Player History 101 [Flashback]

Player History 101 [Flashback]
I stepped out of my room with damp hair, the ends clinging to my shoulders. My college clothes had been swapped for gray cotton shorts and a loose T-shirt that felt a hundred times more comfortable.
The second I walked into the living room, the sight hit me.
Reagan had made himself comfortable, way too comfortable, on my couch. His leather jacket was tossed over the backrest like it had been there for hours, and he was wearing only a fitted black T-shirt that hugged every inch of his chest and arms like it was custom-made to show off.
Resting on his lap was a small plate. The contents? The last piece of flan I’d made yesterday with Ruan and Dominic at my family’s villa, the piece I’d been saving in the fridge.
He scooped a bite of the soft dessert into his mouth without a care in the world, eyes on the TV playing some faded old classic, like he’d been invited to a movie night.
I stopped in the doorway, arms crossed. “That was for me.”
He glanced over, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Now it’s for us.”
I walked toward him at an unhurried pace, and every step only made me more aware of the annoying little details, the way he looked so at ease here, the way the whole scene felt… right, even though I knew it shouldn’t.
Dropping down beside him, close enough to catch the faint trace of his cologne beneath the sweet caramel scent of the flan, I tried not to think about how dangerous that combination was.
He took another bite, then held the fork out toward me without looking away from the screen. And me, being an idiot, accepted it.
Chewing slowly, I let out a breath and tilted my head toward him. “You really like me, huh?”
Reagan finally turned his head, those gray eyes locking onto mine. “You just figuring that out?”
I blinked. “I’m just asking.”
He leaned in slightly, resting his arm on the back of the couch behind me, closing what little space had been there. “If I said yes, what would you do? Run? Scream? Or pretend it doesn’t affect you like you usually do?”
I met his gaze, refusing to acknowledge that his position gave me a too-perfect view of his jawline. “You’re awfully confident.”
“Confidence is just the adult version of reality, Gee.”
I sighed, rolled my eyes, and leaned back, trying to focus on the TV. But out of the corner of my eye, I could still see him watching me.
His lips curved again. “You like me too, don’t you?”
I let out a small laugh, still not looking at him. “You’re insane.”
He laughed too, low and deep, like he knew my answer wasn’t the flat no I wanted it to be.
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting on the living room floor, legs folded beneath me, hands busy cutting sheets of Styrofoam for the model I had to finish by tomorrow. The hot glue gun hissed beside me, glue sticking to my fingertips every time I rushed a piece into place.
On the couch, Reagan was in his own world, fingers flying over a PlayStation controller, his eyes glued to the screen as race cars tore down the track. The console was Ruan’s, somehow always ending up in my flat, and usually only used when he stayed over. But tonight, Reagan had claimed it like he had every right.
We didn’t talk for almost an hour. 
He had his game, I had my project. 
Only now and then did he let out a frustrated growl or a victorious shout, and I’d answer with a distracted murmur without looking up. Strange, but… it felt comfortable.
:::
A few days later, the New York sun gave us one of those rare warm spells at the start of spring, and I decided to spend my free hour in the campus park.
Naomi, Joy, and I were stretched out on a thin blanket, each with a cold drink and sunglasses. Naomi was busy rubbing sunscreen into her arms while Joy played soft music from her phone.
“I’m serious, Gee.” Naomi leaned in, eyes narrowing. “What’s going on with you and Reagan?”
I grabbed my water bottle, took a sip, and said flatly, “Nothing.”
Joy snorted. “Nothing? He picks you up, drops you off, hangs out at your place, plays PlayStation on your couch. That’s literally the definition of something in every dictionary.”
I shrugged. “He just… shows up. And I can’t be bothered to kick him out.”
Naomi gave me a pointed look. “Gretta, you do know he’s a massive player, right?”
I shot her a sideways glance. “Really?”
“Yeah,” she said firmly. “He’s not the type to… settle. Everyone knows it. He gets bored fast. If he’s chasing you, it’s probably just because he’s curious. And once he gets what he wants...”
Joy cut in, her tone theatrically grim, “...he moves on to his next prey.”
I rolled my eyes, but before I could reply, a shadow fell over us.
I squinted up into the sunlight.
A woman stood there. Tall, dark blonde hair falling in perfect waves, wearing an effortless summer-dress look straight out of a magazine. Her smile was sweet, but there was a flicker of appraisal in her eyes.
Joy lifted her sunglasses just enough to peek, then leaned toward me and whispered, “That’s her. One of the ones he… you know.”
I didn’t have to ask what she meant. My chest tightened, and I looked at the woman with equal parts curiosity and dry amusement.
She greeted Naomi and Joy first, barely glancing at them, before her eyes landed on me. Her smile didn’t falter, but I could feel the undercurrent of competition.
This was Rosa. One of the more well-known English lit majors. I had no idea why she was well-known, but she was.
Rosa tilted her head slightly, long fingers tucking hair behind her ear that was already perfectly in place. Her gaze was locked on me.
“I just wanted to ask,” she said, voice calm but edged with subtle caution, “are you… close with Reagan?”
Leaning back on my hands, I studied her from behind my sunglasses. I could’ve laughed, or ignored her, but I wasn’t in the mood to hand out free gossip material.
“We’re just friends,” I said with an easy shrug.
Rosa’s smile stretched a little. “Friends.” She repeated the word like she was tasting it, then looked at me for a long beat. “He… used to be close with me.”
Naomi and Joy immediately pretended to be absorbed in their phones, but I knew they were hanging on every word.
Rosa took a slow breath, her eyes softening a fraction but still carrying a warning. “I’m just saying… Reagan can charm anyone, obviously, but he can also hurt you deeper than you’d expect. And once you’re caught up in it…” She lifted a shoulder. “It takes a long time to get out. A very long time.”
There was a pause. Birds were chirping in the park, the sound far too light for the weight of her words.
I tilted my head, holding her gaze. “Thanks for the warning.”
Rosa studied me for a few more seconds, like she was trying to gauge if I’d actually listen, then gave a small nod. She turned and walked away, leaving behind a trail of sweet perfume hanging in the air.
The moment she was far enough, Naomi lowered her sunglasses and let out a dramatic sigh. “Okay, that felt exactly like one of those mafia movies where the first wife warns the future second wife.”
Joy snickered, but I stayed quiet, my eyes still following Rosa’s retreating figure.