𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝚗𝚍, 𝚂𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚊𝚢
Parker's POV

My elbow aches from moving as I reach out and take a cold water bottle from a very appalled Miles. When he stopped giggling like a school girl and realized that he might have actually hurt me, he apologized the whole way over here... and still has yet to stop apologizing.

"I can't believe that I crushed you like that, I swear that I only meant to slow you down," Miles rambles, nervously fidgeting with the hem of his tshirt as he watches me.

I chuckle and readjust how I'm sitting on the tailgate on one of my buddies' trucks, holding the makeshift ice pack against my forearm where I ripped some skin off from that tackle.

"Yeah, you definitely can't say that you didn't slow me down," I joke, glancing up at him from underneath my eyelashes.

At first, Miles scowls, then breaks into a smile when he realizes I won't yell at him. "Oh, whatever. I still feel bad, though. Sorry."

Shaking my head at his continuous apologies, I look past him to watch where everyone else is still playing the game. The noise of all those guys whooping and hollering takes my mind off of the sting of the small injury, although that's all it is: a small injury. I'll probably be sore tomorrow, too. That will go away with time.

Miles moves next to me and leans against the tailgate. I look over at him from where I sit, examining his guilt-stricken face.

"You aren't going back out to the field?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Nah. That shit wore me out, and besides, I don't want to risk knocking anyone out cold."

I laugh at the mental image of him tackling someone so hard that they end up blacking out. Yet, I suppose that I wouldn't be surprised either, considering the current shape I'm in.

"Unless you're secretly an NFL linebacker, I don't think you could knock out anyone here. You hit me at a dead run and sent me in the air, yet here I sit," I remark and crack open the cold water bottle meant for my arm.

Miles takes a breath, then grins devilishly as he casts me a cool look. "Trust me, I can definitely knock anyone flat on their back here. No questions asked."

My cheeks go warm at the intention of Miles words, and I lean over and whack him on the back of the head with this water bottle. He laughs and ducks as he reaches back, clutching his head.

"Hey! That was not called for!" Miles exclaims, grinning as he rubs his head.

I laugh again and point my finger at him. "Dude, you're lucky that I'M not the one knocking you out with this bottle! Now we're even. Besides, I barely even hit you."

Miles pouts and runs his fingertips over where I had hit him, pretending that I cracked him with a metal baseball bat instead. "Bullshit, I think I feel blood."

Rolling my eyes, I smile at his feigned pain and open my mouth to ridicule him.

Our conversation is cut short as Turner, some senior varsity baseball player, comes jogging over. His face is red, and his dirty blonde hair sticks to the sweat beads on his hairline, a sure sign of drinking from the past two hours. He stumbles and grabs the side of the truck, breaking out in a toothy grin as he inspects us.

"Are you guys doing anything right now?" Turner slurs, waving a shaky finger between us.

I shake my head, slowly raising an eyebrow.

Miles shrugs. "I guess not."

"Perfect. I need someone on my beer pong team, like, pronto."

I scrunch my nose and lean backwards slightly, disinterested. "Uhh, sorry, but not right now," I reply lamely.

I look at Miles, expecting him to decline and keep hanging out with me. There are things I want to talk to him about since there's so much I don't know. I'm curious to hear more about his past and his character. My stomach sinks as I watch his face brighten instead.

"Hell yeah, man! You're asking the cup pong champion!" Miles declares, pushing off of the bed of the truck.

Turner grins and attempts to give Miles a high five, but his hand-to-eye coordination is way off and he comes closer to slapping Miles in the face.

"That's what I like to hear! I'm sick of losing and drinking everything," Turner blabs as he leads the way down the parking lot.

I awkwardly scratch behind my neck as I'm left here alone to watch Miles follow Turner, a new pep in his footsteps.

A bitter feeling of resentment starts to boil in my blood. I feel like an idiot, like some child who thinks his babysitter comes over to hang out with them, only to realize that the person is paid to be friends and stick around for a few hours.

Besides, I have literally no reason to be hung up about that kid. None.

Distress nips at my heels as I jump off the tailgate and set the water bottle down. The sting in my arm has died down to a slight itch that I can easily ignore. I look towards the field where the game is happening, though I still don't feel inclined to play.

I heave a sigh and turn around to walk back toward the parking lot. My brain kicks into an overthinking-overdrive, and I just want to go home to bury my emotions in video games.

