Chapter 2
CADEN
I’d always thought of Valentina Rhodes as this whimsical, perfect figment of my imagination.
Don’t get me wrong, I knew she was real, and I was about…
ninety percent sure that what had happened between us had been real, too, but the second I’d laid eyes on her four months ago, she’d seemed a little impossible.
Her cherry red hair, big brown eyes, round, rosy cheeks. The way she’d timidly sipped on her drink, smiled at me from across the bar—and the fact she’d clearly had no idea that the way she walked and talked and danced had affected me so wholly.
That when she’d asked, after an hour of talking in some secluded corner of the party we’d been at, Are we leaving together, Callahan?, I’d nearly combusted. And that sometimes, when I’d had a particularly bad day, I’d replay the way she’d said my name.
But because I hadn’t heard from her since, I’d convinced myself I must’ve conjured her up. Ten percent of me, at least, believed I had imagined the whole thing.
Until now.
Four months later, a little past midnight, too—but without a smile on her lips.
Without that palpable tension between us, the need for more than flirty nothings exchanged in a loud college bar radiating off her.
Because I was in her room, and, judging by the scowl on her face, she had not expected me here.
In my defense: when Mike had warned me that I’d be sharing a room with one of his friends, the last person I’d expected to walk through the door was Valentina.
Then again, when I’d walked through that door of our shared room a few hours earlier, the last thing I’d expected to find there was a bunkbed.
I’d been thinking about her a lot since we’d first (and last) seen each other four months ago, and still nothing could’ve prepared me for the visceral reaction I had when our eyes reconnected for the first time.
Like something had been unleashed, a sense of awareness that flooded through me.
Reminded me of every single perfect thing about her—and why I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her.
She’d been breathtaking then, in my mind, where I’d redrawn her from memory more often that I’d like to admit, but she’d still exceeded expectations. Somehow.
What…? Her eyebrows drew together, as if she wasn’t quite sure how to react to my presence. Fair enough, honestly. A (somewhat) strange man in my bed wouldn’t exactly elicit a different response from me.
Valentina blinked rapidly, round eyes narrowing as she searched for the right words. Going by what I’d learned about her in those few hours months ago, I expected a What are you doing here? Maybe a What is happening?
Clearly, I did not know her half as well as I’d liked to.
What the fuck? The words basically flew out of her mouth, and at least she seemed a little surprised by them as well. Then, she caught herself—planted one hand on her hip, while the other pointed an accusatory finger at me. What the fuck are you doing here?
Did she remember? The way she’d whimpered my name, then cuddled into my chest like we’d been married for years? Then left before I’d woken up? It had only been a few minutes, but the fact she hadn’t acknowledged what had been my highlight of the fucking year… pissed me off.
I sat up straight, almost hit my head on the ceiling, and promptly remembered why I hadn’t done that before. Valentina, you wound me, I pouted. She narrowed her eyes—I wasn’t even sure if she could still see me. I missed you so much, I simply had to break into your room and ruin your summer.
The fact I knew I wasn’t being fair kind of made this worse. Obviously she deserved to know what the fuck I was doing in her room—I owed her an explanation, almost as much as her friends owed her an apology for the missing warning.
A simple, Hey, you’ll have a bunk-mate this summer would’ve done the trick.
Cut the shit, Callahan. Finally, Valentina stepped into our room.
She forgot her suitcase in the hallway and swayed with each step until she could hold onto the dresser against the wall, to her right.
She was clearly plastered. Drunk off her ass.
Would probably not remember this conversation tomorrow.
But all I could focus on was my name coming out of her mouth.
That, despite the fact there was nothing flirtatious in her tone, it still sounded just as beautiful as it had the last time.
So she did remember.
The satisfaction uncurling in the pit of my stomach was almost embarrassing—the urge to ask, Why didn’t you call?
even worse. Juvenile, petty, not at all me.
I was supposed to be the one who didn’t call.
The one who didn’t care. I wanted no-strings-attached, and Valentina had done me a favor by leaving.
If I repeated it often enough, maybe I’d actually start believing it.
