17. Aurora
AURORA
Brrrrrrring.
I groan into my pillow as the sound of my alarm drills straight into my skull. My face is smushed sideways into the pillowcase, my cheek stuck to the fabric, and I pat blindly across my nightstand until my fingers finally close around my phone, squinting when the screen lights up.
Another groan slips out when I see the time, and I immediately hate the version of myself who thought setting an alarm was a good idea. My head throbs when I roll onto my back. After the team’s win, everyone wanted to go out, and apparently, I got a lot drunker than I remember.
The memories start coming back anyway as I force myself upright. The bar, the shots, and the exact moment Cole walked in with a group of guys I didn’t recognize.
Our eyes locked across the room, and every single thing I’d been trying not to think about came crashing right back. His hands. His mouth. The way my body betrayed me so completely, I’m still annoyed at myself for allowing him to fuck me against a tree a week later.
One look at the hard expression on his face and I already knew exactly what he was thinking. He was pissed I was there. Pissed that somehow, we always kept ending up in the same place, no matter how badly we clearly needed to stay away from each other.
I forced myself to look away and did some shots with the girls, doing my best to act like I didn’t care that he was there.
But every few minutes, my eyes kept drifting back to him anyway.
He never looked my way again for the rest of the night, too busy with the girls circling around him and his friends.
After a few more shots, I called an Uber and left before I could make another stupid mistake I promised myself I wouldn’t make again.
I really thought letting Cole fuck me again would finally get him out of my head.
That whatever this is—that awful, sizzling feeling in my bones every time he’s near me—would finally burn itself out after the humiliation of letting him bend me over a tree.
But apparently, shame isn’t a strong enough disinfectant to scrub a man like that out of my veins.
What was worse was that the morning after Halloween, I realized that he hadn’t worn a condom. We’d been so ravenous for each other that neither of us had noticed.
I got tested and then went straight to the pharmacy and took Plan B, because the only thing more horrifying than sleeping with Cole again would be letting that night leave me with—god forbid—a baby.
I plant my feet on the floor and stretch, wincing when the movement makes my head throb harder, then drag myself to the bathroom. I blink at my reflection, my mascara smudged under my eyes and my hair an absolute mess.
I quickly wash my face, then wrangle my hair into a bun.
Goosebumps break out over my arms, and I shiver, suddenly remembering how stupidly cold this apartment gets in the mornings.
I always go to sleep in just panties and a T-shirt, since I like to sleep like a starfish, but the second the cold air hits my bare legs, it feels like a terrible decision.
I shuffle to the dresser, yank open a drawer, and grab the softest pair of sweats I own before heading out of the bedroom, following the smell of coffee, needing it in my bloodstream.
Isabella is at the stove flipping pancakes in an oversized sweatshirt while Ryan stands behind her, his arms looped around her waist, his chin hooked on her shoulder as he murmurs something in her ear that makes her cheeks go pink.
They’re so gross. I love them.
Isabella finally glances up when she spots me and her face breaks into a smile. “Hey,” she says, gently nudging Ryan away with her hip. “You’re up.”
Ryan twists to look at me, his eyes skimming over me. “Barely,” he replies with a chuckle. “You look like you got hit by a bus.”
“Thanks,” I deadpan, shuffling toward the table.
“Want coffee?” Isabella asks, already reaching for a mug. “I’m also making pancakes, if you’re hungry.”
I sink into a chair and let my head tip back against the window frame behind me. “Please,” I sigh. “I will literally name my firstborn after you.”
“She says that to everyone who gives her anything sweet,” Isabella tells her boyfriend.
Isabella pours some coffee into a mug, adds a splash of milk and a spoon of brown sugar—the way she knows I like it—and slides the mug across the table. I wrap both hands around it, letting the warmth soak into my palms and take a sip.
It’s hot and strong and exactly what my soul needs right now.
“You left early last night,” she says, sounding suspicious.
“Didn’t feel like staying,” I say, taking another sip.
Ryan chuckles as he reaches for a plate. “It was because of Cole, wasn’t it?”
The coffee goes down the wrong way so fast I nearly choke to death. I cough, sputtering as I try to recover while Isabella freezes in the middle of flipping a pancake, her eyes going a little wide.
“What?” I manage between coughs. “What are you even talking about? Of course not. Why would I care about Cole? I don’t. Obviously.”
Ryan lifts both hands. “I just meant because you two are always arguing. Jesus. Relax.”
