The Playboy

EPISODE 7: Losing Control

Peter DeLuca had always been in control.

On the court.

In conversations.

With people.

Especially with girls.

There was always a pattern.

A rhythm.

A predictable ending.

He knew what to say.

When to leave.

How to keep it light detached.

Untouchable.

But this?

This wasn’t following any pattern.

Because now—

He was the one thinking too much.

And it was starting to show.

THE GAME

“DeLuca, focus!”

Coach’s voice echoed across the court.

Peter blinked.

The ball had already slipped past him.

Again.

“Yo, what’s wrong with you?” his teammate snapped, jogging past.

Peter ran a hand through his hair, frustration building under his skin.

He didn’t answer.

Because he already knew.

It wasn’t the game.

It was you.

The whistle blew.

Practice stopped.

“Everyone take five,” Coach called out, shaking his head.

Peter bent forward slightly, hands on his knees, breathing uneven.

Not from exhaustion.

From distraction.

Because every time he tried to focus.

His mind went back to the same moment.

The hallway.

Your breath catching.

Your eyes dropping to his lips.

The way you almost.

Almost.

And then didn’t.

“This isn’t a game to me.”

His jaw tightened.

“Yeah,” Luca muttered, walking up beside him. “You’re definitely not okay.”

Peter straightened, grabbing a towel.

“I’m fine.”

“You missed three passes. You never miss.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Luca didn’t look convinced.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“It’s her.”

Peter froze.

Just for a second.

Then forced a scoff.

“It’s not”

“Don’t,” Luca cut him off. “I saw you last night.”

Silence.

Peter looked away.

“That’s different.”

“How?”

He didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t have one.

Luca shook his head slowly.

“You’re getting too into this.”

Peter laughed short, sharp.

“It’s a bet.”

The words felt wrong the moment he said them.

Even worse when they settled.

Because now.

They didn’t sound like the truth anymore.

They sounded like an excuse.

LATER THAT DAY

You weren’t where you usually were.

Not in the hallway.

Not in class.

Not in the library.

And Peter noticed.

Immediately.

That quiet pull in his chest?

It twisted tighter.

“Looking for someone?” Luca asked casually.

Peter didn’t answer.

Because yes.

He was.

He found you eventually.

Outside.

Near the far end of campus quiet, almost empty.

Sitting on a low wall.

With Ethan.

Again.

Something dark settled in Peter’s chest.

Ethan was leaning in slightly, talking.

You were listening.

Smiling.

That same smile.

The one Peter had only seen once.

And now.

It wasn’t for him.

That did something to him.

Something sharp.

Something ugly.

He walked over.

Not slowly.

Not casually.

Direct.

“Busy?” he asked, voice tighter than he meant it to be.

You looked up.

And this time.

You didn’t soften.

“Yeah,” you said.

Ethan glanced at him, already sensing the tension.

“We’re in the middle of something,” he added.

Peter’s eyes flicked to him.

Cold.

“Didn’t ask you.”

You frowned immediately.

“Don’t do that,” you said.

“Do what?”

“That.”

Peter’s jaw tightened.

“I just came to talk.”

“Then wait,” you said calmly. “Like everyone else.”

That hit.

Because Peter DeLuca didn’t wait.

For anyone.

Ever.

But now.

You were asking him to.

No.

Telling him to.

He looked at you.

Really looked.

And for a second.

Something inside him almost gave in.

Almost stepped back.

Almost walked away.

But then.

Ethan laughed softly at something you said.

And that was it.

“Forget it,” Peter muttered.

He turned.

Walked away.

But it didn’t feel like control.

It felt like losing.

THAT NIGHT

The house was quiet.

Too quiet.

Peter sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand.

Your contact wasn’t there.

Of course it wasn’t.

You never gave him your number.

Another thing he wasn’t used to.

He exhaled sharply, tossing the phone aside.

This was ridiculous.

He didn’t chase.

He didn’t think like this.

He didn’t.

His mind betrayed him again.

You.

Your voice.

Your eyes.

The way you said:

“I don’t do almost.”

His hands clenched slightly.

“Then what do you do?” he muttered under his breath.

Because now.

He wanted to know.

More than he should.

More than he could explain.

THE NEXT DAY

The tension snapped the moment he saw you.

Class.

Same seats.

Same space.

But nothing felt the same.

You didn’t look at him.

Not once.

And that?

That was worse.

“Are you seriously ignoring me now?” he asked quietly.

You kept writing.

“No.”

“Feels like it.”

A pause.

Then:

“I’m focusing.”

On purpose.

That’s what you meant.

He leaned closer.

“You were laughing with him yesterday.”

There it was.

The jealousy.

You looked up slowly.

“And?”

“And nothing,” he said quickly.

Too quickly.

Your eyes narrowed slightly.

“That didn’t sound like nothing.”

Silence.

Peter exhaled.

“It just”

He stopped.

Because he didn’t know how to say it.

Didn’t know how to admit it.

“That what?” you pressed.

His voice dropped.

“I don’t like it.”

There it was.

The truth.

Raw.

Unfiltered.

Your breath caught.

Just slightly.

But your expression stayed controlled.

“You don’t get a say in that.”

That hit.

“I know,” he said.

And that?

That surprised you.

Because he didn’t argue.

Didn’t push.

He just… accepted it.

“I just” he started again.

Then stopped.

Ran a hand through his hair.

Frustrated.

Because this.

This wasn’t him.

“I don’t like seeing you with him,” he finished quietly.

Silence.

Heavy.

Real.

Your eyes searched his.

Like you were trying to figure out if he meant it.

If this was another move.

Another play.

“Why?” you asked softly.

And that question?

That was dangerous.

Because the answer.

The real answer.

Wasn’t simple anymore.

Peter looked at you.

And for once.

He didn’t hide it.

Didn’t mask it.

Didn’t play it off.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

Honest.

Too honest.

“And that’s the problem.”

Silence.

Your expression shifted.

Not softer.

But not as hard either.

“Figure it out,” you said quietly.

Then you leaned back.

Creating space again.

“But don’t put that on me.”

That landed exactly where it needed to.

Because she was right.

And he knew it.

Peter sat there long after you turned back to your work.

Quiet.

Still.

Because for the first time.

He wasn’t in control of what he felt.

And worse?

He didn’t even understand it.

Across the room.

Luca watched everything.

The silence.

The tension.

The shift.

And slowly

He shook his head.

“Yeah,” he muttered under his breath.

“You’re done for.”