Playing the Field ebook final draft

by Gray, Mackenzie

  There’s no sign of her glasses. No sign of her ill-fitted clothing. No sign—thankfully—of those hideous black clogs she loves. It’s almost like she’s a different person.

  Stepping closer, I take my time studying her. We’re toe-to-toe, and the heels add a few inches to her height so we’re nearly eye level. She’s stunning. And strangely familiar.

  Once my vision clears from the cloud of lust, I frown. Why does she look so familiar? I mean, of course she’s familiar. We’ve been hanging out multiple times a week for months now. No, it’s something else.

  As I look into her eyes, recognition sparks. I’ve seen those eyes. It was months ago. A song. A dance. The smoke of lit cigarettes permeating our clothing as our bodies brushed, touched, pressed together. She wore blue that night. Just as she does now.

  “You were at Ray’s that night,” I say, the words strangely muted. “The one I danced with.”

  I’ve never seen her look so serious. “I was.”

  Suddenly, everything feels wrong. My stomach is dropping. The lights pouring from inside are too bright. Why do I feel like I’m the brunt of some cruel joke?

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask. “And why are you dressed like that?” If she didn’t want to call me, that was her choice. I can understand that. But what I don’t understand—what I can’t understand—is how she knew the whole time and never said anything. What’s worse is I didn’t see it. But why would I? This girl looks nothing like the Rebecca I fell for.

  She squares her shoulders, as if she’s bracing herself for what she’ll say next. “I’m dressed like this because this is how I normally dress.”

  A muscle slides in my jaw as I try to control my reaction, the sudden shredding in my gut. It doesn’t escape my notice that she didn’t answer the first question. “What are you talking about? That’s not how you look or dress.”

  Briefly, she closes her eyes. “It is, Mitchell.” Opens them. So blue.

  “If you’re trying to fuck with me—”

  “I’m not.” The blue turns to silver as her eyes fill and her chin wobbles. “It’s true.” Another breath. The set to her mouth tells me there’s more she has to say. “As for the first question, I need to tell you something.”

  It feels like someone pushed me out of a plane without a parachute and I’m plummeting toward the ground. “Are you pregnant?”

  She jerks away as if I’d slapped her. “What? No! God, no.”

  Is the thought of having a child with me so disgusting? Fuck. My mood darkens further. “Don’t sound so horrified by the thought.” My glower is intense enough to singe the eyebrows off a lesser man.

  She seems to realize the implication of her response, because she softens. “I didn’t mean it like that. But you have to admit, twenty-two is a little young to be having children, don’t you think?”

  I shrug. I don’t know what to think anymore.

  With a sigh, she looks around and points to one of the benches nestled among the hedges. “Do you want to sit?”

  I jerk a nod, and we sit, thighs almost touching. My clasped hands hang between my knees. “So what did you want to talk about?”

  Rebecca bows her head. Doesn’t look at me. “I don’t think you’re going to take this well.”

  I wish she would get it over with. “Let me guess. You don’t feel the same way about me. This was never more than a deal to you, right?”

  She closes her eyes, opens them. Looks at me. Into me. Even when I’m hurting, my throat still closes with how beautiful she is. When she looks at me like that, I feel like I matter. Growing up, I was never enough for my father. It was one of the reasons I loved soccer so much. I was part of a team, something bigger than me, and victory only came when every man did his part.

  She whispers, “I’ve been lying to you.”

  My heart rate spikes in sudden anxiety. I thought as much when she showed up in that get-up. “About what?”

  “About a lot of things.” The words quaver. “I don’t really know where to start.”

  “How about at the beginning,” I snap.

  Facing the front, she gives a reluctant nod. I already know I’m not going to enjoy the ride. “When we first met, I didn’t think I was ever going to see you again. Yes, I thought you were attractive, and yes, I felt a spark between us, but I wasn’t looking for anything at the time. I was too busy working on my thesis.” Her throat bobs. “I never really talked about my research, did I?”

