Triple Play (The Varsity #3)

CHAPTER ONE

THE ROOMMATE

Elise

The townhouse kitchen smells like cheap vodka and bad decisions when I push through the door at eleven PM.

Three shirtless hockey players stand around the island doing shots. Because, of course, they are.

I freeze. They freeze. For one beautiful second, nobody moves.

Then the guy in the middle—broad shoulders, messy dirty-blond hair, ice-blue eyes that used to look at me like I was the only person in the room—turns around.

Grant Wilder.

The bottle in his hand slips and shatters on the tile, sending shards of glass and vodka flying, but nobody moves to clean it up.

Two years. Two years of silence, of wondering what I did wrong, of trying to forget the way his lips felt on mine.

And now he’s my roommate.

Perfect.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” His voice is flat. Cold. Like I’m a problem he needs to solve.

My heart does this annoying thing where it forgets how to beat normally around him. Traitor.

“Surprise,” I manage. My voice comes out steadier than I feel.

The other two guys are staring now. One of them—golden hair, dimples, the smile of someone who’s never met a problem he couldn’t charm his way through—steps forward with his hands up.

“Okay, uh, awkward. I’m Jordie.” He’s trying hard to diffuse the tension. “You must be the mythical fourth roommate. Welcome to Casa de Chaos?”

I don’t look at him. I can’t look away from Grant.

He’s bigger than I remember, more muscle packed onto his frame, like he’s been spending the last two years punishing his body at the gym. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jump. There’s a scar through his lip I don’t remember—a high stick, probably. Or a fight.

The third guy hasn’t said anything. He’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed, dark eyes tracking my every move. Calculating. There’s something coiled about him, like he’s always ready to run or fight and hasn’t decided which yet.

“I didn’t know you lived here when I got the assignment from the campus housing office.” The words come out sharp. Defensive.

Grant laughs. It’s bitter and wrong. “Sure you didn’t.”

Heat floods my face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means Crestmont’s a big school, Hart. What are the odds you just happened to end up in my house?”

The nickname hits like a slap. He used to say it differently. Softer.

I drop my duffel bag. It lands with a thud that makes Jordie flinch.

“I didn’t know,” I repeat. Each word is a bullet. “But I’m not leaving. So we’re going to have to figure this out, Captain.”

The title lands exactly how I want it to. His eyes flash.

“Grant—” Jordie starts, but Grant cuts him off with a look.

“Which room?” Grant’s voice is arctic now.

“What?”

“Which room did they give you?”

“End of the hall. Why?”

“That’s next to mine.” He says it like it’s a death sentence. “Great. Perfect. This is exactly what I needed.”

The silent guy finally speaks. His voice is rough, like he doesn’t use it much. “Can we not do this at eleven PM? Some of us have practice at six.”

“Wyatt’s right.” Jordie is still trying to fix this, bless him. “Why don’t we all just, um, sleep on it? Fresh start tomorrow?”

I look at Grant. He’s staring at the broken glass on the floor like it’s fascinating.

“Yeah.” I pick up my bag. “Fresh start.”

I make it three steps before Grant speaks again.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

I don’t turn around. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“Wasn’t aware I needed your permission.”

“You don’t.” His voice drops lower. Dangerous. “But you’re going to regret it.”

I force myself to keep walking. Down the hall, into my new room, closing the door with more control than I feel.

The room is small. Plain. Beige walls and a twin bed that’s seen better days. My entire life fits into two suitcases and a duffel bag, and somehow that feels fitting right now.

I sink onto the bed. My hands are shaking.

I came to Crestmont for the pre-med program. For the research grant I spent two years working toward. For the fresh start I’ve been promising myself since the night Grant Wilder kissed me at my brother’s Christmas party and then acted like it never happened.

Two years of radio silence. Two years of watching him date half the eastern seaboard through social media posts I told myself I didn’t care about.

And now he’s on the other side of this wall.

I can hear them out there. Muffled voices. Jordie’s higher, placating. Grant’s low and sharp. Wyatt’s occasional rumble.

Someone—Jordie, probably—is cleaning up the glass.

My phone buzzes. A text from Teddy, my older brother.

Teddy: You make it okay?

