He laughs a little, running his fingers through his tousled hair. “No, Skyler. I told you I forgave you for that and I meant it. I’m not even thinking about it anymore. It’s done.”
I swallow, hating the possibility of his answer to my next question. “Are you done with me?”
His eyes grow wide and he crosses the room to sit on the bed with me again. “What? No, baby. Are you kidding me? You’re the only thing keeping me grounded right now, the only thing getting me out of bed in the morning.” His diamond eyes are pained, his jaw tense as he lets out a long breath. “I don’t deserve you, Skyler.”
“I don’t understand, why do you keep saying that?”
He opens his mouth to say something, but then stops himself, shaking his head. “I can’t get into it tonight, okay? I love you, Skyler.” My stomach still flutters at those words. “I do, so fucking much. But I’m going through a lot right now. And I want to tell you, I will tell you, but I can’t tell you tonight.”
My stomach drops.
“I know that’s not fair, but I’m asking you to be okay with it. For me.”
Kip lifts my hand in his to his lips and kisses my fingers, waiting for me to reply.
I nod softly. “Okay.”
He smiles and pulls me in for a long, slow kiss, and that’s all it takes for every thought to blur.
“I’m going to jump in the shower real quick. Want to join?” He winks, and for just a second the playful Kip is back, but even still, he’s hidden behind sad, hooded eyes.
“I have to turn in that paper before midnight. Let me finish and submit it real quick and then I’ll be there.”
“Don’t keep me waiting too long.” He leans up and kisses me again before turning toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
I sigh, leaning over the bed for my bag and retrieving my laptop. I don’t like that he won’t tell me what’s going on, but whatever it is, it’s something he’s not ready to deal with just yet. I can respect that. I’ve been there before.
And when he is ready, I’ll be here.
With my mind made up to just let it go and let him come to me when he wants to, I shift my focus to the paper I should have turned in before I let Kip distract me in his bed all day. It’s written, and ready to go for the most part, but I have to add a few finishing thoughts and get it submitted before the clock strikes midnight.
Cinderella essay, ladies and gents.
When I open my laptop and click the power button, nothing happens. I try a few more times and curse under my breath when I realize it’s dead. I didn’t bring my charger with me, and my stomach sinks when I check the clock.
Twenty minutes until midnight.
Shit.
I scan the room for Kip’s laptop and find it set up on the small desk pushed against the far wall. Quickly, I grab my computer and take it to the desk, pulling the cord from his laptop and trying it in mine.
Nothing.
Double shit.
I knew it was a long shot that it would work for mine, too, but it was worth a try. I have the paper in my email, I just need to format it and add a few sentences in the conclusion. Why didn’t I just do this before I left the house? Idiot.
Can brunettes have blonde moments?
“Kip?” I call out over my shoulder, opening his laptop. “What’s the password on your laptop? Mine’s dead and I forgot my charger.”
He doesn’t answer, the shower muting my question. I go to open the door to ask him again when his home screen pops up without asking for a password.
“Perfect,” I murmur, double clicking the Internet Explorer icon. I log into my email and pull up the paper before quickly formatting it and typing out my final thoughts. By the time I send the email to my professor, there’s less than two minutes left until midnight.
Talk about a close call.
“Sky?” Kip calls over the shower.
“I’m coming!”
I exit the browser window and start to close the laptop screen again when a folder in the right-hand corner of the desktop catches my eye.
It’s labeled with my name.
I glance back over my shoulder at the bathroom, but the door is still closed, the shower running as an unsettling feeling finds home in my chest.
I know it’s wrong, snooping through his stuff, but my curiosity overwhelms my conscience and I double click the folder until a list of documents pops up.
I squint at the screen, taking in the contents like I’m looking through text messages that prove my boyfriend is cheating. But there are no emails from other girls, no nude pictures — though there are photos.
Of me.
Playing poker.
I scan through them, noting how serious I look with my hoodie pulled over my hair. I recognize the video that he took that night I blew the tournament downtown, right before we came back here and he blew my mind.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
It’s just the research he’s been doing to help me prep for May.
Wow, he made an entire folder for me. He wasn’t kidding about wanting to help.
I click on the Word document labeled FILE and when it fills the screen, one large photo pops up. It’s the headshot I took for a blog site last year. Written above my head in bold letters is my name in all caps.
Okay, this is weird…
I scroll through the file, reading the text under each category.
CLASS SCHEDULE.
PAST RELATIONSHIPS.
HOME LIFE.
HOBBIES.
TOURNAMENT STANDINGS.
BLOG ARTICLES.
SOCIAL MEDIA.
VIDEO RESEARCH.
LIVE FEEDBACK.
The more I scroll, the faster my heart races. Under the regular text in each category, there are short notes written out in red.
Wears sunglasses to hide eyes – possible tell?
Lip quivers slightly when she has a pocket pair.
Easily distracted by emotions – work her up before tournament?
Bothered by blogs referring to her looks. Pay blogger for racy interview/find pictures?
Main reason is for family – parents not well off. Cares a lot about what other people think.
