CHAPTER NINETEEN #3
He's tall—like, skyscraper tall. I'm five-eight, not exactly short, but this guy towers over me.
Chiseled jawline, sharp cheekbones, that sun-kissed kind of skin that looks permanently golden.
His dirty blond hair is cropped close on the sides, longer on top.
And of course, he's wearing a Ridgewater U hoodie, sleeves shoved up just enough to flex those forearms.
"Easy there," he says, voice low and playful, lips tilting into a grin that's nothing short of trouble. "If you wanted to get my attention, sweetheart, you could've just asked. No need to throw yourself at me."
And then he winks.
My face stays neutral, but inside? I'm groaning. Seriously? A walking, talking playboy cliché.
"Liam, baby..."
The voice comes from behind him—husky, velvety, the kind of tone that curls through the noise like smoke.
A girl slinks up, glossy lips curved in a knowing smile, red nails trailing down his arm like he's already claimed property. She oozes sex appeal.
Girlfriend. Has to be.
Wow. The nerve. Flirting with strangers when you've got that hanging off your arm?
"Nope," I murmur, forcing a polite smile as I sidestep, clutching my bag tighter. "Excuse me."
I slip away before the scene can get messier, bee-lining for my girls' table like my life depends on it.
"Hi, girls. What are we having?" I ask as I slide into the space Tammy scoots open for me.
The table looks like a diner exploded on it—greasy fries spilling out of the basket, half-eaten burgers stacked with extra cheese, a plate of fish with tartar dip, and more empty beer bottles and glasses than I want to count.
"Hey, Care. Finally," Lucy says, throwing her arm over my shoulders in a quick squeeze before leaning back with a smirk.
Katie pushes her chair back, stretching like she's been sitting too long. "What do you want to drink, Care? I'm hitting the bar for another mojito."
"Uh..." I hesitate. Beer's a no. Mojito's a no. "Dry wine. White, if they have it."
Katie nods and disappears toward the bar.
A waitress passes and I catch her before she's gone. "Hi, can I get an order of satay skewers? And, uh, celery with dip too."
She scribbles it down, and I hand her a polite smile.
Tammy stares at me like I just ordered boiled cardboard. "That's it? That's all you're eating?"
I chuckle, lifting one shoulder. "Yeah. Unfortunately. Can't have anything else on this menu."
Her brows shoot up. "Wait—what, you on some kind of diet or something?"
I nod, letting out a sigh.
"For real? Babe, you've already got the perfect figure. Straight-up supermodel body. You don't need to lose another ounce."
I smile at her, shaking my head. "I'm not trying to lose weight. Not anymore. I just want to keep what I worked for. You know... maintain it."
Tammy whistles low, leaning back. "Damn. Bet that's hard."
It's really freaking hard.
God, I miss it though. Fries drowning in cheese. Greasy pizza dripping oil. A big, sloppy burger with extra bacon. Donuts, milkshakes, brownies. And ice cream—oh, ice cream. And whipped cream...
Shit. Shouldn't have gone there. My stomach twists like it's trying to protest. No. Nope. Not happening. If I want to stay fit, I gotta stick to the rules. No pain, no gain—or in my case, no carbs, no backsliding.
Katie returns just in time to save me from staring too long at Tammy's onion rings. She sets a glass of white wine in front of me, then plunks her mojito down with a grin.
Katie leans in, eyes bright, voice dipping into a conspiratorial giggle. "Guess who I just saw..."
All three of us whip toward her at once. "Who?"
"Rourke and Reese," she says, chin tipping toward the bar where two tall guys are posted up, drinks in hand, both laughing with a pair of girls who look like they dressed specifically to get noticed.
Tammy slaps both hands over her mouth, eyes huge, her whole body vibrating like she just mainlined espresso. "Oh my God! Oh my God!" she squeals into her palms. "If they're here, then the others are probably here too."
She cranes her neck, practically snapping it as she tries to scan the crowded bar.
Lucy joins her, both of them leaning, squinting like human laser beams. And then—bam. They spot whoever they were hunting for.
Their jaws drop in unison. Mouths open. Breathless gasps. Like teenagers who just saw their K-pop bias live for the first time.
I bite the inside of my cheek to hold back a grin. Lucy, who's been Miss Introvert since the day I met her a month ago, is actually clutching the edge of the table like she needs support.
"They're here," Tammy breathes, like she's just spotted celebrities.
"Who's 'they'?" I ask, confused but bracing for the answer.
Katie's eyes practically sparkle. She leans forward again, whisper-shouting like we're part of some high-stakes secret mission. "The Warriors. The hockey team."
I freeze. My hand stalls halfway to my wine.