Some of the panic drains out of me, my shoulders dropping in relief. “Oh.” I clear my throat and try to act normal, even though my heart is still beating way too fast. “Yeah, no. I mean… I’d rather lick a subway pole than be in the same room as him.”
I let out a nervous chuckle, trying to cover up my freak-out. But it’s no use, they’re both looking at me warily.
I meet Isabella’s eyes and press my lips together into a tight smile, and for a second, I think about telling her about this whole thing with Cole.
I just feel like I need to tell someone, to get this shit off my chest. Besides, she’s my best friend. If there’s anyone I should be able to say this to, it’s her. Or Maisie. Maisie wouldn’t judge me… would she?
I groan inwardly, already knowing how it would go. They’d look at me like I’d lost my mind. They’d ask questions I don’t even have answers to, and honestly, I’m already judging myself enough for everyone. I wouldn’t even know where to start, let alone how to explain why I slept with him… again.
So I take another sip of coffee and pretend my life isn’t a complete disaster.
Ryan snorts and reaches for the syrup, shaking his head. “Well, your loss. You missed Austin singing ‘Like a Virgin’ on top of the bar.”
I arch a brow. “You’re joking.”
He shakes his head, leaning back against the counter. “I recorded it,” he says. “In case you want to see it.”
My eyes widen. “Hell yes.”
He grins, grabs his phone off the counter, and pulls up the video. Sure enough, there’s Austin, making a complete fool out of himself as he belts into a beer bottle. I snort under my breath. The guy sure loves karaoke night.
Isabella sets a plate of pancakes in front of me, then leans over my shoulder to watch the video. A laugh slips out of her. “Oh my God. He’s going to kill you if you post that.”
Ryan slides an arm around her waist and tugs her against his side as he slips his phone into his pocket. “Nah. He wouldn’t care,” he says. “Austin lives for attention.”
He dips his head and kisses her cheek, and she smiles, her eyes fluttering shut as she leans into him.
When I first got to Colton U, I’d been weirdly stressed about having a roommate. Sharing a space with a stranger sounded like actual hell, and I’d fully convinced myself I was going to end up with someone miserable or painfully awkward. Instead, I got Isabella.
Within a week, she stopped feeling like some random girl I’d been assigned to live with and became my best friend.
Isabella slides into the chair beside me and nudges my knee with hers. “Did you end up getting that tattoo?”
The question catches me mid-bite and I shake my head, swallowing down the pancake. “No,” I reply, jabbing my fork into my pancake—imagining Cole’s stupid face under it. “There were some… issues.” I shove a bite into my mouth before she can ask anything else.
Ryan looks up, his brows lifting. “You’re getting a tattoo?”
I nod and grab my phone, scrolling until I find the sketch I did a few weeks ago, and the second I hand it over, his eyes widen.
“Holy shit.” His eyes flick over the sketch. “This is badass. Where are you thinking of getting it?”
“I was thinking my upper thigh,” I tell him. “Kind of wrapping up the side into my hip.”
“That’s so cool,” he says, handing me my phone back. “Why didn’t you end up getting it done?”
Cole’s face flashes into my head. His hands on my leg while he placed the stencil. The tension between us, both of us acting like it was nothing when it so clearly wasn’t. We almost crossed a line that day.
Then we went ahead and bulldozed right over it.
Twice.
I’d been planning this tattoo for weeks before I ever stepped into Ink’d Out. I read reviews, compared shops, and made sure I picked the right place.
And I didn’t get it because of a guy. Just like I didn’t get one because of Chase.
He used to wrinkle his nose every time I brought it up, calling tattoos trashy and cheap, and for some stupid reason, I listened to him. I let his opinion get in my head, and I didn’t get the tattoo I wanted because of it.
How stupid is that? Letting some guy veto what I do with my own body.
I’m not doing that again. Not for Chase, or Cole, or any other guy who thinks he gets to decide what I can and can’t do with my body.
“I just wasn’t sure about it,” I lie, lifting one shoulder. “But I’m getting it today.”
Isabella looks over, her brows lifting. “Today?”
“Yep.” I take a sip of coffee, washing down the bite of pancake. “If I don’t do it today, I’ll talk myself out of it.”
Ryan chuckles as he cuts into another piece of pancake. “You’re impulsive as hell.”
I shrug, flashing him a smile. “Better than being boring.”
He lets out a laugh and then goes straight back to demolishing the pancakes his girlfriend made.
I pull my phone back and look down at the sketch again.
I’m getting this damn tattoo.
Even if it means having to see the guy I’ve spent the last week avoiding.