Rules Of The Game: Book 1

27; Excuses, Excuses

𝙽𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝚗𝚍, 𝚃𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢
Miles POV

Something, or someone, kicks me in the shin and pulls me out of deep sleep.

I inhale deeply and groan as I shift. The bed creaks, and the body pressed against me stirs.

Someone pressed against me stirs.

My eyes crack open, and I blink against the hazy sunlight trying to peek past the curtains. The shelf of football trophies on the far wall is dimly illuminated by the sun, and I blink as the night comes back to me.

Instead of my memory being murky from alcohol and substance abuse, it's crystal clear this morning. I can recall every last detail, from the smell of lake water to using one of Parker's towels and even getting down and dirty with him.

Actually, that last bit might've been a dream. I couldn't believe my luck then, and I still can't believe it now as Parker nestles closer to me.

His breaths are deep and peaceful. We must've pieced together at some point during the night because I don't remember falling asleep with the length of his body spooned to me.

Parker is curled up, his head resting on the mattress. With each inhale, his back presses into my chest, and he made himself real comfortable against my hips.

I bite my cheek and close my eyes as I appreciate this moment of peace. My fingers stroke over Parker's dark swathe of hair as I gently pull the strands away from his face.

God, I curse to myself. I knew I shouldn't have let things go so far last night.

This great memory will be torturous if Parker decides not to follow through with coming out. All of this, everything that's happened over the past twelve hours, the past week-- hell, even the past month-- will have been for nothing.

I like to tell myself that I could get over Parker as I have with the rest, except he is different.

It's been a long time since I've met someone who completes me and challenges me so perfectly without fail every day. I don't want to wait another few decades for my next kindred spirit to come along.

A phone buzzing in the sheets throws me out of my pondering.

Gritting my teeth, I take my hand out of Parker's hair and gingerly peel myself away from him. I must've knocked him around good last night because he doesn't even wake up; all he does is sigh and sleepily stretch, the bottom of his foot running down my leg.

I knock my hand behind my head before successfully bumping into my phone. Scooting it closer, I grab it and hold it in front of my face, squinting and blinking at the bright screen.

Notifications are piled up at the bottom. A few recent text message notifications are at the top and also the culprit of the buzzing.

Turner (4): dude where the fuck are you?

Where am I... My gaze flicks up to the time.

"Oh shit," I whisper to myself.

It's eight'o'ten. I'm usually at school by now because it fucking starts in twenty minutes.