The hockey team? Zach's hockey team?
Ugh. Damn it!
And then—like some twisted cosmic joke—the sea of bodies between our table and theirs just... parts. No joke. One second, the crowd is thick, noisy, impossible to see through, and the next it's like Moses decided to split the Red Sea just so I could get a front-row view of my personal nightmare.
There they are. The Ridgewater Warriors. All broad shoulders, tall frames, and cocky grins. A table full of giants who know exactly how good they look.
Some are laughing, beers in hand, voices carrying over the music.
A couple have girls perched on their laps, arms draped around thick necks like jewelry.
One guy is telling a story, waving his hands wildly while the others roar with laughter.
The whole thing looks like a testosterone-fueled frat boy ad campaign.
And then I saw him.
The guy I bumped into earlier. Mr. Ridgewater Hoodie. The one who winked and dropped that cheesy line like he had it holstered and ready.
But wait. My eyes narrow, confusion prickling. Because the girl in his lap right now? Not the sultry-voiced brunette from earlier. Nope. This one's a different flavor entirely—blonde, short skirt, laughing way too hard at something that was probably not that funny.
Seriously? My lip curls. Already swapping out lap ornaments in under an hour? What a playboy cliché.
I'm just about to look away in disgust when—hold up.
My brows knit tight.
Because sitting right next to him is... him.
No. Not him. Another him?
I blink. And blink some more.
There are two of them.
Same sharp jawline. Same smug grin. Same everything. For a terrifying half-second, I actually think I'm seeing double.
And then it hits me.
Twins.
Holy hell.
"Those are the Archer twins," Tammy breathes like she just spotted royalty. "Luke and Liam. Ridgewater's top defensemen."
Ah. Makes sense. Big. Intimidating.
"Seriously though, I swear one of the requirements to make this hockey team is their face card," Katie sighs, sipping her mojito while her gaze shamelessly sticks to the twins.
"I bet," Tammy chimes in, all dreamy. "It's so unfair. They're all hot. Like, obnoxiously hot."
They both laugh, the kind of giggle you can't suppress when you're tipsy on hormones and mojitos.
My eyes finally peel away from the Archer double feature and land on another scene across the table. A girl perched confidently on some guy's lap, tossing her hair, laughing like she owns the entire room.
And holy. Crap.
She's gorgeous. Not just Instagram influencer gorgeous—this is next-level. Porcelain skin that almost glows under the bar lights, hair falling in perfect waves, eyes that look like they could gut you and kiss you in the same breath.
I've seen plenty of pretty faces before, but this girl? She's dangerous. Different. The kind of beauty that makes you want to look twice, then hate yourself for it because you still can't look away.
"Who is she?" I ask, tipping my chin toward her without even meaning to.
"Oh, that's Taylor Lewis," Lucy supplies, casual like she just dropped a name everyone should already know. "Pretty, right?"
"Pretty?" I huff out a laugh, still staring. "Pretty is an understatement. I think I just had my first ever girl crush."
The girls laugh with me, but Katie leans forward, lowering her voice like she's sharing classified intel. "You're not alone. Half the campus is obsessed with her. But... she's got a reputation."
I glance back at Taylor, brows arched. "Reputation?"
"Yeah," Katie says, swirling her straw in her glass. "Word is she hooks up with guys all the time. Different guy, different week. She's... kind of notorious for it."
Tammy nods eagerly, adding, "She doesn't even hide it either. Guys brag about her like a trophy. Some say she's slept her way across half the hockey team and football team. And honestly? No one's shocked. Look at her."
I take her in again—her body, her laugh, the way she knows she's magnetic and leans into it.
And I can't help but think—why shouldn't she?
She's beautiful. She's got the kind of body that turns heads. If she wants to flaunt it, if she wants to hook up with whoever she wants, why the hell not? Men do it all the time and nobody bats an eye.
So why can't she?
Katie leans in, voice dropping like she's about to leak national secrets. "Rumor has it she's slowed down. No more random hook-ups. Supposedly, she's only been with one guy since last December."
Tammy snaps her fingers. "Right! Zach. Zach Westbrook. The hockey team's alternate captain."
And just like that, my stomach bottoms out.
Then I see him.
Zach.
The way Taylor shifts on his lap, leaning in close. The way his grin stretches wide—like whatever she whispered was the funniest thing in the world.
A knot twists so sharp in my gut it nearly doubles me. My chest cinches tight, like someone just yanked a cord around my ribs.
Stop. No. Why am I reacting like this? He's not important. Not anymore. I already moved past him. This is just... shock. Caught off guard. That's it.
I don't care. I don't.