Living With The Player

**CAMILLA RENÉE**

SATURDAY.

CAL-U.

For the past eight months, I’ve made a schedule for my weekends. It rotates like clockwork and it never declines. I wake up, dump all my dirty clothes into the washer, set it to wash and dry then return to my room, set a one hour alarm to return and pick it all up then dive straight into the day’s activities which include but aren’t limited to-snacks, movies, and a soft bed with silk sheets.

You’d think being in college makes an old dog learn new tricks, yes I realise I’m calling myself a dog, it’s more of a reference. Anyway, being in college changes nothing.

I usually jumpstart the day by binge-watching on Friday night, which got hijacked by Miranda.

Granted, that caused a lot of other events to unfold. I can’t help but scold myself. If I resisted further and stayed inside, none of those terrible things would’ve occurred.

Not things. Thing. Dylan fucking Emerton thing.

Jimmy’s kiss. Twice. That wasn’t bad. I was enjoying the date. I was happy. I laughed.

Notice a pattern? They’re all in the past tense because the second he showed up being husky, sexy, taller, more manly all at once. Fuck my life. *Fuck*

“Why do you seem like you’re about to throw up?”

Miranda’s voice jolts me out of my thoughts while I set up my iPad at the edge of my bed.

I can’t have TVs, but I bought this as an alternative.

“Nothing.”

I scowl, then turn away.

She’s clad in short pants and a crop top. She looks freshly bathed. The stench of alcohol is gone, seeing as she stumbled into the room at six am half drunk, half partying in her mind.

She was going on about spilling details on Jimmy and I. Wait till I tell her about the other elephant in the room-I don’t.

If I keep whispering things about Dylan and his return, I’ll give life to it. Meaning and all that shit. I don’t want that.

What were my exact words during graduation? *Dylan Emerton is a part of my past. He should stay that way.*

My brain agrees, but my body. Fuck it. It doesn’t listen to reason. It refuses to see history on the road to repeating itself.

It vibrates at the most tiny brush with him, the Knott n my chest tightens, and my core aches. I haven’t had sex in almost two years.

Yes. It’s been that long. Dylan and I got close.

I wince at the distant memory.

*His hand connected with the punching bag. Both of us landed on the bed. His fingers skimmed through my body. *

I blink back twice to escape it all. It seemed like ages ago when we lived barely three doors apart. That’s in the past. I’m in college. None of that matters. He does not matter.

Even I have to chant it like a fucking mantra every day, I fucking will.

“So how was Jimmy? I purposely kept away all night to give both of you privacy, or did you go over to his place?”

I cringe in disgust. Half for Miranda’s words, the other half in remembrance of mine. I actually suggested going over.

“Neither. He dropped me over and that’s it. Although we kissed twice.”

I let out. If I don’t give her something, she’ll tug at my resolve until I let Dylan slip. It’s hypocritical though. I yelled at her for keeping a boyfriend-my ex from me, here I am keeping…

I scoff while pausing.

Dylan and I didn’t have a label. How ironic.

“Was it good?”

I bite back a smile. Jimmy’s a good kisser. An expert.

I bob my head and she squeals.

I turn my gaze away and focus on connecting the iPad with my streaming subscription.

I need to catch up on the latest episode of the Witcher. Geralt is that bitch.

“So, did he ask you out yet?”

I choke on a laugh.

“No, he didn’t. We went on one date. He would not pop the question.”

I revert and giggle.

“Ugh. If he did, you’d say yes, right?”

She nudges my elbow now, sitting on my bed. Again, my best friend cares less about my personal space.

“I don’t know. Jimmy is okay.”

“Okay? He’s perfect. What more do you want?”

The question lingers, and I throw it back to myself.

What else do I want?

*Dylan.*

A faint voice brushes against my mind. I half gasp. I wasn’t thinking about that?

Oh my. I was. It’s why I’ve been comparing both of them all week. I’m such a loser.

“You mind filling me in on what you’re thinking about?”

I shake my head in negation.

“It’s nothing. I guess I’ll figure out what to tell Jimmy when he asks me.”

I smile and pick up my headphones.

From the corner, I see a crack in Miranda’s lips. She’s smiling. That’s not a good thing. It means she’s plotting as well.

Luckily, she bounces off the bed and returns to hers, leaving me with enough time to binge-watch the last five episodes I missed.

****

It’s past five pm and I’m merely done with the series “scandal”. It’s appalling how a woman can have many men at her feet. That’s who I want to be. Olivia Pope is the *it* girl.

I finish through the second season, and my iPad gives me a battery warning. I plug it in, then log out and grab my phone.

It’s been over twelve hours of no contact from anyone, and it’s weirdly satisfying. Miranda left a little after noon to have lunch with *inserts word* a friend.

I check all social media, landing on WhatsApp which already has a group for the psychology major. I save a few of my course mates’ numbers and log off when a notification from Jimmy gets me back in.

“You actually know social media? Who are you, and what have you done with Camilla?”

It causes a surge of a laugh within me.

“Yes, I know WhatsApp.”

I reply. Keep it simple. Should scare him off.

“Let me guess, you spent the entire day doing something introverted and decided it was time to pick up where you left with us humans?”

I chortle at his accurate analysis. He will make an excellent psychologist.

“Jimmy-1, Camilla-0”

He responds with two laughing emojis and I’m about to sign out again when I see the typing emoji pop up at the top.

Ugh. Not done yet.

“You can make that score even anytime.”

I gulp down and a blush creeps swiftly to my cheeks.

It’s a cryptic message, but I’m smart enough to know what he means.

“How so?”

I play dumb and send it right back.

“I can’t explain it over text. Give me a second date and I’ll teach you.”

I freeze. The temperature has gone up a bit in here.

“I’ll consider it.”

I quip. He reads it back almost immediately and begins typing.

“Too late. I’m almost at your door.”

My eyes grow wider and I re-read it twice. Two points to Jimmy. That’s bold. Daring. And hot.

Fuck. I look down at my loose gown. It’s a Saturday. I wasn’t expecting company. I toss it off immediately and reach for shorts and a top, mirroring Miranda’s look for some awkward reason.

I pick up my phone after leaving Jimmy on read and begin typing some crazy reply like *like hell you are*

Play dumb, although I know he could very well be marching up here.

That’s when I hear a knock at the door.

*Too late.*Content held by NôvelDrama.Org.

He’s here already.

Crawling towards my front door, I put on my best smile and click the doorknob, pushing it wide open.

But bloody hell does it migrate into a scowl once I meet the face on the other side, ergo it’s definitely not Jimmy.

“Expecting someone else?”

Dylan whispers, not so subtly checking me out and his eyes locking in on my bare legs.

I knock my knees together to stop the spread of heat and the fucker smirks.

Looking over his shoulder, I sight the elevator ding. Jimmy strolls out and, in a split second with no form of reasoning at all, I tug Dylan right into my dorm and slam the door.

*Why the fuck did I just do that?*

******

*Author’s Note*

*Thoughts!!? I’m excited to hear every and all of them!!! Please drop as many comments as you’d like.*