumb out in a hang loose sign. Luke's hoodie falls up his stomach, exposing the tanned abs beneath when he puts his hand back on the keg handle. They flex when he readjusts his hold on the keg.

West hands me an unopened bottle of beer, his eyes already searching the fields for his conquest of the night. I bring the bottle to my mouth and pop the cap with my teeth, following his gaze out to the crowd of hundreds of USW students walking around the field, pointing at the different attractions set up — mainly to keep up the facade of this being a PG community event for the authorities. There's apple picking, pumpkin carving, a huge folding table stacked with supplies for s'mores, hard cider pong, and in the far corner bordering the dark forest beyond, a massive haystack maze stretches so far down the field I have a feeling it was constructed to be unsolvable. The sign above the maze entrance reads Cursed — enter if you dare. When a group of girls comes running out screaming, I catch the guy drenched in fake blood revving an unchained chainsaw behind them as he chases after them, stopping at the perimeter of the entrance with an amused smile. I recognize him as Landon Hayes, our senior wide receiver. He revs the chainsaw a few more times, inviting any intrepid maze adventurers forward before turning back and strolling back into the dark.

I take another long pull of beer, shoulders falling at the realization that Josie is nowhere to be seen. She's too fucking short to see in the dense crowds, even if she were a few feet away.

"Has anyone seen Josie?" I ask.

"Saw her walk in twenty minutes ago," Thompson says, his eyes locked on his phone as his thumbs drum quickly across the screen. "She was with some guy. Looked like an artsy douche."

Ben. I ignore how my chest tightens as I take another sip of beer, searching the crowd for him. He's a lot taller. A lot easier to spot.

I catch West's grin as he looks at Cooper, whose mirroring grin is just as fucking annoying. Before either one of them can say something stupid, Luke drops down from his keg stand, wiping the errand beer spilling down his lips with his thumb.

"Still no luck?" He asks, leaning against the wall of kegs beside me, accepting the water bottle Thompson tosses to him. Thompson's on designated driver duty tonight; only he's proactive enough to keep everyone hydrated to lessen the chance of someone puking in his Nissan on the way home.

"I saw her on campus today." My jaw ticks at the memory of her looking over her shoulder after I screamed across the entire fucking courtyard to grab her attention. "She looked me dead in the eyes from across the courtyard and then disappeared into the crowd. She was there one sends and gone the next."

I take another pull of my beer and try to wash away the look in her eyes. The hurt.

I hurt her somehow, and the worst part of this entire thing is that I don't even know how. The stab of guilt in my chest twists painfully at the thought that I might have physically hurt her. I was careful. I was so fucking careful with her. I went slower, softer than I usually would have, even when she begged me for more. I tempered it. For fuck's sake, by the end of the night, I fucked her so soft and slow she was practically purring in my ear with each thrust.