The women I hooked up with weren’t usually this averse to seeing me again, either.
Mad because I hadn’t called; maybe? Or shy because I had called, and they hoped I’d be trying to make whatever thing between us more than casual sex—which I never would, and had made abundantly clear from the beginning.
But neither of those seemed to be the case for Valentina.
She seemed annoyed by my presence, not by the fact that I hadn’t called. And there was nothing shy about her.
Maybe you should ask your friends. The words were out before I could stop myself, and for a second, I wondered if I’d been the one who’d had too much to drink tonight.
It would explain the way none of my bodily functions were under my own control, and that I was still thinking about why she hadn’t called. Or that it annoyed me way too much.
Unfortunately, I was not drunk. That captain spot waiting for me two months down the line made sure of it.
They’re not here, are they? She crossed her arms, leaned against the dresser to face me on the top bunk. At this point, it seemed kind of ridiculous to still be up here. But getting down would feel too much like defeat. Why would I go into their room, when you’re here. In mine.
And she couldn’t have given me a better in. I smiled. Ours.
She blinked at me. The silence between us felt louder than most stadiums, and the next moment more crucial than a penalty shot. Like she was about to set our dynamic for the rest of the summer into stone.
Valentina burst out laughing.
She literally bent over, hands on her knees, and laughed so hard she lost balance for a dreadful second.
Her entire body was still shaking when I honest-to-God thought she’d hit her head on the dresser behind her, sprinkling the white wood crimson.
I didn’t even realize getting off the bed, all traces of my own amusement wiped away, until I stood right in front of her.
She must’ve caught herself, though, because she slid down to the ground, back against the dresser, and there was no visible sign of a laceration, and no blood on the wood. She was still laughing, and my heart was still beating twice as fast, for some reason.
I did not need my new roommate to bleed out ten minutes after she got here.
You okay? I asked unnecessarily, crouching to her level. She was okay. Clearly. Smiling up at me, round eyes wide, still visibly amused.
Valentina snorted. All that bleach must’ve gone to your head, Callahan, she said—slurred, really—one hand driving across my platinum-blond buzzcut.
I didn’t think she meant for the touch to be as electrifying as it was. I think it was meant to be condescending. Her gaze held mine when her hand fell back into her lap, and I could breathe again. If you think I’m sharing a room—a bed with you for eight weeks.
Really? My lips quirked. You didn’t seem to mind the last time we shared a bed. In fact, I remember you were sound asleep when I was barely out of you.
The reminder shot color into her cheeks, and she scrambled off the floor to gain some semblance of control over the situation. Meanwhile, the words directed blood into a completely different part of my body. Any and every thought about that night did, really.
Valentina shook her head, and I straightened back up to my full height with her.
I could tell she tried not to let her eyes wander…
up my chest, across my shoulders, all the way to the smirk on my lips.
She was obviously failing. Her eyes were glued to them right up until they flicked upward to meet mine. Why are you here, Caden?
And I swear, I would’ve given her a proper answer this time.
That I wasn’t quite sure myself. That this was my first vacation in…
ever, probably. That, when Mike had asked during penalty practice if I’d wanted to join him and his friends, the no before I scored had been an automatic response. I hadn’t even thought about it.
Come on, man, he’d said, walking to the other corner of the goal to get the ball. You could use a vacation.
Are you trying to tell me I look like I could use some rest and relaxation? I’d asked, but the bags under my eyes probably answered for me. How dare you!
Mike had snickered, but the look my captain pinned me with said he hadn’t been joking.
The dark circles under your eyes have dark circles, dude.
You missed four out of five penalties today.
You’re supposed to take over this team, and you need to be back on your A-game by then.
Two months on Oakport, and we can get you there. You want to be captain, right?
His question had been rhetorical, which was why I’d lied.
Of course, I’d said—but that was just the thing, though.
I didn’t want to be captain. I wasn’t even sure if I still wanted to be on the team.
After winning the NCAA championship, one would think the school might take it easy on us; that there’d be less pressure.
