Rules Of The Game: Book 1

14; Long Gone Memories

𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟾𝚝𝚑, 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚢
Miles POV

Although it's been three days since I was nearly black-out drunk at Turner's party, I can still feel Parker's body under my hands, the skin of his neck against my lips.

I'm not proud to have treated him like that while running on a joint and a gallon of liquor, but I am still riding the high of how he reacted. Some of the words he spoke to me are still swimming in my brain.

I bet you've been dreaming about having me on your lap. Where do you recommend we start?

My heart clenches as if Parker physically squeezed it himself. Was that even the same boy I'd had my eyes on all these weeks? I only remember a soft-spoken, calculated, blushing boy, not the confident athlete that arced his spine under my touch.

"Holt! Laps, now!" O'Conor blows his whistle in a quick, sharp note that makes me flinch.

"Yes, sir!" In return, I salute mockingly, gaining the gym teacher's stink eye. If I were to make an educated guess, I would scratch him down under racist.

Breaking into a jog, I take off after the group of running students. My tennis shoes slap against the hardwood floor as I lengthen my stride, passing the walking, gossiping girls who must have slipped under O'Conors radar.

Now that I'm distracted, it's easier to forget the Parker issue I have going on.

Okay, maybe not. That boy is going to be the death of me.

First, he blatantly ignores all my dropped signals and refuses my flirtatious shots. Next, I watch him partially make out with some chick. The next few days after that, he gets weird with her too. Then he's inviting me to these parties, and suddenly I'm back at arms-length getting chewed out by his scary cousin.

This is the real kicker and the one I've been hung up on all weekend long: One night later, he's moaning in my ear.

I've walked into jails and talked to more mentally stable people than Parker.

Even after all this shit, I haven't been able to shake the feeling that there's something there. Maybe.

Or maybe it's my hormones talking because next time, I wouldn't mind taking things a little further. Just the thought makes me feel hot and bothered.

"What's up, Kilometers?"

I look over to my side at the voice and swallow as my eyes fall on dark brown hair. It's not black hair, so I know it's not Parker.

Griffin.

"Not much, man." I keep my sentence short, too nervous to make a joke about the shitty nickname or ask a question back at him. Ever since our little "chat" at the football game a few nights ago, I didn't think Griffin would be coming near me to make pleasant conversation.

At least, not without cornering me in an alley with a gun first. My eyes instinctively drop to his pockets.

"Nice. How was your weekend?" He eyes me darkly. There it is.

Suddenly a thought dawns on me.

Does he... know?