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I snort, annoyed. I sendIf that’s how you want to define me wanting to spend time with youback. I wait, but she doesn’t reply. I’m not really surprised. I half-regret the hasty words, but they’re true.
I’ve never pitied Maeve Stevens. Sure, I relate to the strained relationship she has with her father. I think it’s unfair no one pays attention to her athletic prowess and heaps attention on her brother. Which I get is hypocritical, coming from me.
But the past few weeks of playing soccer, going for runs, talking, and throwing the football to her had nothing to do with any of that.
The girl I can’t stop thinking about thinks I spend time with her out of pity and is about to spend a week hundreds of miles away with a guy she could actually date.
And Charlie thinks I’m a chick magnet. If he only knew.
CHAPTEREIGHT
MAEVE
As someone who routinely gets up at six AM, I’m surprised by how unwilling my body is to climb out of bed this morning. Of course, it’s likely due to the fact that I spent most of the night tossing and turning.
I hold up my phone to turn off the alarm that’s blaring, and the sight of my face unlocks the screen, revealing the words I fell asleep reading over and over again.
If that’s how you want to define me wanting to spend time with you.
I’m annoyed with myself for getting defensive and insecure, and I’m annoyed with Wes for having the perfect response. Most of all, I’m frustrated I’ll be stuck with the lingering awkwardness of his last message for an entire week.
A loud banging sounds on my door. “Maeve, you up?” my mother calls.
“Yeah,” I croak back.
“Okay, we’re leaving in twenty minutes.”
“Okay,” I call back, rolling out of bed and almost landing in a heap on the floor when my ankle gets caught in the sheets. I manage to regain my balance before I fully topple, hopping on one leg until I twist myself free.
I rush around my room in a whirlwind, doing everything I should have taken care of last night instead of over-analyzing fourteen words.
Finally, I finish packing and change out of my pajamas into a pair of athletic shorts. After a minute of hesitation, I pull the latest addition to my wardrobe on over the tank top I slept in.
Wes offered me his sweatshirt in the park on an unseasonably chilly night a couple of weeks ago, and I’ve conveniently forgotten to return it to him ever since. As soon as the soft material settles around my torso, I’m surrounded by the musky scent of cedar and bergamot.
I grab my bulging duffle bag and head downstairs. Liam’s best friend, Matt Crawford, is standing on our front lawn when I emerge outside. His own duffle bag is laying by his feet as he types something on his phone.
“Hey, Maeve,” he greets when he spots me.
“Hi, Matt.” I yawn as I toss my bag in the back of my father’s SUV.
“You have everything, Maeve?” my father asks, rounding the side of the car.
“Yes, Dad.”
“Good.” He nods. “Liam! Susan! We’re two minutes behind schedule!”
I open the passenger side door and slide the chair forward so I can climb in the way back. I have no interest in spending the next thirteen hours squished between two burly football players. I buckle my seatbelt and stretch my legs out along the full length of the leather seat, hoping to catch up on some of the sleep that evaded me last night.
Doors slam as my parents, Liam, and Matt all settle in the car as well.
“You packed everything I told you to, right Liam?” my father questions. “We can’t afford to lose any training time this week.”
“I have it all, Dad.”
The car begins to move. I plug in my headphones and try to fall asleep.
I must doze off eventually, because the next time I open my eyes, we’re at a rest stop halfway through Virginia. Everyone disembarks to use the restroom and grab snacks. I’m the third one back to the car; Matt and Liam are already standing next to it when I return. I lean against the glossy paint and scroll through my phone as they talk.
