Rules Of The Game: Book 1

36; ... Or Maybe Not

𝙽𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟽𝚝𝚑, 𝚆𝚎𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢
Parkers POV

Crickets chirp in a loud symphony against the sound of traffic rolling up and down the road. A chilly breeze rolls off the ocean and twists through the streets on the coast, making the hair on my arms prickle. Long dark shadows scuff up against Griffin's sneakers, and my Nike slides as the sun lowers into the sea.

Griffin huffs, irked, as he stuffs his hands down into his sweatpants' pockets. "This cold weather can kiss my ass. I thought we lived in California, not Wisconsin."

I chuckle and lengthen my stride when I spot Miles' car parked next to Forrest's sedan on the other side of the lot. The diner is full tonight, probably full of people escaping the beach because of this sudden cold spell.

It's off-putting seeing all of the people milling around and talking loudly on the other side of the windows when the only noise out here is the crickets, ocean, and buzzing neon lights on the sign out front.

"I thought that it felt pretty good at practice. I'd rather be working in this cold weather than be melting my skin off," I say to Griffin and look over at him, eyeing his sweat-dried hair, oily skin, and matching goosebumped arms. "Are you sure that this wind isn't making your sweat freeze? That'll make you cold faster."

Griffin shoots me a side eye that could curdle milk. "Thanks for the insight, Bill Nye. I don't want to hear anything from the kid that was standing around at practice all night, occasionally throwing the ball. Us real men were busy running holes into the turf."

"Touchy," I mumble and scan the diner windows again as we approach the building. Hurried movement down at the corner of the building catches my eye, and I grin.

Miles and Rose have their faces pressed up to the window, desperately waving their hands as if they're stranded on an island, and finally see a rescue helicopter. The only difference is that they're smiling like crackheads. Forrest is hunched down in the booth, looking around obliviously as if he's not directly associated with our group. Comfortable heat rises in my belly when Miles blows me a kiss, and I return the favor to him.

Griffin gives them the middle finger before snagging open the door. "What a bunch of idiots," he grumbles. "I knew I should've gone home."

"C'mon man," I groan and make a wild grab for the door when Griffin lets go of the handle, and it flies back towards my face. "Lighten up. Let's live a little! One dinner together won't kill you."

Turning his head around, he looks at me with such a deadbeat expression that I can't help but laugh. He could make a thirteen year olds birthday party at Six Flags become a miserable time.

Mr. Pissy over here is quickly old news as I push past his shoulder to get to my boyfriend faster.

Yeah. My boyfriend. I said it, and I'm done overthinking it. Since the shockwave of this relationship has settled, I've bounced back to fully committing to this relationship faster than I ever thought possible.

In a weird sort of way, I find myself being more obsessed with Miles now than before. I think about only him when we're apart. During practice, homework, tests, breakfast, whatever. There's no part or essence of him that I stop missing.

When we're together, though? My world is recentered back to equilibrium. I'm my most centered and comfortable self around him.

And that's why I don't hesitate to jog down the aisle of booths and tables. Miles scoots out of the booth and stands up, the smile on his face infectious as he directs his hand toward the seat like a theater usher. His eyes are bright, pupils dilated as he takes me in as if we've been separated for months.