Chapter 2
Two
BASS
“You’re not my type.”
That one sentence echoes in my head over and over because it sounds like some obscure foreign language.
Not her type?
Hell, I’m everybody’s type.
She said it like she was brushing lint off her blazer, then walked away without a backward glance.
And maybe it’s the silence afterward that makes it worse. The way the hallway buzzes with my teammates filing out and nobody seems to notice that I’m still standing there, hand halfway in my hoodie pocket, staring at the halogen ceiling light like it personally offended me.
It’s not that she said it.
It’s that she meant that shit.
Just…wow.
I don’t follow girls.
I don’t chase.
I’ve never had to.
But I trail Kai Vega out of Sol Pueblo like a man possessed, full of defiant swagger, until we’re outside in the breezeway. She’s walking fast, laptop clutched in one hand, bag slung tight across her fuck-me-fast body like she’s gearing up for battle.
She doesn’t turn when I say her name the first time.
“Kai.”
Still walking.
“Kai Vega.”
She stops just before the corner, shoulders tight. “Don’t call me by my government name like we’re friends.”
I catch up and lean against the wall, cool as ice. At least I hope I’m coming off that way.
“I was just gonna say—I wasn’t done talking.”
She turns to face me, eyes flashing. “But I was.”
I feel an odd tingle in my lower back, and I shift my body to compensate for the sensation.
“Why single me out in front of everyone today?”
“Because you walked in late, disrespected the time I put into that presentation, and made the session about your ego instead of the content.”
I raise a brow. “You get your degree in dramatics or just minored in overreacting?”
“Overreacting?” Her laugh is short. Dry. “That’s funny, coming from the guy who wants to fight anyone who even looks at you wrong. You'd better be careful with that. You’re not in the pros yet, and college athletics values skill, not bullies.”
I step a little closer, instinct taking over even when I know I shouldn’t. “Are you always this high-strung, or is it just around me?”
She doesn’t back down. Her chin lifts. “It’s just around entitled athletes who think being popular makes them powerful.”
Boom.
There it is.
I stare at her, and she just stares back—steady, sharp, unfazed.
“Is that why you couldn’t keep your eyes off of me the other night?” I challenge.
Her nose flairs for just a moment and I think I’ve found a chink in her armor.
“What other night?”
“You were at the Ice House. Don’t pretend like you didn’t see me.”
“I didn’t notice if you were there,” she adds casually, like the nail in the coffin. “Like I said before, I’m not interested in guys like you.”
“Guys like me,” I parrot back her words incredulously.
“In case you’re unaware, Mr. Morelli, your reputation on this campus precedes you. And it’s not a good one.”
Mr. Morelli?
What is this chick, an old woman stuck in a dangerously hot body? It’s like Freaky Friday in real life.
“You don’t even know me.”
“Let’s not play those games,” she snaps. “I’m a senior just like you, and I’ve been around long enough to know exactly who you are.”
“Is that right? Then who am I?”
It’s a dangerous question to ask, and I usually don’t give a shit what anyone thinks of me, but a part of me wants to understand who she thinks I am. I’m used to women wanting me, fighting for me, or at worst thinking I’m an adorable misfit, but this immediate disdain? I’m not used to this shit.
“You flirt with anything that moves, you fight any guy who challenges you, and you walk into every room like it owes you applause.”
For a second, I don’t know what to say. Because damn, that shit she just said hits me hard like a kick to my balls. If she wasn’t so damn fuckable looking, I’d have a real problem with this girl.
But I rally.
“I love that you’ve been doing extensive research on me during your time at VCU. It means you’re highly interested.”
“No,” she says quietly. “There was no research necessary on my part because you have a brand problem as clear as day. Everyone on this campus and probably beyond knows exactly what you stand for, and it ain’t much.”
The way she says it—flat, factual, a little too practiced—tells me a lot. And maybe that’s what really crawls under my skin.
She’s not just brushing me off.
She’s already decided who I am.
I don't normally call women out of their names but what a raging bitch.
“Damn, Kai Vega,” I smirk, even though it feels thin. “You always throw punches like that with a straight face, or am I special?”
Her expression doesn’t change. “You’re not special. You’re a cautionary tale.”
And just like that, she turns and walks away from me a-fucking-gain.
Leaving me standing here with the wind catching the tail of her double-breasted blazer, and something in my chest tight enough to punch through.
By the time I get back to the Ice House, I’ve replayed the scene in my head five times and still can’t decide if I hate this girl or am in total love with her ruthless mouth. No one has ever talked to me like that.
“She’s got claws,” I mutter to Shane, dropping onto the couch.
Shane doesn’t look up from his phone. “Who, Vega?”
“You know her?”
“Not really. Kennedy does. Said she’s got standards and a brain like a buzzsaw.”
“Standards my ass.”
He chuckles. “You don’t usually sound this salty about a girl.”
“I’ve never met a girl like her,” I say through a harsh breath.
“Aww, man, don’t take what happened today so personally. I think Vega’s been assigned to scrutinize all of us this semester to prepare us for the pros.”
“It’s not about the assignment,” I mutter. “It’s about her attitude.”
She’s already made a decision about me.
And it ain’t a good one.
***
Nevada is always steaming hot this time of year, but after the sun sets, I like to get a run in most nights to clear my head.
After my run tonight, I step inside the Ice House to some delicious smells. I think…roasted chicken cooked by a few puck bunnies who like to make themselves useful, including Gia.
“Just finished your run?” she asks, batting a pair of what look like oversized fake eyelashes at me.
“Yep.”
“Are you hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“Then let me get you a plate, sexy.”
A year ago, I would have devoured this meal and then devoured Gia’s pussy afterwards, but things change. I’m not saying I’m anything like those lovesick bastards, Neo and Shane, but I’m beginning to understand them. At some point, this puck bunny shit is going to get old.
Or maybe it already is.
“Hey, you’re in the School of Communications, right?” I ask Gia.
“I am.” She smiles, probably misinterpreting my asking the question as interest.
“Do you know a Kai Vega?”
“I know of her.” Gia’s face drops. “She’s a year ahead of me.”
“What do you know about her?”
Gia clunks down a plate of juicy baked chicken thighs with some stir-fried veggies in front of me.
“Bon appétit,” she says dryly.
“Thanks,” I tell her and move on to my questions, or rather, my one question. “What’s her deal?”
“What’s her deal?” Gia places a hand on her hip. “That’s what you want to know?”
“Yeah.”
Gia sighs in annoyance. “Then go stalk her socials like a normal person, Bass.”
***
This is some sad shit.
Coach called to let me know that I’m on deck as the first one-on-one with Kai tomorrow, and it sent me into a mini panic. Now, I find myself lying across my bed, scrolling through my phone like a teenage girl on an investigative mission.
I find her.
Of course, it’s my luck that her profile is set to private.
@kai.analytical
Bio: Know your value. Then add tax.
Damn, I’m screwed. And not in the good way.