  I shake my head. She didn’t. I assumed it was because she was modest about her accomplishments. The times I tried talking to her about the research, she clammed up. So I backed off.

  “I was interested in the correlation between physical appearance and attraction. I was curious as to how attraction changed depending on my looks. Those sweaters and wool skirts? I wore them on the days I collected data.” She fingers the hem of her dress. “The day you sat next to me on the bench was one of my data collection days. You didn’t recognize me, but that’s to be expected.”

  She takes another breath. “I’ll admit, when you made the offer to enter a fake relationship, I only did it because of the money. But I also saw an opportunity to continue my study in more detail while acting as your fake girlfriend.”

  “Wait.” I make a sharp gesture, my thoughts struggling to catch up. The pieces of information untangle and set themselves in the right place, and for the first time, I see everything clearly. “You’re telling me that all this time I was part of your research?”

  My tone makes her cringe. “At first—yes.”

  Slowly, everything comes into focus. The reason why Rebecca’s feisty personality never aligned with her manner of dress. The reason why her body’s fucking banging, why she always tried to cover it in drab, shapeless dresses. The reason she always wore glasses and never wanted me to take them off. The reason she never let down her hair. And another thing—not once do I recall her wearing the color blue when we were together. She didn’t want to risk me seeing the resemblance.

  It was a lie. All of it. Every word, every touch, all I was feeling, was manipulated for research’s sake, used to write some report, breaking it down into something cold and meaningless. Fuck. It wasn’t like that for me. But I guess that’s how it was for her.

  I feel shaky and ill, the truth sliding down my throat like poison. This was a mistake. “I don’t want to hear this anymore.”

  She grabs my arm as I stand, her grip fierce. “Wait, you don’t understand.”

  “No, I do understand.” I wrench away and almost fall on my ass, only catching myself on a nearby tree. “You used me. For the sake of science. You—” I stop, my hand trembling as I point to her pale face and wide eyes, the glimmer of unshed tears welling in their depths. I wonder if that, too, is an act.

  “Mitchell, please let me explain. Yes, for the first few weeks it was about my thesis. But then things changed. I really liked spending time with you. I liked you more than just being your pretend girlfriend. Sometimes I wished—”

  “Don’t say it,” I growl. “Don’t even think—”

  “Sometimes I wished it was real.”

  More lies. More manipulations. Maybe she’ll put this in her report too. “But you still continued your thesis, didn’t you?” I’m shouting now. Loud enough that it’s not drowned out by the music and conversation. Two of my teammates poke their heads outside in curiosity.

  “I tried—”

  “I don’t want some bullshit answer. I want the truth.”

  Her chin wobbles. It kills me. I don’t know how it’s possible to want to hurt Rebecca and love her at the same time. “Yes.”

  “It was just about the money and getting ahead, wasn’t it?”

  “I don’t care about the money.”

  “Of course you do.” The jab is so satisfying. Even more satisfying is her flinch. “I know you’re struggling for cash, so of course it’s about the money. Well you know what?” I dig around into my pocket for my wallet, then fling the check at her. �
��Here you go. It’s yours. I mean, you completed your end of the bargain, didn’t you? Pretended to care about me, went to the gala?”

  “It wasn’t pretend.” There’s a tortuous note in her voice that sounds genuine, but so did all the other things she said to me, did to me. I thought those were genuine too.

  “The deal’s done. You have your money. I got my father off my back.” My voice hardens. I’m so fucking dead inside. “There’s nothing else we have to say to each other.”

  Rebecca is sobbing, staring at me like I’m breaking her heart, like she had these hopes and dreams and I’m crushing them beneath my heel. But what about my heart? What about my dreams? They all involved her.

  There’s nothing left for me to say. I walk out of her life. And this time, it’s forever.

  Chapter 26

  rebecca

  “Can I get you anything?”

