7. Win
7
Win
O ne thing they warn you about in recovery is the proclivity to replace your addiction with another. And boy have I found a new and equally self-destructive one.
I double-check my watch.
Five more minutes.
Stepping onto a college campus without being enrolled feels illegal. Like I’m going to get caught by campus security and escorted away while crowds of disgusted students chant to burn me at the stake.
A bead of sweat rolls down my temple. I would commit a whole host of criminal offenses for some air-conditioning right now, but the idea of missing him keeps me glued to the side of the building.
The heavy door of the lecture hall bursts open, spilling a stream of students like ants from a kicked hill. I thumb the ring on my middle finger and chew the inside of my cheek.
Since the fateful party a few weeks ago, I’ve been outside more than I have in years. Mom’s laying off on the nagging; she thinks I’m getting my life together since I asked to buy a visitor parking pass for FMU. Lugging V with me on these adventures sells it to her, though, I doubt my precious violin is thrilled to be tucked in the back of a Range Rover, baking in a parking lot for hours. (Borrowing Mom’s SUV is decidedly less humiliating than begging Richard to buy me another car after I totaled mine.)
Finally, the straggler I’ve been waiting for elbows the door open. He's staring at his phone, a mess of brown curls obscuring his eyes. If the little frown he’s sporting is any indication, he’s not having a good day.
Remy doesn’t smile much anymore. I’ve been following him for almost a month and only counted three forced shows of teeth.
I hate it.
He stops under the shade of a massive oak, his thumbs tapping the screen at lightning speed. Who the fuck is he texting? Sweat collects in the waistband of my jeans but I stick to my hiding place, examining him head to toe.
He’s in a light blue t-shirt today with grey shorts that are just tight enough across his ass to drive me wild. Although he still has a couple inches on me, he's filled out compared to the lanky boy I remember; sun-kissed skin stretches over defined muscles dusted in blonde hair, practically screaming for me to touch. There's even a delicious hint of stubble shadowing his square jaw. I want to lick it, mark his neck with hickies and bites—
I’m getting ahead of myself.
Seeing Remy again has reawakened my sex drive. My dick has been perpetually chubbed since encountering the stunning man he’s grown into. The thought of what’s beneath his clothes? Full mast. His disbelieving voice whispering my name? Ready to blow.
Too bad he only gifts me death glares… like the one leveled at me now.
He doesn’t say anything to me. He never does when he catches me lurking. And yeah, I could hide better, but I want him to see me. I want him to know he’ll always consume me.
He’s not meant to escape me.
Not in this life.
Or the next.
With a huff in my direction, he adjusts his backpack and marches toward the breezeway. I follow at a distance like a stray dog begging for scraps.
I won’t lie, he’s tried many times to shake me off by taking alternative routes or darting into buildings with locked doors, but I patiently wait him out or meet him at his next destination. I have his schedule memorized.
Walking behind him does have some perks. I get to admire his perfect ass— I think I want to bite that too. Leave a nice bruise to brand it as mine.
I’m lost to the fantasies of him bent over for me when I notice he’s ducking into a coffee shop outside the Student Union.
Doesn’t he have Developmental Psych in ten minutes?
I squint, unable to distinguish anything through the glare on the shop’s windows.
Fuck it. He already knows I’m tailing him.
A cheery jingle welcomes me as I yank the door open, the gust of AC nearly making me moan. I push sweaty hair off my forehead and scan the line for my runaway boy. Except he’s not ordering coffee. There’s only one way in and out… unless he cut through the back.
My gaze sweeps the dining area and within three seconds I locate a familiar brunette in a blue tee—
He’s not alone.
Across the table is an attractive blonde guy with two cups of coffee. He’s beaming as he passes one to Remy, who accepts it with a shy smile.
A smile.
A. Genuine. Fucking. Smile.
I’m boiling, and it has nothing to do with the temperature outside.
The asshole with obnoxiously bleached teeth is babbling animatedly, hands flying around as he regales some stupid tale to a chuckling Remy.
This Ken-Doll-looking piece of shit is making my boy laugh too?
Fuck no.
All pretense flies out the window. I stomp to the counter, trying my hardest not to snap at the barista who takes a hundred years to make a simple order.
“You need a bag?” she asks as I swipe my card.
If she holds me up any longer, I'm going to lose it. I shake my head, scooping up my haul and spinning on my heel. Then I'm plopping everything on the table between Remy and Twinkly Teeth.
“You didn’t mention someone was joining us,” I say, sliding two chocolate-filled croissants to Remy.
Hazel eyes blink in shock.
To Mr. Shiny Teeth and Me, I flash a threatening simper, extending a hand across the table as I sink into the open seat. “Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Win.”
Chicklet Tooth shoots Remy a look that wordlessly demands, “Who the fuck is this?”
My grin widens.
He clears his throat and gives me a loose handshake. “Henry. ”
I scoot my chair an inch closer to Remy; our arms bump. His warm skin against mine is a shot of euphoria. He flinches, jaw flexing as he stares at the pastries I’ve laid before him.
“I thought you had… somewhere else to be,” he hisses out of the corner of his mouth.
I cock my head. “The only place I want to be is here with you.”
His spine straightens, a mixture of rage, sorrow and disbelief swirling in his eyes. Rage is winning. His upper lip curls in a sneer.
“Is that so?”
I urge all sincerity to the surface.
“I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true. Always has been.”
His knuckles are white, his grip strangling the paper coffee cup. Henry glances between us, unaware of the secondary conversation happening.
Then Remy lurches out of his chair, shaking the table. King Toothtastic’s coffee tips—
A waterfall of brown, milky liquid cascades to the floor. I shove my chair back in time to miss the onslaught, but Henry isn’t so lucky. It drenches his crisp white polo, collects in the lap of his blue shorts and soaks his boat shoes.
“Fuck— sorry— I—” Remy stammers.
“It’s fine,” Henry grimaces, nose scrunched in disgust.
Remy scrambles for napkins, but Henry holds up a hand to stop him. As much as it pains me to see my sunshine so distraught, I can’t pretend it’s not satisfying as shit to watch the laser-whitening poster boy rise from his seat covered in a thick layer of custom latte.
“Maybe we can meet—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Henry mutters, cutting Remy off and waddling to the door without a backward glance.
I’m still gloating when a chillingly vicious voice snarls, “What the fuck is wrong with you? ”
When I look at Remy, I'm met with ice-cold fury. The glimpse of light I witnessed earlier has been extinguished. My stomach drops.
He shakes his head slowly.
“Stay the hell away from me.”
I refuse to drop his hardened stare.
“I can’t.”
His eyes close.
“Please,” he whispers.
And.
My.
Heart.
Breaks.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur.
Because I am sorry… for not being able to let him go again.