Chapter 9
NINE
LUKE
I don’t slam the door behind me.
I could. I want to. But that would give him the satisfaction of knowing he got to me.
So I walk. Smooth. Steady. As though my knees aren’t still shaking and my throat isn’t tight and there isn’t something—some ache or burn or bruise—lodged right under my ribs, raw and painful and refusing to fade.
The sun’s still high, bright enough to sting my eyes as I step into the thick midday heat. Everything around me feels loud—the buzz of lawnmowers in the distance, a basketball hitting pavement, birds shrieking from a rooftop as if they’ve never known heartbreak.
I make it halfway across the parking lot before I stop, blinking hard against the glare. Because I’ve hooked up before. I’ve had sex that was rough, breathless, fast and filthy. I’ve chased it, reveled in it, used it like armor. I don’t get emotional about it.
So what the hell is this? Why does it feel like I just got kissed and shoved in the same breath? Why does it feel like he stripped more than just my clothes?
“Luke?”
I blink again.
Daniel’s walking up from the gym wing, a water bottle in one hand and his hoodie tied around his waist, hockey jersey still clinging to his frame. His brow furrows the second he sees me.
“You look weird.”
I scoff. “Hello to you too.”
He narrows his eyes. “No, like… weird weird. You’re not doing that sparkle thing. What happened?”
“What sparkle thing?”
“The thing where you act like you’ve got secrets, but you’re gonna flirt them out of everyone else first.”
“I don’t sparkle.”
“You sparkle like a bitch, Luke. Even without glitter.”
I huff, scrubbing a hand over my face. “You’re annoying.”
Daniel just tilts his head. “What happened?”
“I’m fine.”
He doesn’t even dignify that with a response. He just waits.
“Jesus,” I mutter. “Fine. Whatever. I had practice. It was sweaty and unpleasant, and maybe I got rejected again by a man who railed me against a locker and then decided to speak regret in Spanish as if I wouldn’t notice.”
Daniel’s whole face contorts. “Wait, what?”
“Yeah.” I gesture vaguely behind me. “Coach. You know. My new hot-as-fuck coach.”
His mouth opens. Closes. “You—again—” He cuts off, checking over his shoulder. “Is this a joke?”
“Does it look like I’m joking?” I snap, instantly regretting the bite in my voice.
Daniel studies me, voice softer. “Shit. Are you okay?”
I hesitate.
Because no—I’m not. But it’s not like I’m heartbroken or whatever. We barely spoke. It was a hook-up. A hot one. A violent one. A fucking insane one that I instigated.
And yet here I am. Standing in a sun-drenched parking lot, feeling hollow in the chest and a little bit like my skin doesn’t fit right.
“I’m fine,” I say again, quieter this time. “It’s just… I didn’t expect it to feel like that.”
Daniel blinks. “Like what?”
“Like he touched something I didn’t know was there and then left it exposed.”
The silence between us stretches. Then he says, “You want me to get Ty and Will and we can stage an old-fashioned locker room exorcism?”
I snort. “What would that even look like?”
“I don’t know. A lot of sage and glitter.”
That cracks something in my chest. Not all the way, but enough to breathe again. This isn’t that serious. I’ve done hook-ups before. Sure, I don’t usually go back for seconds, but it’s still just sex.
“I’ll survive,” I say. “It was just sex.”
Daniel arches a brow. “You sure about that?”
I pause. Then shrug. “I am now.”
He doesn’t believe me. I don’t really believe me. But we don’t say anything else about it.
He slings an arm around my shoulders, tugging me toward the dining hall like we’ve got all the time in the world and none of the secrets.
And I let him. Because maybe if I keep walking, keep moving, keep pretending—I’ll believe it too.
The dining hall is too bright. Too loud.
Too… normal.
Daniel peels off to grab food, but I spot Ty and Will first—along with Colton and Micah—already halfway through a tray of fries and what looks like three varieties of sports drinks because none of them understand balance.
“Look who survived morning drills,” Will calls, grinning like he wasn’t just bitching about sled pushes two hours ago.
“Survived is generous,” Ty mutters, eyeing me. “You look like you got hit by a bus.”
“Thanks, sunshine,” I deadpan, dropping into the seat across from them. “Always nice to be welcomed with kindness.”
Micah slides over his fry tray. I steal a couple without shame.
Daniel returns with a bowl of something suspiciously healthy and sits beside me, nudging his knee against mine as though we’re in a romcom montage.
The others barely blink. None of them notice that I’m quieter than usual.
That I don’t flirt. Don’t toss back anything more than one-liners.
They’re used to me being loud, but not emotional.
Good. Let’s keep it that way.
I’m halfway through picking apart my sandwich when my phone vibrates. Mom flashes across the screen.
I freeze.
“Everything okay?” Daniel murmurs, only loud enough for me to hear.