My throat constricts, my attempt at a swallow thwarted by the sick feeling that everything I think I know about Kip Jackson is a lie.
I scroll and read and scroll and read until I feel I might throw up. When I reach the end of the document, there’s a small line of text written in bold.
Remember, Son – head in the game. Get her close, but don’t get caught up. Break her down, find her weaknesses, and beat her in May or give it hell trying. You help me with my dream, I help you with yours. UCLA is waiting. – Dad
I stand so fast I knock the top of my thighs on the bottom of the desk, but the pain is masked by the panic racing through me. I cover my mouth, shaking my head as tears rush to my eyes.
No.
Oh my God, please, please no.
“Sorry, Sky, but I was turning into a raisin in there,” Kip says, opening the bathroom door as steam floats up around him. He’s relaxed and smiling, a navy blue towel wrapped around his waist.
But the only color I see is red.
Kip stops short when he sees my face. “What happened?” He moves toward me but I back away, shaking my head violently. “What’s going on?”
My eyes find his computer and he follows my stare, swallowing hard when he sees the file pulled up on the screen. For a moment, he says nothing, and it feels like the entire world has stopped — like everything and everyone is waiting for what will happen next. My heart drums loud in my ears, my hands shaking, eyes blurred from tears.
“Skyler,” he finally says, moving toward me with his arms outstretched, palms facing up like I’m a wild animal and he knows the slightest move could scare me away. “I can explain.”
“Don’t.” I shake my head more, the room spinning as my stomach lurches. My voice is low, too low. Scratchy. Weak.
He t
akes another step toward me and it’s like he crossed over the force field that was holding me back.
I back up to the wall, doubling over as I scream at the top of my lungs. “Don’t fucking touch me!”
My breaths are ragged, strained under the pressure of my world collapsing. When I look back up at Kip, his jaw is clenched and his eyes laden with pain. “I wasn’t going to go through with it, I was going to tell you and call the whole thing off,” he says quickly. “Yes, that’s why I came to Palm South, but when I met you, I knew I could never do what my dad was asking me to.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
He swallows. “It’s complicated.”
“Are you serious?” I ask, incredulous. Not even a full week ago, we agreed — no more lies, no more games. It was supposed to be us. It was supposed to be real.
I’ve never felt more foolish in my entire life.
Shaking my head, I lift myself from the wall and stand straighter. “Whatever, I don’t even care. Just tell me you aren’t registered for the tournament. Tell me this was something stupid you were involved in when I was being stupid with Erin. Tell me we can put all this stupidity behind us and move on.”
Kip doesn’t respond, his nose flaring as he presses his lips together in a hard line. I watch as the muscles over his abdomen flex with every breath. “I can’t.”
My heart slows, the beats coming at a reduced pace but with more force than I’ve ever felt. Every thump knocks me forward a little, jerking my body with it.
“What?”
He swallows. “I am registered for the tournament.”
“But you’re not going, right?” I press. “Not anymore. Not after you promised me you wouldn’t hurt me. Not after you told me you loved me. Not after we became us. Right?” I ask the questions without breathing. Breath doesn’t exist in my body at this point. “Right?”
Kip doesn’t move. He doesn’t swallow or blink or flinch, but one single tear rolls down the left side of his face and under his cheek.
And I know that one tear is saying more than any words can.
“I’m sorry, Skyler.”
He doesn’t look away from me or hang his head. He just kills me with his baby blues, keeping me locked in their glare as he waits for my next move.
And I don’t know what to do.
I want to throw something at him, I want to kill him, I want to cry and scream and rip his apartment to shreds.
But more than that, I want to run to him.
I want him to hold me and make the pain tearing my chest apart disappear. I want him to fix it. To fix me.
But he won’t.
Because he can’t.
Because he never loved me enough to care in the first place.
The reality of everything crashes down on me in one large, soul-crushing wave. I start breathing faster, inhaling the water instead of oxygen, panic washing through me as the wave takes me under the current, pulling me down, down, down.
I look at him one last time, memorizing the words I read in the file and relating them to his face. His beautiful smile ties into his lies, his lips into his broken promises, his eyes into the pain I feel right now in this moment.
Without another word, I turn and run out of his apartment, flying across the parking lot and across campus. He doesn’t come after me and I don’t wait to see if he will. I just run. I know I’ll have to send someone back to get my stuff tomorrow, but I couldn’t stay in that room one second longer.
For minutes, or maybe hours, it’s just my feet against the pavement. It’s just the air assaulting my lungs, every breath burning more than the last. It’s just image after image of Kip — of his eyes, his stupid glasses, his panty-melting smile. A torturous cycle of images and touches on replay, but now, with flashes of the truth between them.
The file.
My face.
His father’s words.
The tear on his cheek that told me all I needed to know.
Kip betrayed me, he lied to me — I was just a means to an end.
When I reach the house, my legs are burning and my feet are raw from running on the concrete. I put my hand on the doorknob but don’t turn it. Everything hits me and I fall to my knees, leaning my forehead against the door as I give in to the flood of tears escaping my eyes. I squeeze them tight, trying to will the tears to stay away, but they seep through the cracks and pull me down further into the dark hole Kip shoved me in.