  Katie’s concerned voice reaches me. My face is buried in my pillow, my cheeks hot and sticky from the hours I’ve spent crying in bed since leaving the gala a few hours ago. My dress is scrunched around my hips. I wear only one heel, as I lost the other on my mad dash from the gala, sobbing so hard I couldn’t see where it had slipped off. Like some twisted Cinderella tale, I left it there, only wanting to get away and break apart in private. But there will be no prince charming coming for me tonight, or ever.

  “A way to go back in time?” I say, the words muffled. Impossible, I know, but a girl can dream.

  The bed creaks as she sits next to me, her hand on my back. “You didn’t know you would fall for him.”

  It’s not an excuse. I broke Mitchell’s heart. I saw it in his eyes, heard it in his voice, the rough grating of trying to hold back so much emotion. Never in my life have I wanted a second chance, because I would use it in a heartbeat. I’m disgusted with myself for allowing things to go this far. Disgusted with thinking this hurt was needed.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Katie asks.

  I shake my head and burrow deeper into the comforter. My heart cries out with his pain, my regret. Now it’s too late, and I’m left with the pieces of the trust he put in me.

  “He gave me the money,” I say, finally sitting up. My purse sits next to me on the bed, its contents strewn out. I pass her the check, feeling dirty to having handled it.

  Katie looks down at the check. It’s a lot of zeros. She knows what this means for me, for my future and career. If I decide not to take it, she knows I’ll be stuck working for at least a year to pay off my debt to the school. She asks, “What are you going to do with it?”

  In answer, I take the check, tear it to pieces, and toss them onto the floor. Surprisingly, a bit of weight lifts off my chest.

  Then I burst into tears again.

  “I really screwed this up,” I sob as she pulls me close and shushes me in a soothing voice.

  “Maybe you can talk to him again. Try to explain that how you feel now isn’t how you felt then.”

  “I tried telling him. He wouldn’t listen to me.” From the look of betrayal on Mitchell’s face, I may as well have killed his cat. If he had a cat. He won’t want to see me. It meant something to him knowing he could be honest with me, and now that the trust is broken, it can’t be repaired.

  I glance at the shredded paper scattered across the floorboards. Despite my abysmal finances, I do have some savings. It’s not enough to cover my debt, but it’s enough to help me move back home. I can pick up a job and live with my parents rent-free until I pay off the school. Then I’ll reapply next year. It’s the best decision. Staying here with all these memories would hurt too much.

  My thoughts are bitter. Look at how far I’ve come. I won’t graduate with honors. I won’t have a spot at the University of Chicago. I’ll just be Rebecca. Up to her eyeballs in debt, miserable Rebecca. But I’ll have my degree, eventually. And maybe tonight didn’t turn out as I had hoped, but starting now I’m going to walk a new, more honest path. For now, it’s enough. It has to be.

  I leave the financial aid office the next morning with a heavy heart, but it’s not as bad as I suspected. I have a six-month grace period to pay back the school before interest is charged to the principal balance. If I get a restaurant job close to my parents’ house, I’ll be able to pay it back after three or four months, depending on how tightly I budget. There’s not much to do in the small town outside of Chicago where I was born. It shouldn’t be too difficult.

  Surprisingly, Dr. Stevens is in her office when I stop by. She sits at her desk, typing away. The glow of the computer screen gives her face a washed-out appearance. I knock on the doorframe.

  Her eyes lift, followed by her eyebrows. “Rebecca. Did we have an appointment?”

  “No.” I curl my arms over my stomach, not looking forward to breaking the news to her. I don’t want to disappoint another person who believes in me. “It’s important though. Do you have a few minutes?”

  She glances at her watch. I’m fully prepared to beg for five minutes of her time. It’s not like the world will explode if she puts her emails on hold for five minutes. “I can spare a few.”

  I take a seat across from her desk.

  She straightens a stack of folders before turning her attention to me. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “It’s about my thesis.”

