Page 89 of Game Plan

I couldn’t let myself be weak when it came to him, or else I would say screw it and jump headfirst into a relationship that could either empower me or break me.

I stopped and breathed in when I realized we had arrived at my dorm. When I checked over my shoulder, Mason had disappeared. All that was left of him was the echo of his accusations.

Then his words replayed in my mind, and I melted inside, remembering how he had always been good at reading me.

I see the longing in your eyes. Why can’t you admit you love me too?

How could he tell better than I did what I truly craved in secret?

23

Playing hot dog with you should be a favorite thing of mine too

“Are you staying here?” Cassidy moved to her feet, shoving her textbooks into her bag. “I have a meeting with my professor at four. I was thinking of grabbing food at the dining hall on my way back to the dorms and eating in our room. A night in would feel amazing tonight.”

“Yes, I would kill for a night in. I work at five thirty, though. Text me when you’re ready. I’ll meet you, and we can grab dinner and walk back together. In the meantime, I’ll stay here. I wanna finish the research for that paper I gotta write. Since it involves old and obsolete methods of communication, it’s easier to work from the library than from our room. I need all this.” I gestured around with a hand. “It’s much more fun than browsing the internet. It feels too technological for the theme of the essay anyway.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

She tucked her chair under the table, hauled her book bag over her shoulder, and left. I followed her with my eyes until she exited by the main entrance.

Crestwood University’s library was a three-story building. The first floor housed a huge selection of fiction and non-fiction titles. There were a dozen tables for students to sit and work, and a checkout desk with computer stations that spanned an entire wall. On the second floor, there were more nonfiction titles, plus ten study rooms students could rent—either for complete peace and quiet or for group projects. The third floor featured shelves filled with rare books and magazines, a few single tables lined up against a panoramic window overlooking the campus grounds, and two black leather couches. The rumor said they had added the magazines and couches two years ago to attract more students to study up there after too many people got caught having sex between the bookstacks. Not that I’d seen any, but I’d heard the stories.

I surveyed my notes. Smoke signals, clay tablets, telegraphs, semaphore signaling, postcards. There were so many options I could choose from but was only allowed two, and most of them didn’t appeal to me. After much consideration, I decided on town criers and rotary phones. Rotary phones weren’t that old because I remembered my grandparents having one when I was a kid. It was powder blue, and I thought it looked pretty cool back then. I loved calling my parents using it whenever I stayed over.

The last part of the essay I had to write consisted of finding a use for these methods of communication in today’s world. I thought town criers would be a fun topic to tackle since it wasn’t something you could imagine encountering nowadays.

The library used computer-based catalogs to index books, but they still had card catalogs on the third floor. I loved using those because they looked super old-school, and I felt they fit the topic of my assignment perfectly. Skipping the digital filing system felt like a no-brainer.

Gathering my stuff, I made my way up the large semi-circular staircase.

With dark wooden walls, carpeted floor, and dim lights, the library resembled something from the early 20th century, the kind you’d find at an Ivy League university. It smelled of old leather books and dust. For some reason, it soothed me when I studied here even though I barely ever visited.

I dropped my stuff on the fourth table facing the large window. Nobody else appeared to be up here, so I had the entire floor to myself. Taking my sweet time, I browsed through the catalog for books that could help me with my research, taking notes on a loose sheet of paper.

I was almost done when I heard a low, “Fuck. Not like that. I don’t wanna get caught, so keep your mouth shut. Or rather full. Get down on your knees.”

Oh no, I wasn’t alone anymore. People were here, about to get down on each other mere feet behind me. My face twisted in a grimace. I didn’t wanna be here anymore. I shouldn’t be a witness to other people having sex. Gosh, it was bad. I had to bolt from here and fast. I would use the computer-based catalog on the second floor instead. To hell with going old-school. Technology would work better and be much faster. I eyed my bag that I had left across the room. To get it, I would need to walk past all the bookstacks. My only other option was to stay put, but I refused to be here for whatever happened next because I’d no doubt be traumatized for life. Back in high school, during junior year, a girl had been caught giving head to a guy behind the bleachers. I had missed it, but a lot of students had witnessed the scene. The details had been enough to scare me about voyeurism for a lifetime. I didn’t wish to live this experience firsthand.

Tiptoeing, I made my way toward the tables, holding my breath just in case.

“Oh God. Yes, like that. Keep going.”

Panting sounds filled the space.

My gag reflex engaged.

I kept my glance down to avoid making eye contact.

“Deeper.”

Please, aliens, if you are hearing me, snatch me up now.

A baritone voice boomed from my left, and I froze on the spot. “Hey you, what are you doing? We didn’t sell tickets for a front-row seat to the show. Get the hell out of here.”

I knew I shouldn’t look, but I failed. Two brown irises fixated on me.

A guy was standing, his pants billowing around his ankles and his fingers tangled in the mass of brown hair of the guy kneeling before him. His other hand was positioned under his nose, a line of white powder streaking his forefinger.