After all, we’d won them a trophy. What more could they expect?
Not all of us could be Henry Pressleys, going pro and earning millions.
Turned out: a lot. To defend that title, for example. Apparently, for me to carry the team that was supposed to defend that title. Which came with a truckload of pressure and expectations I hadn’t expected and had made enjoying the game significantly harder.
So, Mike had been right that day. The circles under my eyes were beginning to look criminal. I had not been playing as well as I could have. And there was at least one person that did deserve my best.
Valentina didn’t give me the chance to say any of that— at least a shorter, less whiny version.
Because right after the words left her lips, her gaze diverted.
Like she’d forgotten she’d asked me a question in the first place, her eyes darted through the room, looking for something she, clearly, couldn’t find.
She twisted and turned, walked from one side of the room to the other, and only remembered I was there when I said, Outside.
Her eyes latched onto me, and I couldn’t help my chuckle— although I did try to hide it with a cough. Your suitcase, I elaborated. It’s by the door.
That’s not what I’m looking for. But she went out into the hallway, anyway. Her head still shook in denial when she rolled the thing back into our room and closed the door behind her.
Our room.
It sounded more intimate than I’d like—as if there was more than that bunkbed we shared about our lives. As if we’d made a conscious decision to be here together and liked the fact that we were. Which was very obviously not the case.
I watched Valentina roll her suitcase through the room before I answered her earlier question. Mike invited me. That’s why I’m here.
Which wasn’t all that much more revealing than my previous cryptic answers.
She groaned, but I wasn’t sure if it was in response to my bullshit (yes, I could admit to that much) or the fact she’d discovered my clothes in the top two drawers. Which, judging by the noise, she must’ve wanted for herself. Probably a combination of both.
Your things are in my drawers, she confirmed.
You are in my room. In my bed. Valentina took a deep breath before she turned back, finding me leaning against the ladder of our bunkbed.
And I’m so drunk, I’m not even sure if I’m just imagining you.
I mean, what are the odds? I let myself think about you once, and— She shook her head again, turned back around like I might really just be a hallucination.
Like she could get rid of me by simply focusing on something else.
Which was taking my clothes out of the top two drawers and moving them to the bottom ones. With no regard to how neatly they’d been folded, she threw them into their new home.
I thought she might be more careful with her own things when she began unpacking, but nope. She just threw those in as well. And I couldn’t care less. You were thinking about me?
For a brief second, she stopped unpacking. Froze mid-motion, with her back still toward me. I tried not to let my eyes wander to the underwear bunched up in her hand, on their way into the drawer, but I did wonder if she’d brought the lacy pair she’d been wearing at my place that night.
Another rush of blood where it shouldn’t be going forced me to shove all thoughts of her in those panties—of me, sliding them down her soft thighs—into the furthest corner of my mind. Jesus, I was worse than a teenage boy.
Valentina cleared her throat, threw her underwear into the drawer and closed it, too forcefully to be casual. When she turned, her cheeks still seemed a little warmer.
She shook her head. Briefly, she confessed. I don’t make a habit of thinking about you, if that’s what you’re getting at.
I do, I thought. Getting you out of my head has been a problem, and I don’t know why.
Good enough for me.
She huffed, and I think she was giving up. Her shoulders sagged, and she leaned back against the dresser, crossing her arms lazily as her features relaxed.
And God, she really was beautiful. Even now, frustrated, flustered, and defeated.
It felt appropriate to thank some higher power for making me come here, for making our paths cross again, and for making me realize that if there was one thing I wanted more than getting back my A-game, it was having her again.
Well. Valentina swallowed thickly before she pushed herself off the wooden dresser.
And for a second, I truly thought my silent prayer was about to get answered and my wish granted—mere seconds after thinking it up.
With the way she stopped only a foot short of where I was standing, I seriously considered finding my way back to God.
I looked down at her, our eyes connected and I could swear everything that swam between us the last time we’d met—lust, awe, anticipation—was there again. For a very brief, very beautiful second. Her lips quirked, before she burst that bubble of mine when she simply said, The top bunk is mine.