“Yeah,” I lie. “Just... need a minute.”
I slide out of the booth and walk toward the back patio exit. It’s quieter outside, still buzzing with noise, but less watchful. I swipe to answer, voice clipped.
“Hi.”
“Lucas,” my mom says, voice warm in that practiced, polished way that grates like sandpaper. “I wanted to remind you that we’re having family dinner this weekend. You’ll be home.”
It’s not a question.
“I’ve got practice,” I say.
“Not on Sunday.”
“Travel,” I lie.
“Your father wants to see you.”
Right. So he can stare over his wine glass and ask if I’ve “thought about coming back to church.” Again.
“I don’t know if I can—”
“Lucas.”
The weight in her voice is familiar. Final.
I clench my jaw. “Fine.”
She exhales like that’s some great gift. “You can bring someone if you want.”
I blink. “What?”
“Someone you’re dating,” she says delicately, as though the word might break her tongue. “If you have a… friend.”
A friend.
I snort. “Sure. I’ll bring my entire harem of boy toys. Hope the pastor can make room.”
“Lucas.”
But I’m barely listening. My eyes have drifted back through the window, landing on Daniel—laughing at something Micah says, stealing fries off Will’s plate like he was born to cause trouble.
An idea sparks. Fully formed and one-hundred percent wicked.
Oh, we’re doing that.
I pull the phone back to my ear. “Actually,” I say, sweet as sin. “I am seeing someone.”
Silence.
Then: “Really?”
“Mmhm. Super serious. I’ll bring him.”
Her voice goes tight. “Wonderful.”
I hang up before she can say anything else. By the time I slide back into the booth, I’m already smirking.
Ty raises an eyebrow. “You look like you just lit something on fire.”
“I might have.”
Will groans. “No arson on weekdays, Luke. We talked about this.”
Daniel eyes me warily. “What did your mom want?”
“Family dinner.” I grab a fry. “She told me to bring someone.”
Micah snorts. “You gonna take Coach? Let him meet the parents?”
Ty nearly chokes. But I’m not looking at any of them. I’m looking at Daniel. And I smile.
“Actually,” I say slowly, “I think I just found the perfect boyfriend.”
Daniel freezes.
Like full stop, chewing halted, one eyebrow lifted in pure, suspicious judgment. It’s honestly impressive how fast he puts the pieces together—faster than any of the idiots at the table who are still whooping and cackling like I just announced an engagement.
He doesn’t say anything right away. Just levels me with that look.
That “What the hell are you up to now, Luke?” look.
Which is fair.
Because, yeah, I might’ve just implied he’s my boyfriend. And I might be doing it to spite my very Christian, very denial-ridden parents, who still think I’m just “going through a phase” and that a few more family dinners might cure me.
But I don’t flinch.
I just take another bite of my sandwich and hold his gaze like I’m the normal one.
“You want me to go to your family dinner?” Daniel asks.
I nod. “Sunday. With my parents. Bring your best fake smile and maybe a condom for spiritual protection.”
“Spiritual—Jesus, Luke.”
I grin. “He’ll be there too. Front and center.”
Daniel stares at me for another beat, then says, “You told them you’re dating me?”
That actually pulls a real laugh out of me. “I told them I had a boyfriend. You were just conveniently standing in the blast radius when the idea hit.”
“And I’m just supposed to go along with that?”
I lean back in my chair and sip from my drink, keeping my expression casual. But something tight coils in my chest—something rawer than I want to admit. I shove it down.
“You’re hot. I’m hot. You’re not currently sleeping with my coach or anyone else that I know of, so honestly, you're my most respectable option.”
Daniel’s eyes narrow. “Respectable?”
“You own button-downs. That already puts you ahead of half the guys I’ve hooked up with.”
He doesn’t laugh.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
Daniel mutters something that sounds like “I fucking doubt it,” but I catch the twitch of his mouth before he turns back to his plate.
Across the table, Ty makes an exaggerated gasp. “Wow. So we’re just not even in the running, huh?”
“Yeah,” Will says. “What the hell, Maddox? You couldn’t have fake-dated me?”
I take a long, theatrical sip of my drink. “You’re straight, Ty. Painfully so. Like, missionary-position-on-your-wedding-night straight.”
Will chokes on his food laughing, and I point my fork at him. “And you? You made a whole ass chart ranking which women on campus you’d break your dry spell with. Respectfully, not giving that PowerPoint to my parents.”
Will groans. “That was supposed to be private.”
Ty shrugs. “But you had to go with the bisexual hockey player. We’re clearly the more dependable option.”
Daniel lifts a brow at him. “Pretty sure I’m being blackmailed.”
“Semantics,” I say brightly, already feeling the attention shift off me and back to something safer. “You’re pretty and cooperative. That’s all that matters.”
“Still not cooperative,” Daniel mutters under his breath.
I flash him a grin. “Not yet.”