Everything was a lie.
Helping me with poker, asking about my past, about my dreams. Kissing me, touching me, making me want him and making me think he wanted me, too. The words, the promises, every single feeling.
This is the game changer.
This is the part where everything I thought I knew about the game gets shattered into tiny pieces and I’m left reeling, trying to pick them up and glue them back together, to force them to make sense to me again. I thought I had it in the bag, I thought I was sitting on Lucky Street with nothing but good days and smooth sailing ahead.
But I’m in stormy water.
Deep, treacherous, Kip-infested water.
And I don’t think anyone is strong enough to survive this storm.
BRANDON IS LOOKING AT me like a dog he’s about to put down.
His eyes are laden with concern, brows pinched together, jaw tense and lips thinned into a flat line to keep him from saying the multitude of things I know he wants to. He rests his hands on my shoulders, gently rubbing — up, and then down — like he wishes he could somehow change my mind with that touch.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“I’m just not sure about this,” he confesses, swallowing hard, his dark eyes searching mine. “We have no control over how that room will respond. It could be a disaster.”
“Or, it could be the end of all our worries,” I counter.
He rolls his lips together, skepticism rolling off him in waves.
“Look,” I whisper, stepping closer to him. “Whether they react the way I want them to is irrelevant at this point, because the truth of the matter is that Kimberly knows. Okay? She knows about us, and she’s going to out us.”
“She hasn’t yet.”
“Because she’s been waiting for the perfect time, for the opportunity that would hurt us most.”
Brandon frowns. He knows it’s true.
“And I’m not going down like that,” I finish, sneaking a kiss on his cheek before pulling back and straightening my blazer. “If anyone’s going to tell my story, it’s me. Period.”
“You could ruin your career,” he says softly, solemnly.
My rib cage squeezes, but I just smooth my hands over my skirt next, holding my shoulders back, my chin high.
“Trust me, I’ve been through much worse than this.” I blink, Xavier’s face flashing behind hot lids. “I’ve been through real ruin. And if I can survive that, if I can rebuild from ashes, I can damn sure rebuild from sexist, judgmental assholes.”
I sniff, grabbing my folder and clipboard from Brandon’s desk.
“Ready?”
But he’s just watching me.
A smile spreads on his face as he makes his way around his desk, framing my face with his hands. “This,” he whispers, eyes flicking back and forth between mine. “This is why I can’t leave you alone.”
I let out my next breath on a sigh, smiling a little as I lean into his hand. I kiss his palm, stealing another breath before holding out my arm not wrapped around my binder.
“Well,” I say. “How do I look?”
“Like a woman on a mission.”
“Perfect.” I nod, swallowing down any doubt or fear that’s left. “Let’s do this.”
My knees don’t shake as I strut my ass out of Brandon’s office, ignoring the curious stares that I’m sure sprouted from us being in there alone — with the door closed. But I don’t care, because I’m about to set the record straight.
Kimberly falls into step right beside me, a wicked smirk on her fa
ce as she lowers her voice.
“You’re going down, Daniels. Hope you’ve enjoyed this semester, because it’s the last one you’ll ever have at Okay, Cool.” She laughs. “Or anywhere, if I have it my way.”
I fake fear, coming to a complete halt as she stalks past me. She spins, raising her eyebrows at me as she walks backwards.
“Nice knowing ya.”
Then, she rolls her eyes and laughs, continuing on into the conference room.
Once she’s gone, I smile.
Good luck with that, sweetheart.
I hold back for as long as I can, filling my tumbler with water and stopping at a few desks on my way to the meeting. It’s two minutes past ten when I swing into the giant conference room, already packed wall to wall with virtually everyone in the company. I offer a few smiles and hellos, but mostly keep my head down, not even acknowledging Mykayla when she waves me over to sit by her.
And it’s her unassuming smile that gives me my first jolt of guilt.
She’s my friend — one of my closest — and I’ve kept this from her for almost a year now. Even if I do keep my job, will I have any friends left here?
I don’t have time to answer that question, to get sad, to talk myself out of my decision before Brandon stands at the head of the table.
“Welcome, everyone,” he says, his signature smile in place — though I know him well enough to see he’s forcing it. “We’re nearing the end of the semester for our interns, and, thanks to them, we just secured the Palm South Luxury Suites account. Please, help me thank and congratulate them.”
Everyone politely claps, Mykayla letting out a few rowdy hoots that earn her some laughs and elbow nudges. She catches my eyes from across the table, holding both of her thumbs up, her mouth open in an ecstatic smile.
I smile back as best I can.
“As they prepare themselves for summer break and the next step in their event planning career, I invite them each to speak a little about their time here, what they’ve learned, and what they hope to accomplish in the future,” Brandon says, unfastening the button on his blazer before taking a seat.
Kimberly smirks at me, hands braced on her chair to stand when Brandon speaks up again.
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