Chapter 12 – Trace
chapter
twelve
Trace
My hands were shaking.
My mind kept plaguing me with memories of Lena's kiss. Her full lips, the way she'd gasped when I'd pulled her against me, the way my tongue had slid past her lips and she'd tasted like cherry and something underneath that was just her. It had been making me crazy.
I scrubbed both hands down my face and they smelled like her. How? I'd showered three times, but there it was. Coconut and something warm underneath, like she'd seeped into my goddamn pores.
All night I dreamed of her. What it would have been like if we were alone.
That maybe I should have kissed her at her door even though there was no one around to see it.
In the dreams, I had. I'd pressed her against that door, her braids in my fist, her legs around my waist. I'd kissed the spot on her neck where my stubble had scraped and she'd made that sound, the one from the arena, that gasp, except louder, needier, right against my ear.
I woke up every time before it went further. Cock aching, heart slamming, sheets damp with sweat.
Three cold showers since last night, and I was still like this. The memory of her body pressed against mine in the arena had my cock hardening again, and I groaned into my pillow.
The guys in the locker room hadn't said shit, really. Jenkins had made his comments, Way had given me that look, but nobody pushed it. They probably figured she was another puck bunny. Give it a couple of days, though.
There were no events today. Over the next month, there would be a couple more, an athletic awards dinner, a charity event, Pucks and Stars, and a few others, all events where I needed Lena on my arm.
She had some faculty things she wanted me at too.
And assistant coaching the intramural tennis match she'd downplayed, but I'd seen her play in high school. She was damn good.
It said a lot that she was even considering playing again.
Either way, I would be there. Front row, cheering like an idiot.
That's what good boyfriends did, right?
Boyfriends.
My hand froze on the pillow. We weren't really dating. This was pretend, and I needed to get my head straight before I screwed everything up.
Except my body hadn't gotten the memo, because my body thought this was very, very real.
My second alarm went off just before a text came in. I grabbed my phone and went cold.
Idiot Brother heard from Aaron about the deputy commissioner situation. I know you’ll get it sorted.
And there it is, and I wasn’t just talking about my brother’s inherent selfishness.
Not that I could keep this from him for long. He'd be at the charity event. I could already picture it. Trevor scanning the room, spotting Lena on my arm, that slow, cold recognition settling over his face.
My teeth clenched.
Me: I have it under control.
Idiot Brother if you need a girlfriend, I can hire you a pro.
I stared at his text. I never understood why, when given every opportunity, Trevor always made the exact wrong choice.
Hire you a pro, because in Trevor's world, everything had a price tag and a return policy.
Me: not necessary. I got one. Everything's under control.
Idiot Brother is she hot? She has to be hot.
I rolled my eyes. How much to tell him? If I told him now, he'd be pissed and stew about it for weeks. Or I could leave it. They hadn't been together in almost three years.
How bad could it be?
The memory of Trevor putting his fist through the drywall when we were kids because I'd borrowed his favorite hockey stick without asking, answered that question real fast.
Me: Doesn't matter.
Idiot Brother it does if you have to bang her. Considering Aaron's dead serious about this, she's going to be the only girl you're banging for at least several months. Maybe I should hire you someone.
My teeth ground together. The only girl I'm banging. Like Lena was interchangeable. Like she was a service to be hired. My brother, ladies and gentlemen, real class act.
Me: No. Like I said. I have it handled.
Idiot Brother send me a picture. I want full approval
Full approval, like he was vetting a business acquisition. Like I needed his permission to date someone.
My thumb hovered over the screen. For a split second I imagined sending it. Lena's face lighting up Trevor's phone, the silence that would follow, and then the explosion.
Not today.
Me: not going to happen. She'll get the job done. Late for practice. Call you later.
My phone lit up on the nightstand. Aaron. “Just a heads up, someone from the Gazette reached out asking about your ‘new girlfriend.’ I handled it but we need to talk about how public this is getting. The Seattle scouts are watching. Don’t give them a reason to look twice.”
I tossed my phone onto the rumpled sheets and dragged myself to the shower. I leaned my forehead against the cool stone, water drumming down my back, trying to convince myself that keeping Lena a secret from Trevor a little longer was the right call.
You're not keeping her a secret. You're managing the timeline.
Sure. That's what we're calling it.
Fourth cold shower it is.
I cranked the handle to the left and hissed when the ice water hit. At this rate, our water bill was going to look like tuition.
I had classes, a paper, and a chem lab waiting for me, so I got dressed on autopilot and headed downstairs.
"Sup man?" Waylon said, tilting his chin up in greeting from the table. "Where did you disappear to after the game? Most of us headed over to Phi bar for food and then to Tim and Mike's place."
I grabbed my premade smoothie from the fridge and cracked an egg into the pan. "Came straight back and crashed out."
Waylon watched me over the rim of his coffee. Then, casual as anything, "So you didn't go home with a certain Lena Hartwell?"
My hand tightened on the smoothie bottle until the plastic crackled. "If you already know the answer, then why are you asking?"
He gave a noncommittal shrug, leaning against the counter. "Honestly? I'm wondering why you didn't mention you were screwing your brother's ex?”
