How can it be when I already feel that way about someone else?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Colton
“Dude, what the hell is up with you?” Beck mutters, barely glancing away from the seventy-inch television and the campaign he’s intent on winning.
“Nothing.” I swing around, pacing to the other side of the living room.
He snorts but stays laser-focused on the video game unfolding on the screen. Gunfire erupts from the surround sound in a burst of noise. “Whatever you say, man. Just remember that we have practice today at three.”
Fuck.
My head is much too full of Alyssa and the British prick that came out of nowhere for me to concentrate on anything else. I might as well plant my ass on the bench now because it’s doubtful I’ll see the playing field anytime soon.
Here’s the way I see my day unfolding—I’ll stew about Alyssa for a couple of hours, head to practice, more than likely fumble a few plays, get my ass chewed out again by coach, and end it all by berating myself for letting go of the one girl I ever cared about.
I drag my fingers through my hair.
It’s been more than twenty-four hours since that dude showed up at her door. After dumping the coffee I’d picked up Sunday morning in the trash can, I’d paced a hole in the floor the rest of the day, all the while considering the merits of stalking over and laying claim to her.
Except...she’s not really mine.
When it comes down to it, I have no right to question what she does or who she spends time with. I lost that privilege when I broke up with her. For all I know, she had a relationship with this guy while in London. That thought is enough to make me want to slam my fist through the wall.
And do you think I slept one damn wink last night?
Of course I didn’t.
All I could think about was the two of them in bed together. His hands on her body. Touching her the way I used to.
“Can you sit your ass down for five minutes? You’re really throwing off my game.”
I glance out the slider door. The skies are a dark leaden gray. I’m no meteorologist, but my guess is that it’ll pour any moment. “I’m going for a walk.”
“Excellent idea.” He shakes his head. “And they say that I’m the one with ADHD.”
Not bothering with a response, I swipe my keys off the breakfast bar and stride out of the apartment, slamming the door closed behind me. Emotion continues to pound through my veins. I don’t like it. I don’t like feeling out of control. Now that I’ve actually made some headway with Alyssa, it feels so much worse to have it all ripped away.
As I stalk through the narrow hallway, I grind to a halt in front of her closed apartment door. My hands tighten into fists that hang uselessly at my sides.
You know what?
I need answers. Maybe I don’t deserve them, and I have no right to them, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try and figure out what’s going on between these two and where that leaves me.
Is this guy a friend?
Or more?
How long is he in town for?
And where the hell did he crash last night?
It damn well better not have been where I slept the night before. That’s all I got to say. Or we won’t have to worry about him. The guy will be dead. With those thoughts crashing through my head, I straighten my shoulders and raise my fist. Before my knuckles can make contact, the door is yanked open, and Alyssa stands on the other side.
“Oh!” she says in surprise, falling back a step. It’s difficult to tell who is more taken aback by my unexpected arrival on the scene. Although, I’m thinking that it’s probably her. “Colton.” Confusion flickers across her face. “What are you doing here?”
That’s an excellent question. Since I hadn’t gotten that far in my thought process, I’m forced to pull something believable out of my ass. It’s not like I can just stomp over and demand answers. Well...maybe I could. But I won’t. I don’t see that approach playing out well for me in the end. “I was just wondering if you were heading to class.”
“No, I’m skipping today and driving Jack to the airport.”
Jack—or as I like to call him, the British prick—wheels his suitcase into the entryway and proceeds to stand entirely too close to Alyssa. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him to back the fuck off.
Before I can snap out the demand, her words replay in my head.
He’s leaving.
My brows shoot up as relief rushes through me. “Don’t skip class. I’ve got a couple of hours to kill before practice. I’ll drop him off.”
Alyssa blinks, clearly bewildered by the offer. It’s on the tip of her tongue to argue. “Umm—”