Resist Me

Chapter 15

Lincoln

That whole group had been staring at me, which was weird as hell. With four sets of eyes on me, I’d only found one interesting enough to stare back at. There was something about the way he’d been looking at me that made me hold his gaze longer. It was nuanced, just like I’d found him to be lately, and I wanted to peel it back layer by layer until I figured it out. Figured him out.

Then, he ran. I didn’t know why or if it had anything to do with me, but I wanted to know. I wanted to chase after him. And that was dangerous.

Whatever this game was that we were playing, I should probably shut it down now. If I didn’t, I worried this curiosity would grow into something more. I couldn’t let that happen. West was straight, so I couldn’t entertain even the barest hint of that.

But was he straight? He was flexible, according to what he’d said at my place a week ago. That didn’t necessarily mean anything. It was all dependent on if he happened to find himself attracted to someone. That was already a big ‘if’ and considering he didn’t like me, even as a person, the idea fizzled out before it had fully formed .

He was handsome. That didn’t mean much by itself, so it was possible I’d just been on my own for too long. A beautiful man was in my bed and revealed himself to be a puzzle. It just spoke to the toxic, red flag-seeking demon inside of me.

I met Brooks’ eyes and my brow furrowed. He was looking at me differently. Interest, yes, but also like there was a secret shared between us. It felt like he could glean everything I was thinking. Could he tell?

“I’ll see you guys later,” I said as I pushed off the wall. They all muttered their goodbyes and I strode toward the door, ignoring Brooks as I passed him.

There was a book I needed to get from the library, then I could go home. When I walked inside, the guy behind the desk, Diego, nodded at me. I returned it, but I didn’t want to get stuck in conversation, so I kept going.

I scanned the row I knew it should be in, humming softly as I did so. My finger landed on its spine and I slid it out. I couldn’t help but grimace when I looked at it. While I loved music, sometimes the study of it was boring and repetitive. It could also be difficult and I had to be grateful that I was done with football so I had more time to devote to classes.

I moved to the end of the aisle near the floor to ceiling windows. It had started to rain, as usual. There was something relaxing about this weather, though, and I found that I didn’t mind that it was gray so often.

Further down, tucked into a corner, there were a couple of cushioned chairs. I blinked a few times, trying to convince myself that I didn’t see West lounging in one of them. It was like I couldn’t escape the guy.

He had his feet on the edge of the seat with a notebook propped on his thighs. It didn’t look like a comfortable way to write, but he did sleep on his stomach, so he was clearly a lawless being.

I tucked the book under my arm and made my way over to him. When I sat in one of the other chairs, he barely glanced up.

“Why do you hate me?”

The hand holding his pencil stopped moving. “What does it matter?” He sounded frustrated by my question .

“I’m just curious. You’ve hated me from the moment we met, but you didn’t act like you hated me at my place.”

“You did something nice for me. I know how to be respectful if I need to be.”

“So, you do still hate me.”

“Duh.”

I wanted to convince myself that it wasn’t true, but I didn’t see the point in him lying about it. The rivalry never needed to exist, but especially not now that I was off the team. He was desperate to prove himself, to show me up. It was a ridiculous reason not to like someone. You could be competitive with friends.

“I’m not up for a cuddling session right now,” he said. “But maybe after I finish this paper.”

“Funny. If I wanted to cuddle, I would’ve done it while you were half-naked in my bed.”

He paused again. “I know I look damn good without a shirt on. It’s a miracle you were able to resist.”

“You’re not my type, remember?”

“Mm.”

“How’s the roach situation?”

“They still scatter when I turn on a light in the kitchen, so how do you think?”

“I’m guessing that means you haven’t been sleeping again.”

“If I take, like, five melatonin, I can get a good few hours in.”

That didn’t sound healthy, but I was sure he didn’t need me to tell him that. He’d just think I was being condescending and it would fuel his perceived feud with me.

“I know a few things about pest control,” I ventured.

“That’s a weird thing to know about. Did you live in a rat-infested home growing up?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “No, my grandparents own a pest control company.”

“That’s random.”

“It’s a big business, especially in the south. Anyway, I might be able to help out. It could do some good until you actually get a real company in there.”

“Linc, we’re not friends.”

“I didn’t say that we were. ”

He looked at me over the notebook. Anything I might’ve seen in his eyes in the cafeteria was gone, replaced by a coldness that attempted to chill my bones. When he leaned forward, perching his elbows on his knees, I matched his position.

“I’ve been wondering something,” he said. “Why’d you fake spraining your ankle?”

My body went rigid. I maintained eye contact, too worried that he’d see my guilt if I looked away. There was no point denying it, so I shrugged.

“I didn’t feel like playing the last game.”

“No. I think you knew I’d be screwed going up against that team. I wasn’t ready and you didn’t try to prepare me. You wanted me to fail.”

