Sidelined 2: Intercepted

Chapter 4

DALLAS

I've never been a morning person. I get up early if I have to because I am a responsible adult, but I'm not really awake until I have a couple of coffees in me. I'm a hit-the-snooze-four-times person if I have the option. So being startled awake by Drayton suddenly sitting up and exclaiming, "Fuck!" was more than a little discombobulating.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" He threw the covers off and jumped out of bed.

My first still-basically-asleep thought was, Wow, you're cute. His hair was a mess. There were lines along his right cheek marking where he'd been asleep on my pillow, tucked in close, only seconds earlier. Thankfully, my brain snapped to attention before I spoke because Drayton didn't look like he wanted to hear about his level of hotness. He looked pissed.

"Shit! This can't be happening." He grabbed his pants from the floor and yanked them on.

I turned as I heard a groan from Miley's side of the room. Everything was coming into focus. Drayton in a panic. My small dorm room. Roommate who had left us alone until well past midnight a few feet away. She rolled away and pulled her pillow over her head. "Too early."

Drayton found his shirt then started the search for his shoes.

"What's going on?" I blinked a few times and looked at the clock: 7:42 a.m. Fuck was right. "Oh no. What happened?"

"Phone's dead." He sat on the bed to put his shoes on. The veins in his neck were bulging. His jaw clenched. It had been a while since I'd seen stressed Drayton. "Can you check the traffic for me?"

I was wide awake now. His anger or frustration—I wasn't sure which one was winning out—was palpable. Drayton stood up again and had grabbed his bag by the time I had the maps app up.

"Fifty-seven minutes to USC."

"Fifty . . ." It was almost a deer-in-the-headlights moment. I couldn't remember seeing him look so suddenly helpless. "Coach is going to murder me." He muttered a quick, "Talk later" and rushed out the door.

I looked at my phone again—7:44 a.m.—then flopped back down on the bed. My pillow was still warm and smelled like him. I curled into it and tried to hide from the world for a little while longer.

Unfortunately, my brain had other plans. It started running through my list of assignments and errands, replayed my conversation with Gabby, wondered why Nathan hadn't called me back. I needed to schedule time to do laundry, book one of the rehearsal rooms, email my History of Design group to discuss our upcoming assignment.

Lying on my back, I looked around the room. Miley's side was decorated with travel posters from the 1920s and '30s: couples drinking wine at Italian ski resorts or sitting on deck chairs on luxury liners. Her desk was messy with dance outfits and shoes, makeup, and a wet suit for surfing. Basically anything other than school-related items. We'd put up a corkboard that was considered common ground. She'd filled a good half of it with photos of friends, including a surprising number taken since moving in. My side had one of me and Drayton, another of me and Nathan, and one of me, Drayton, Gabby, and Josh taken just before leaving Archwood. It was amazing how quickly a photo could be considered out of date. After thirty minutes of no sleep and no hope of relaxing again, I headed out for coffee. If I was lucky, I could cross a few things off my list before my meeting.

It was upsetting to see Drayton so rattled. He was always the rock, the glue, the guy who seemed unflappable. He'd held steady against his dad when pressured to go to Waco. Didn't waver when I struggled to commit to a relationship. Came up with a plan to maintain our short-distance relationship despite conflicting schedules. Then the first morning of our new regimen went to hell, and Drayton left without a proper goodbye. I made the conscious choice to not take this as a sign of anything more than one of us forgetting to charge a phone.