  Disapproval flits across her expression. “I thought we already discussed this during our last meeting. It’s far too late for you to change your topic. Graduation is next week.”

  “I know I can’t change my topic. I’m not here to talk about that.”

  “Oh.” Her shoulders relax. It really does wonders for her posture. “Good.”

  “I came here to tell you that I’m dropping my thesis.”

  She snaps to attention, blinking behind her wire-framed glasses. Incredibly, her mouth drops. I, Rebecca Peterson, have managed to shock Dr. Stevens into silence. It’s a heady feeling. “Excuse me?”

  “I came to you with concerns about going forward in my research, and you gave me a choice. But I realize now the choice I made wasn’t the right one, because it wasn’t me.” And it will never be me. Ever. “I realized that if I couldn’t publish something that was honest, something I could be proud of, then I wasn’t interested in graduating with honors.”

  Dr. Stevens folds her hands atop her desk like a lawyer in one of those crime shows right before they rip the perpetrator apart. I brace myself for the barrage of disapproval, the wasted potential, the disappointment. It’s nothing I haven’t heard from her before. Which is sad, the more I think about it. I guess I never realized how often Dr. Stevens dragged me down when I needed someone to lift me up. An advisor and mentor should inspire you, not plant doubt. “Let me get this straight. You’re willing to throw away months of work, the opportunity to study with some of the top sociology scholars in the world, over a boy?”

  Mitchell’s not just a boy. He’s the boy I love. But I can’t tell her that. She wouldn’t believe me anyway. Dr. Stevens isn’t someone who believes in love. She told me that once. She chose her career over love, and while I can respect that decision for herself, it’s not the decision for me. “Yes,” I say instead, and it’s amazing how completely free I feel in this moment, having zero desire to prove anything to anyone. “I guess I am saying that.”

  “You do realize what you’re doing, right? What you’re throwing away?”

  “Forgive me if this is too forward, but I’m a different person than I was at the beginning of the year. I guess I’m not willing to do whatever it takes to get what I want anymore, not if it doesn’t align with the morals I live by.”

  “So that’s it? You’re not going to do sociology at all?”

  “Oh, I definitely am.” I smile, feeling lighter already. “I plan on reapplying for the program next year. I think I’ll still have a chance at being accepted.”

  My advisor shakes her head, clearly at a loss. “I don’t understand, Miss Peterson. You have such a promising future. Such po
tential. It’s one of the reasons I agreed to oversee your thesis. It’s not often I see promise in someone so young, but I saw it in you.”

  “I know,” I whisper, my throat tightening. “And I’m sorry. I’m truly, very sorry for wasting your time.”

  “You won’t change your mind?”

  “No.” Maybe my path was different, but I’d figure things out like I had done my entire life. When I do get accepted into graduate school, I’ll reach a brighter, better place.

  Dr. Stevens dips her chin in a rare display of acceptance. “Then I wish you luck in whatever you do. Though I hope you know I believe you’re one of the rare ones.”

  Chapter 27

  mitchell

  You know who’s annoying as fuck? Meredith and McDreamy. On again and off again and on again and off again. One week things are near-perfect, and the next, someone throws a tire wrench into the mess, and suddenly they’re broken up. Again. I get whiplash from how many times they change their minds. If they just fucking talked to one another, communicated like fucking adults, maybe there wouldn’t be issues in the first place. Just a thought.

  But it’s television, not reality. My personal reality is my ass on this couch, a half-eaten, lukewarm pizza cooling on the coffee table. And another reality? I’m alone. The doctors of Seattle Grace keep me company during the day, but once the sky darkens and the air cools, I’m aware of the silence, the lack of touch from another, and my own beating heart. I lie awake in bed, and I ache for Rebecca. Her laughter, her body, her kindness, her wit.

  My sheets still smell like her.

  It’s driving me up a wall. I had to wash them last week because I couldn’t take it anymore. It wasn’t any use. They still retain the floral scent of the shampoo she uses, even after coming out of the dryer.