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Baffled, I blink at him. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, I knew you worked here.” Without giving me time to form a complete thought, much less a response, Creed turns and heads for the door.
I don’t move an inch while I watch him leave the store. My mind is trying to decipher some sort of meaning in what he’d just said. Why does it feel like he was saying more than simply acknowledging that somehow he’d found out where I work? And why hadn’t he gone to a different store then? The more I think about his trip here, the more bewildered I get which then morphs into agitation. Or rathermoreagitation than I already felt.
Several minutes later I’m frustrated, borderline furious, as I continue to stare at the door where Creed had walked out. Last week he’d shown up in the quad, conveniently at the same time on the same day of the week I regularly pass through it. Then he walks into a party he’d never normally attend. And a week later, he happens to show up where he knows I work? It’s hard to believe it’s all a giant coincidence. I’m not buying it. I don’t know what his game is, but I feel like I’m being toyed with. Taunted maybe. That sort of thing isn’t the Creed I know. But these days I’m not sure I know him at all.
I eye the time on the register. I’m off work in fifteen minutes, and I make up my mind on the spot that the second I punch out, I’m hunting him down and demanding answers. Why is he suddenly in my orbit? Why do I feel like there are things he’s not saying? I have so many questions, and unfortunately the asshole who just left my store is the only one able to shed any light on the truth.
The next quarter of an hour feel like an interminable stretch of time, so when the clock finally hits six and no customers are loitering around in the store, I beeline for the front door. After I flip the lock and pull the chain to switch off the open sign, my manager strolls through the employee room door.
He’s tall and slim, wearing a matching uniform to mine. His salt and pepper hair is in disarray as if he’s been running his hands through it, and he flashes me a tired smile. “You in a hurry to get out of here tonight?”
My eagerness to leave must be apparent, so I don’t bother lying. “I have somewhere I need to be. Do you need any help before I go?”Please say no.
He shakes his head. “I’m all set here. Take care of what you need to, and I’ll see you Monday afternoon. Enjoy your weekend.”
I breathe out a sigh of relief as I head for the breakroom and snatch my things out of my locker.
Freshman athletes are required to stay in the campus dorms for the first year, and I don’t give myself an opportunity to second guess confronting Creed before I hop into my car and make the short drive back to campus.
When I pull into the parking lot closest to his building, I scan the rows of vehicles, searching for his lifted black beast of a truck. It’s easy to spot, and I glare at it as if he’ll be able to feel it. I’m assuming he’s home. If not, I’ll find another way to hunt him down. Social media seems to track his every move. While I usually find that annoying because it makes it too tempting to see what he’s up to, tonight I’m not afraid to use the tool to help locate him. I have one goal—find Creed and get some sort of understanding about why he’s always around after an entire year of avoidance.
I pull into an empty parking space and step out of my car, shut the door, and click the key fob to lock it up. As I approach the dorm building, my heart begins pounding in my chest. I’m angry, but I’m also nervous. There is no telling what Creed will say, if he even bothers to answer my questions at all. But enough is enough. I’m not going to continue playing whatever game this is. There’s a strong possibility he’s going to destroy me emotionally—moreso than he already has—but maybe that’s what I need to finally move forward with my life. One way or another, things are getting settled.
While I know what building Creed lives in, it doesn’t occur to me until I step inside the lobby that I actually don’t know what room is his. I stand just inside the room while I consider how to handle the obstacle. I could just call him, but there’s a chance he won’t answer. He’d done many times when I’d called and texted after the journal incident. I don’t think he would shut the door in my face if I show up to his room though. There are several guys sitting around the main floor on couches staring at a TV mounted on the wall that’s showing some stupid cartoon comedy. I make the decision to just ask them. What could it hurt?
I still feel awkward as I approach the group. One guy notices me first and offers a chin nod. “Sup?”
I clear my throat as they all seem to turn as one and eye me curiously. I obviously do not belong with the gathering of jocks seated in the room. I focus on the guy who greeted me. “I’m actually looking for Creed. Could you point me to his room?”
He studies me with pale blue eyes that narrow in consideration as he scans me head to toe. He must find me non-threatening, a fact I try not to take offense to, because he finally shrugs. “Okay. Second floor. Room 203, I think. Second door on the left.”
I don’t hang around for any of them to question me. I take off toward the stairs, hoping to avoid running into anyone else. After climbing the steps and finding room 203, I immediately knock on the door because I don’t want to chicken out.
When I hear footsteps on the other side, anxiety swirls in my stomach, but I force myself to stand my ground. The door swings open, and Creed’s eyebrows jerk upward, disappearing beneath his fringe of black hair. “Jake.”
He’s clearly surprised to see me. Good. It’s my turn to catch him unprepared, and I’m hoping that won’t give him a chance to come up with any bullshit excuses for any of his sudden appearances lately.
“Creed,” I reply, but my tone holds an edge his didn’t.
The shock seems to wear off as he leans against the doorframe. “You keeping tabs on my dorm situation?”
I roll my eyes. “Like you haven’t been doing the same thing. You were the one who showed up at my work and left with some dramaticyes.” I do my best to mimic his deep raspy voice.
Creed folds his arms over his chest, eyebrows drawn together. “I don’t sound like that. Do I?”
“Sure do, or close enough.” I glance into his room around his sides, and I’m relieved when I don’t see any trace of his roommate. “You letting me in or what? We need to talk.”
Creed runs his fingers through his hair and takes a step back, moving aside before sweeping an arm toward the room. “Of course. Come in.”
Now that this discussion is really going to happen, my anxiety spikes once again. I take a deep breath to steady my nerves and step inside.
Creed closes the door, and I look around his space for the first time. His half of the living quarters reminds me of his room back home. A tidy disaster is the only way I can think to describe the area.
His bed is made with a purple and gold Tigers comforter, but the pillows for some reason seem to have just been tossed on the extra-long twin sized bed. A laptop sits perfectly squared on his desk next to a jar full of mix and match pens, most of which are missing their caps. A half-empty water bottle and a power bar wrapper are on his nightstand, despite the small trash can only inches away. My nose wrinkles at the smell of sweaty workout clothes coming from an overflowing basket, but there’s not a single dirty sock on the floor. Over the bed, a large poster of the team mascot Tiger is tacked to the wall, but it doesn’t even appear Creed made any attempt to make it level. What surprises me is the lack of noise. It’s quieter than I would have expected in a building full of students, most of who are jocks.
“Do you want a water?” Creed asks.