Fuck me. "Not screwing anybody." The words came out too fast. My neck went hot.
Smooth, Coulter. Real smooth.
"So that little display of you trying to eat her face in the stands after the game, what was that?"
I focused on my egg, flipped it, and watched the white bubble and crisp at the edges. "It's not a big deal. I ran into her at the Commons a couple days ago, we got to talking, and I invited her to the game."
Even I could hear how hard I was selling it. Overcompensating much?
Waylon grinned at me like the Cheshire cat. "No big deal enough that what you told your brother?"
I lifted my brow. "What's your point?"
"My point is you're full of shit." He said it cheerfully, "But that's your business."
Waylon set his coffee down and crossed his arms. "Look, you're my boy. You tell me you like her, I'm ride or die. But you and Trevor get into it sometimes, and I just figured somebody should say something before you're thinking with the wrong head."
"Why do you assume I'm thinking with my dick?" I snapped, flipping my egg onto a piece of toast. The spatula cracked against the plate harder than I intended.
He shrugged. "the way you two looked last night. Pretty clear to me."
I bit into my sandwich. I swallowed and heard myself say, "Lena's not just some fling."
The words hung there. Waylon's eyebrows went up, and my grip tightened on the sandwich because I'd meant that, every syllable. For a girl I was supposedly faking it with, I sure as hell sounded like a guy who was all in.
And that was a problem.
Waylon leaned back, arms crossed. "All right then."
The quiet stretched. I could feel him not buying a word of it, and the worst part was he was right. This was supposed to be a deal, mutually beneficial and clean.
Except my hands were still shaking from dreaming about her, I'd kept her book on my nightstand for three years, and I'd just told my best friend she wasn't "just some fling" about a girl I was supposedly faking it with.
Yeah. Real clean, asshole.
I tossed my plate in the sink, adding to the pile, because apparently no one in this house had ever heard of a dishwasher, and grabbed my bag. The strap caught on the chair and I yanked it free harder than necessary.
"I'll see you at lab later?"
Waylon nodded, but his eyes stayed on me a beat too long. "Sure thing."
I was halfway to the door when he called after me.
"Hey man?" He ran a hand through his hair. "Just be careful, okay? Trevor acts like he doesn’t give a shit, but we both know better."
Way had come home with m a couple of times and been treated to a front row of Trevor’s antics.
My jaw tightened, because Waylon wasn’t wrong. Trevor’s rage was explosive. But also, my brother could hold a fucking grudge.
“Laters,” I said, and stepped out into the morning air before he could push it further.
The walk to campus was cold, and Waylon's words burrowed under my skin the whole way.
Be careful. Easy for him to say. He wasn't the one who'd kissed Lena Hartwell in front of ten thousand people and liked it enough to want to do it again and again, possibly forever.
Cool, not dramatic at all.
I was so lost in thought I almost missed her.
Lena was cutting across the quad, braids swinging, copper highlights catching the sun. Coffee in one hand, textbook under the other arm, frowning at her phone like it owed her money.
She hadn't seen me yet.
My feet changed direction before my brain caught up and I was already losing my mind.
Down, boy, but
I couldn't take my eyes off of her. Shoulders back, chin up, like she was daring the world to get in her way.
When she looked up, and those dark eyes found mine across the quad, and everything else just. Stopped. Students, noise, cold air, gone.
Just her, looking at me with an expression that was half alarm and half something she was trying very hard to hide.
But she broke eye contact first, looked down at her phone, tucked a braid behind her ear, and changed direction toward the library.
Smart girl, one of us needed to have some sense.
But my feet were already moving. "Lena."
She stopped and took a beat before turning. Her expression was guarded, but her fingers tightened on the textbook. "Trace. Hi."
Hi. Like we hadn't been devouring each other twelve hours ago. Like I hadn't spent all night dreaming about finishing what we started.
"Hey." I stopped a couple feet short of where I wanted to be, which was close enough to touch her. My breath fogged between us in the cold. "How's your mom doing?"
Her chin dipped and the guarded look cracked for half a second, just a flash of something raw and tired underneath, before she pulled it back together.
Her fingers tightened on the textbook, knuckles pressing through the skin.
"She's, yeah. She's hanging in there. The referral went through. Dr. Okafor's office called yesterday."
"Good." I held her gaze. "That's really good, Lena."
She swallowed hard and looked away, shifting her weight like she was about to bolt. "I should get to the library."
"Yeah." I didn't move. "Hey, your intramural match next week. What day?"
Her brows pulled together. "Thursday. Why?"
"I'll be there."
"Trace, you don't have to—"
"I know I don't have to." I said it quiet enough that only she could hear. "I want to. You might not be playing, but I will be there to support you.”
And there goes your cover story about this being purely transactional. Good job.
Color crept up her neck again. She opened her mouth, closed it, and shook her head with something that wasn't quite a smile but wasn't far off. "You're impossible."
"So I've been told."
She turned and walked toward the library, and this time I let her go. But I caught the way she pressed her lips together, the thing she did when she was trying not to smile.
There it is.
What the hell was I going to tell Trevor?
Yeah, that'll go over great at Thanksgiving.
Because the second he realized who my mystery girl was, everything was going to burn.