Shutout (Rules of the Game, #2)(44)
Surprising even myself, I voluntarily offered up some of my writing to workshop in class today. Everyone will have to do it at least twice this semester, so I figured I might as well get used to it. After the initial moments of terror passed, it wasn’t as bad as I expected. All of my classmates were nice, and I got some useful feedback.
“I was a nervous wreck,” I confess. “But I’m really glad I did it. I’m surprised how much I’ve been loving class so far.”
“Me too. Though I’m not looking forward to next week. The syllabus says we’re studying love poems in honor of Valentine’s Day.” Chloe makes a face. “Might as well study fairy tales.”
“You don’t believe in love?”
She scoffs. “About as much as I believe in the Easter Bunny. I mean, it’s a nice concept. I’m sure it’s out there for other people. For me? No. I’ve abandoned that idea. Love, dating, all of it. Plus, between work and school, I don’t have time to date. Like, at all.”
“That last part sounds like Tyler,” I muse. “I mean, my roommate.”
Worry glimmers in the back of my mind again. Why didn’t he write me back? If he’s blowing me off, I can live with that; I’d just like to know. Actually, that’s a lie. A big, fat lie. If he’s blowing me off, I’ll be crushed.
Our server takes our drink orders, and once she disappears, we agree to split a bunch of appetizers instead of getting entrees. It’s one of my favorite things to do at a restaurant. My bottomless pit of a brother is the first person who introduced me to it. Somehow, it feels vaguely naughty in a fun way—like you’re a little kid who’s bending the rules by not eating a “proper” meal.
We quickly settle on spinach and artichoke dip, buffalo chicken wings, pulled pork sliders, and chili-garlic shrimp, vowing to split the white chocolate brownie after if we still have any room left. It helps that we planned ahead; I got to preview the menu online ahead of time, thereby avoiding the usual overwhelm I run into when I’m put on the spot to make a decision.
Chloe sets down her Diet Coke, catching my eye. “Before I forget, there’s a writing contest through Revolve Magazine I meant to tell you about. There are a few different categories, and I think the grand prize is five thousand dollars or something. The winners will be compiled into their yearly anthology, which is a huge deal. Maxine’s been featured in it multiple times.”
“Anything Maxine has done is goals for sure. Are you going to enter?”
“No, silly. I meant you should.”
“Me? That’s nice of you to say, but I can’t see how I’d ever have a shot at something like that.” While I’ve always gotten by in school, I’ve never been an exemplary student. I don’t get straight-As, I don’t make the honor roll, and I definitely don’t win contests for my work. Those accolades are for organized, prepared types of people who have their acts together. In other words, not me.
She angles her head, leveling me with a look that says she doesn’t understand. “Why not? You said you’ve been writing for a while. It’s not like you’re new.”
“I’m new to writing properly,” I counter, biting into a piece of spicy shrimp.
“There’s no right or wrong with poetry. Remember what Maxine said in class today? ‘Good poetry makes you feel something.’ Your poem definitely made me feel something, and I’m not the only one.”
Cautious hope blossoms within me. Chloe seems to believe what she’s saying, but that doesn’t make it true. It’s possible she’s just being supportive.
“Thanks, Chloe. I’ll give it some thought.” Can’t see myself actually going through with entering, but it’s nice of her to think of me.
We plow through our food in short order, making it to the famed white chocolate brownie topped with vanilla ice cream, whipped cream, and chocolate sauce. It’s ridiculously over the top and decadent and I inhale my half with zero regrets.
When the server brings our bill, I grab the black leather folio and stick my credit card inside. “I got it.”
“What?” she protests. “No, you don’t have to do that.”
“You picked me up, so I’ll pay. Don’t worry about it.” Based on some of our conversations, I’ve gathered that finances are tight for her, which is why she works full-time while juggling school.
She opens her mouth like she’s going to argue, then closes it again. “Okay, but only if you’re sure. Thank you.” Her gaze lands off in the distance over my shoulder. “Actually, I need to hit the washroom before we go. Be right back.”
Chloe excuses herself to use the washroom before we leave. As soon as she’s out of sight, I unlock my phone again to check my messages. My hopes crash and burn when I find several new texts from Abby and none from Tyler.
Footfalls thud beside me as someone approaches the table. I lift my chin expecting to see Chloe, and my heart does a twirl when I lock eyes with Hades himself.
A fitted black Henley drapes across his firm chest, long sleeves pushed partway up to reveal his inked forearms; a pair of perfectly broken-in jeans emphasize his strong hockey thighs; and the leather watch he’s wearing somehow makes it all ten times hotter.
He looks absolutely, aggravatingly perfect.
“Hey, Ser.” Tyler stuffs his hands in his pockets, giving me a boyish grin that makes my insides turn to mush. If I didn’t know better, I might think he’s nervous. Not sure why he would be when he’s the one who left me hanging.