This time, I dropped my gaze. “I didn’t want you to get hurt like that.”

He leaned back and started moving his pencil over the paper. “You can stop feeling guilty. We’re cool.”

“I’m not being nice to you because I feel guilty.”

“I don’t care, Linc. I legitimately do not care and I’m not looking for new friends. Since the start of the season, I’ve been waiting for the day I never had to talk to you again, so if we could skip to that part, that would be grand.”

Getting to my feet, I let out a frustrated breath. I stared down at him, willing him to look at me. It pissed me off more that he was ignoring me.

“Maybe you should get out of your own way,” I suggested coldly. “Learn from those who came before you instead of trying to outshine them. It might save you from making the mistakes we had to learn the hard way.”

He offered me a wave, just a small wag of his fingers.

“Arrogant asshole,” I muttered. After I’d taken a few steps, I turned back around. “I didn’t just put you in the game. Drake took you down all night because of me.”

Icy blue eyes met mine. They would’ve frozen me in place if I wasn’t hot with my own anger. Painting on a smug smile, I left him there.

Now that he had a legitimate reason to hate me, it would be easier to avoid him. I wouldn’t get invited to gatherings at their apartment and I’d have no trouble passing by him if he decided to sleep on a bench again. The guilt faded away after my admission, freeing me from any further obligation to him.

Good riddance. I had a composition to study and, with a little luck, I’d manage to play it with a new level of fluidity.

*****

As my fingers moved across the keys, I ignored everything else around me. I heard the music, but I also felt it somewhere deep in my bones. Even while I looked at the sheet in front of me, it was like I was barely registering it. I’d been through this composition so many times over the weekend that I was almost confident in playing it without a reference.

My teeth rolled over my tongue in concentration and my body swayed slightly. When I was younger, I asked my mom why she moved so much while she was playing and she told me that it was the soul of the music traveling through her, using her body as a conduit, and she was just the vessel. That was bullshit, but I liked the idea now.

There was a hell of a lot more to playing, but it really did make a difference when you felt it. I’d been playing since before I could speak. Recognizing a note sometimes came quicker than registering the words that came out of someone’s mouth. I was in the music as much as it was in me and, if I wanted to get super sentimental, I could imagine that every note carried a tune my parents once played. When I was lost in the midst of a composition, they were still alive.

When I finished, my fingers remained on the keys for another few moments as I caught my breath. I wasn’t exerted, but putting your soul into a piece sometimes had a way of making you emotional.

“I’m impressed,” Mickey said, coming around to lean against the piano.

Mickey was one of the professors within the music department. He taught music theory among other things and he was considered the expert when it came to piano. He could also kill it on violin, which wasn’t my favorite instrument, but if someone put one in my hand, I’d show them what I was made of.

“La Campanella isn’t an easy one to master,” he went on. “Although, I’m not surprised. You’ve never disappointed in the past.”

“What can I say? I’m a musical prodigy. ”

He chuckled. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The tempo in the middle gets a little muddled. I think you’re getting lost in your head. You pull yourself out, but you have to stay with it consistently.”

Biting my lip, I nodded. Sometimes, it felt like no time passed at all while I played through a song but other times, I could feel the minutes drag on. I was lost in it a bit ago, but apparently, not enough.

“I have over a month to perfect it,” I said, getting to my feet.

“You know, you don’t have to play this composition. Your admission to the program is all but guaranteed already. Even if you do play it, you’ll impress them with what I just heard.”

With a tight-lipped smile, I shoved the book into my backpack. “Can Professor Rusch play it?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m going to knock his fucking socks off.”

Mickey laughed. “Alright, Lincoln. Practice it every day. When you think you’ve got it, record it, and listen to it critically. But don’t be so hard on yourself that you stop feeling it, yeah? Once it becomes a chore, that lack of passion can be heard by anyone with an ear for it.”

“Thanks. See you tomorrow.”

I left the room feeling somewhere in the middle of discouraged and hopeful. Not for the first time, I wondered if it had been a mistake to play football for so long. It took hours of my time, which could have been focused on fucking La Campanella. When I thought about it, though, I didn’t regret what I’d done up to this point. If I’d been only focused on music, I might have devoted too much of myself to it and lost sight of the other areas in my life.

Getting into this program was the most important thing and, like Mickey said, I likely wouldn’t have any issue accomplishing that. The way it happened was what I wanted control over. This wasn’t about impressing Professor Rusch or Mickey so much as it was about proving something to myself.

My mom could play anything. She lived and breathed music her whole life, but she’d always made sure that I knew my future was my own. My parents met in college through their love of music and, truthfully, I’d never wanted to do anything else. To me, if I could get into this program through my mastery of this particular composition, I’d be worthy of the future they envisioned for me. The degree led to a job, but it was also my link to them. And I knew they’d be proud. I just needed to find a way to be proud of myself too.