I can't stop thinking about how Miles will get wasted and most likely end up going home with someone tonight. Rose would be way too happy-go-lucky for me right now, Forrest is occupied with the game alongside the rest of my friends, and Griffin is drunk off of his rocker. A muddy feeling of hurt weighs on me, although I'm really doing this to myself.

"What in the world does the states most famous, cutest quarterback have to be sulking about?" a light voice chimes.

This night suddenly got a whole lot worse.

I peer at Hannah as she walks away from her friend, Ali, and towards me. There's no missing Ali's cheeky grin as she watches from afar.

Son of a bitch. Maybe if Miles and Turner hadn't thrown me into this pit of self-wallowing, I would've been emotionally stable enough to keep an eye out for her.

I smile in a way that I hope is passive. She will have to be more creative than that to keep my attention.

"It's nothing. I'm getting tired, I'm on my way out," I respond, glancing at her face.

Hannah smiles and walks up next to me, her hand brushing against mine. I slip my hand away into my pocket.

"Oh, really? I was thinking about leaving, too, except Bree is our DD and she's still reffing the game. So, this was good timing." She looks up at me, blinking innocently. "Could you take me home? I know you said earlier that you haven't drank."

Internally, I feel myself flop onto the ground and complain like a fussy toddler in a grocery store. I'd rather lick the dirt off of my shoes.

Externally, I shrug. "I guess."

"Perfect! Thank you so much, I really didn't want to be here anyway." She lights up, sticking right next to my side. Her off-brand perfume sticks to my throat and I resist the urge to cough it out.

As we walk down to my car together, I try my best to listen to her talk about drama within our inner circle. It's hard to pay attention when my thoughts keep racing.

It's impossible to stop picturing Miles getting too friendly with his new friends. With his charm, he'll have that entire group under his finger in minutes. He could point at any person he wanted and they'd go with him. What's even worse is the fact that I'm actually worried about this stupid daydream. I can tangibly feel my anxiety slowly crawling out of the dark corner in the back of my brain, unrolling a map of potential problems.

Casting my eyes up, I notice a crowd of people lingering around a few empty parking spaces. Some boys run off to the side, laughing as they clamor over each other to get to a loose ping pong ball. As they get out of my line of sight, my gaze lands on Miles.

He's laughing so hard that I hear it from across the parking lot. That sound alone makes the hair on my arms stand on end, and as I look closer, my hair stands for a different reason.

Not only is he clinging to a bottle of beer, but his other hand is rubbing the back of some brunette girl's neck. Her hands are intertwined in his glossy curls, totally enamored with him. She's watching his lips as if they are his eyes.

Oh, for the love of—

A sharp knife of denial shoves its way through my ribcage, right into my heart.

There's no hesitation or genuine emotion behind my thought process as I grab Hannah's elbow and spin her to face me. Her mouth parts in surprise, and I stop whatever she was about to say with a deep kiss.

Her words turn into a moan, and she's quick to respond to my advancement, grabbing handfuls of my thick, dark hair. I wince as she pulls too hard, but I need the distraction right now. Badly. I shove her up against the hood of someone's SUV and pin her against it with my hips.

Hannah melts under my touch, totally enthralled with her sudden luck. I run my hand from her elbow to her hand, holding one wrist beside her to the car. My other hand strays over her hips, up her stomach. She takes the initiative to deepen our kisses and presses her hips against mine.

I groan quietly out of instinct and shift at the small shock of contact, yet even with all of the attention, nothing in my body changes. No blood rushes through my veins. No hormones jump at this chance.

Either I really don't like Hannah, or I'm too caught up in my own head.

I can't keep doing this.

As fast as I initiated the moment, I let go of her even faster, like she's a hot pan that burned my hands. I stumble over my feet as I back off, my chest heaving as I catch my breath.

My eyes go against everything I'm telling myself as I glance at the pong table, wondering if anyone noticed. No one is even looking over here or whispering to each other.

Not even Miles. He is clueless and still way too close to that brunette.

Hannah's girly giggle pulls me out of my self-loathing. "Um, wow, you know my parents shouldn't be home tonight—"

I turn my head to look back at her and quickly snap to cut her off. "Hannah, look, I'm sorry. I remembered that I have to go straight home. Family emergency."

Hannah blinks, a small moment of confusion crossing her features, then the look passes and she smiles. "Okay, no problem. Will I see you on Monday?"

"I don't know. Goodnight."

I cut off our conversation and stalk away to my vehicle, my heart pounding against my chest so hard that it hurts.

What the hell am I doing?