I stare at the message. Teddy has no idea Grant lives here. No idea his best friend and his little sister have this history. Because that kiss was supposed to be the beginning of something, and instead, it was just… nothing.

Me: Yeah. All good. Room’s fine.

The lie comes easy.

Teddy: Grant’s at Crestmont. You should look him up. He’d show you around.

I almost laugh. The sound would come out wrong, so I swallow it.

Me: Maybe. Tired. Talk tomorrow.

I set my phone down and stare at the ceiling.

This is going to be fine. I’m twenty-one years old. Pre-med. I’ve dissected cadavers and aced organic chemistry and pulled all-nighters that would make normal people weep. I can handle living with my brother’s best friend who kissed me once and then ghosted me for two years.

I can absolutely handle this.

A door slams. Grant’s room, I’m guessing. The wall between us is thin enough that I can hear him moving around. Hear the sound of drawers opening and closing with more force than necessary.

My stomach twists.

I grab my toiletry bag and head to the bathroom. I need to brush my teeth, wash my face, and pretend today didn’t happen.

The bathroom is at the end of the hall. Shared by all four of us, apparently.

Joy. There are already three toothbrushes in the holder, shampoo bottles crowding the shower, and a wet towel on the floor.

There’s also a bottle of lube sitting on the counter that at least one of the guys is using to jack off with. Fantastic.

I don’t know which one of them uses it. Don’t want to know. Could be all three for all I care.

Not my business what they do behind closed doors.

And I’m not the type to yuck on someone’s yum.

I brush my teeth quickly, avoiding looking at myself in the mirror because I know what I’ll see—the same girl who was stupid enough to think that kiss with Grant meant something.

When I come out, Grant is standing in the hallway.

We’re three feet apart. He’s wearing sweatpants slung low on his hips and nothing else. I can see the scar on his collarbone now. It’s new. Raised and pink.

I don’t ask about it. Don’t ask about anything.

“Bathroom’s free,” I say.

He doesn’t move. Just looks at me with those ice-blue eyes that used to be warm when they landed on me.

“Why are you really here?” His voice is quiet now. Tired.

“I told you—”

“And I heard you.” He takes a step closer. “But why Crestmont specifically? You had options.”

“This was the best offer.”

“Bullshit.”

My pulse is hammering. He’s close enough now that I can smell him—cedar and something sharp, exactly how I remember.

“Not everything is about you, Wilder.”

His jaw ticks again. That muscle jumping.

“Keep telling yourself that, Hart.”

Then he moves past me into the bathroom, close enough that his arm brushes mine. The contact lasts half a second, but my skin burns where we touched.

The door closes.

I stand there like an idiot for three full seconds before I force myself to move.

Back in my room, I lock the door and lean against it.

This was a mistake. Coming here, thinking I could handle this, believing I was over it.

I’m not over it.

Not even close.

My phone buzzes again. Another text from Teddy.

Teddy: Grant says you showed up. Small world, huh?

My stomach drops.

They’ve already talked. Of course they have. Best friends since they were fourteen. Grant probably texted him the second I left the kitchen.

Me: Yeah. Small world.

I don’t know what else to say. Can’t exactly text back: Hey, remember that Christmas party two years ago? When I kissed your best friend and he kissed me back and then never spoke to me again? Yeah, we’re roommates now. Cool, cool, cool.

Teddy: He’ll look out for you. Promise.

Grant Wilder has done a lot of things. Showed me my first clip of porn when I was sixteen. Stole my bikini top at the lake house that one summer and made me chase him for it. Taught me how to throw a punch when some guy at a party got handsy.

He’s been a lot of things to me over the years.

Looking out for me was never one of them. Not when it counted.

I plug my phone in, strip down to a tank top and sleep shorts, and climb into the unfamiliar bed.

Through the wall, I can hear Grant moving around. Hear the sound of his bed creaking as he lies down.

I close my eyes. Force my breathing to even out.

Tomorrow, I’ll be fine. Tomorrow, I’ll have my armor back up. Tomorrow, I’ll walk into my first day of classes with my head high and prove that I belong here.

Tonight, I let myself admit the truth.

Grant Wilder looks at me like I’m a mistake he made.

And I’m going to have to live next to him for the next eight months.