02 | rhett-freaking-price
My shoulders stiffen, though my insides feel as though I've just been kicked right in the stomach. The last voice I want to hear is always the one I'm bound to let ruin my day when I least expect it, as if there's any way my day can possibly get any worse.
When it comes to me, it can. It always can.
I sigh, then turn around to face the music.
"Rhett Price," I greet, through gritted teeth, while my body is more than prepared to trigger a fight or flight response. "You did."
His smirk only widens. "Great. I'm happy to know that all my efforts amounted to something."
There's nothing about Rhett-Freaking-Price's existence that doesn't infuriate me on a normal day. Today isn't a normal day on any count, and having to be in the same vicinity as him is doing nothing to ease my hair-trigger temper, which isn't fair to either of us. None of this is his fault, realistically, and I don't want to snap at him when I'm on the verge of tears (it would be way too humiliating, even for someone like me), but one of the other rules of the universe that only seem to apply to me is that everything that happens to me can somehow be traced back to Rhett.
Even if it seems like too big of a stretch, even if it sounds like I'm overreacting and overestimating his influence in my life, he's been a part of it for far too long and has impacted me in ways I'm not necessarily comfortable with. I won't ever admit it aloud, especially since I suspect he knows he can get to me in forms that other people won't come close to, and I don't want him to be reminded of that. His ego doesn't need more food when it's as inflated as it currently is.
Usually I can avoid him fine, as we don't frequent the same circles or have the same interests, generally speaking, but we have some classes in common, and I've had to photograph the hockey team's games to help out Nancy, my roommate, with whatever article she's working on for the newspaper. It's a small campus, though, and we don't actively attempt to stay out of each other's way; since Murphy's Law appears to be in full swing today, I suspected it was only a matter of time before we ran into each other.
He has the audacity to stand there, leaning his back against the brick wall of the coffee shop I've just stormed out of, arms crossed, smirk still dancing on those stupidly perfect lips of his. I know those lips like the back of my hand, a harsh reminder of the Dark Days, the days when all I wanted was for him to want me back, and I've been kissed by those same lips. Those lips are also the ones who have uttered words he can never get back, words that have harmed my self-esteem in ways that were almost irreparable, and it took me an eternity to piece myself back together.
"I'm really not in the mood for banter right now, so if you'll excuse me," I dryly say, forcing myself to look away from him. It's a lot easier said than done, courtesy of the magnetism his mere presence exerts, and, even when I stare down at my shoes, I still feel the pressure of his piercing green eyes boring into my face.
Being this close to him makes my heart ache even harder, like it's being squeezed by an invisible hand, and I don't need this right now. Getting over him was already hard enough the first time around.
"You okay?"
"Yeah." I let out a shaky breath, then straighten my shoulders in a feeble attempt to regain my confidence and my composure. "Yeah, I'm okay. I've had a pretty terrible day, that's all. I spilled my iced latte on my white jeans just now, as if I couldn't get any lower."
Rhett quirks an eyebrow, beautifully illuminated by the early afternoon sun—something we'll have to bid farewell to in no time, for this is Vermont—all golden and warm, impossibly mouth watering and painful to look at. His sunny exterior has always been appealing, not just to me, but there's the added bonus of his contrasting personality—arrogant, sarcastic, and a womanizer through and through, he goes through hookups like I go through rolls of film—that ruins it for me, besides the fact that he was my first big heartbreak.
Well, the only one, really. No one else has compared to him.
It's not shaming if it's true or if I'm not criticizing him for it—his body, his rules, and all that—and every girl that lands in his bed is well aware he's not looking for anything more than one night. I'm not bothered by that in particular, but having been one of those girls and having had him promise me a future he hadn't ever mentioned to any of them only for it to blow up in my face stings harder than acid.
My hurt and resentment, mixed with our incompatible personalities, views on relationships, sun signs, and plans, are more than enough evidence I'll have to fully move on from what we could have been.
Eventually. There haven't been many things I've chosen to turn my back on and walk away from, ever the persistent optimism, but Rhett Price is a whole can of worms I can't allow myself to revisit.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Rhett offers. It's a bitter reminder that, in spite of our questionable history, we used to be friends once, and those feelings of concern and comradeship are much harder to erase from memory. "I'll get you a new iced latte."
"I can't go back in there."
"Why not? It's not like you don't spend your life here."
My traitor bottom lip trembles. "Cole's in there."
"Cole, as in your boyfriend Cole? That prick?"
Needless to say, Cole isn't too popular around these parts, often lacking the tact and the relational skills for it, but he hasn't made much of an effort to be liked. He acts so above it, like all our peers are beneath him, but then he'll go and preach about how concerned he is about me embarrassing us (read: embarrassing him) and what people will think and say about him, so the hypocrite in him will always jump out.
Even though I know most people only tolerate Cole, there's something different about hearing Rhett voice his distaste for him, and my dumb heart even skips a beat with the possibility of it being personal—like Rhett doesn't like him for hurting me. This isn't true, though, and I stop myself from letting my imagination run wild before I set foot in delusional territories; after all, Rhett is merely echoing the general sentiment regarding Cole, and he doesn't know about what has just happened.
Before returning to my horrifying reality where everything has caught on fire, including my whole life and my future, I find myself in a stupid flash of a daydream, imagining the look on Cole's face if he were to see me walk back inside the coffee shop, tucked under Rhett's protective arm. Cole doesn't know about my history with Rhett (if he does, it wasn't through me, and Rhett isn't one to kiss and tell, anyway), so there's no reason to suspect it would all be pretend.
Well. Just a little one. I haven't been shy about protesting against Rhett's presence on campus and in my life, but most people think we're mutual annoyances, forever irked by one another and prone to banter and biting remarks. It would be suspicious to act all lovey-dovey with my sworn enemy, even for someone as oblivious and neglectful of other people's feelings like Cole, and I don't want to give in to a brief moment of weakness.
I'm not letting Rhett Price back into my life. Not like that. He'll wreck me all over again because, besides ice hockey, it's the only thing he has ever known how to do.
"One latte," I croak out, throat dry and raw from holding back several sobs.
"One latte," Rhett echoes. He even holds the door open for me, allowing me to duck under his arm, and the scent of his cologne, fresh and masculine, is intoxicating. It's a warm day out, but my shoulder briefly brushes against his chest and I swear I can feel the heat radiating off his body. "Careful, Brie. People might think we're on a date."
I scoff. "Like you take girls out on dates."
His eyes twinkle with mischief. "What? Like it's hard?"
???
One latte turns into two lattes and a slice of coffee cake, which, regrettably, isn't one of my brightest ideas. On the one hand, we find a table far away from the booth I'd been sharing with Cole, lowering the likelihood of seeing him again when all I want to do is snap his neck. On the other hand, all the sugar and caffeine are getting to my head and to my bloodstream, swirling like chocolate streaks on a piece of marble cake, and I'm restless.
I'm shaking from the combined effects of the caffeine and the sugar, yes, but there's also Rhett Price and his effect on my emotions, along with Cole, the breakup, and the miserable state of what's left of my college career. All of it leads me to dump all my feelings on Rhett and, for a split second, things almost feel okay, like they can ever go back to how they used to be when we were nothing but friends, able to talk for hours and not notice night has fallen.
Almost.
I'm sobbing by the time I finish talking, a blubbering mess with ruined jeans, no boyfriend, and no future, and all Rhett can do is stare at me from the opposite side, impassive. In spite of all his flaws, he has always been patient and a good listener, while I've always been one to never know when to shut up, often talking people's ears off, so we complement each other quite nicely in that aspect. It's a shame we're so different in the ways that matter.
Like they matter. I internally groan, aware these are my heightened senses and tendency to romanticize the people who have hurt me. Don't go there, Brie, I tell myself. You're only gonna get burned.
"I'm sorry," Rhett eventually says, picking at his slice of lemon cake. The season has yet to start, which might explain why he's still allowed to have sweets, and part of me feels flattered—honored, even—that he has chosen to share this moment with me. That's the foolish, naive part of me. "The dude's a prick, Brie. The least he could do was to not leave you hanging. What are you planning on doing now?"
"I don't know," I admit. I hate feeling this powerless; when you spend your whole life planning everything to obsessive levels, having that control stripped from you feels like a shot through the heart. It feels like your life no longer has any meaning or purpose, and where do you go once you can no longer go home? "I might have to talk to my advisor and explain I'll need some time to revisit my concepts, change the whole thing, or something. I don't know if there's a chance of salvaging anything at this point; I sent all the paperwork back in March, and everything was planned out perfectly. I had everything figured out, and now . . ." I look up at the ceiling the second scorching tears prickle the corners of my eyes, but I catch the slightest change in Rhett's expression. His own eyes soften in a way they don't usually do, filled with sudden compassion, but I don't want or need him to feel bad for me. "Now everything's gone. Ruined."
"Don't say that."
"But it's true, Rhett." I tuck a lock of auburn hair behind my ear so it doesn't fall in front of my eyes. I'm rarely ever this disheveled, especially in front of someone like him, but everything about today has thrown a wrench in my way, so why bother? "The whole thing depended on having a male partner for the photoshoot, and now I have no partner. I can't ask anyone else because no one else would accept being a part of it; they'd all be like 'ooh, watch out, she'll take you to a dark room, invade your privacy with her camera, and then go all obsessive on you' or call me insane and stalkerish. It's what all the guys think of me. I'm a serial dater, and would only be using this project to trap a guy in a relationship."
Rhett frowns. "That's not true. I don't think those things about you, and I'm a guy."
I huff. "It doesn't matter. I don't give much thought to what you think about me."
"And you care about what all those guys think of you?"
"No, but it's different." I slouch in my seat, appetite gone—just like my dreams. "It's different when you're a girl. We're taught to be in the wrong if we want to date people, see them casually, or not interact with anyone romantically at all. There's always something wrong in the way we choose to handle the dating scene." I sigh, wondering why and how the conversation took a turn I wanted to avoid. It's never safe to talk about romance around Rhett Price, who runs away from commitment so fast you can't help but wonder how he has stayed committed to the ice hockey team for so long. "My point is that I have nowhere to turn to now, so I'll have to come up with an alternate project. It won't be as good as the original idea and it's going to be rushed, but that's assuming I'll even be allowed to make any changes to something that's been in the system for nearly six months at this point. If I'm not, then . . ."
I leave the rest of the sentence hanging in the air, lacking the courage to complete it. I don't want to think about the possibility of being held back a year, but it's there, menacingly looming in the distance.
"I mean, you could have asked me," Rhett points out, like it's the most obvious option, and my first instinct is to scowl. "I'd be happy to help you out. It's just some photos, right?"
I shoot him a murderous glare. "It's the start of my future, Rhett."
Rhett lets out a hearty chuckle. It crawls under my skin, resting near my heart, and I rush to shake it off. "I'm just messing with you. I know how important it is to you, but my offer still stands. Fuck it, I'll be your partner. Why not?"
"And why would you do that for me exactly? What's in it for you?"
"Nothing! Can't you believe I'm offering my help from the bottom of my heart?"
"No. I feel like I'd be owing you a favor, and I think you've already decided what you'd get from partnering up with me. So, pray tell. What would it entail, exactly?"
"Easy." He leans back on his chair. Beneath the table, his calf briefly brushes against mine. "You have to date me."