Chapter 3 #2
I let out a small laugh, looking down at the white and blue practice jersey I’m currently wearing. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen. It needs to be washed before I can walk around campus in it.”
“It doesn’t need to be cleaned,” he says, unbothered.
“Zach, it reeks of sex.”
“Correction: it reeks of sex with me.”
I nod, giving him a bemused smile. “When did you become so possessive?”
“The minute Jamie offered me the full cost of the bet to leave you alone.”
My brows furrow. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, did I forget to tell you that little tidbit about your ex?”
“You absolutely did not mention that.”
“Yeah, well, I guess he saw what was coming before we did,” Zach says, his voice quieter now. “Didn’t want me taking away his golden ticket to the family dynasty.”
He pauses, his jaw tight, then he looks straight at the screen.
“Not that it matters. We found each other anyway, and I want you there. In my jersey.” His tone shifts. “Not for show. Not to prove a point. Just… because it’s yours, and it always will be.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Perfect. All right, I’m going to find Reese. I’ll see you later, Honeycomb.”
“Love you.” I blow him a kiss, which he pretends to catch with his teeth, and he takes a smug slurp of his drink before hanging up.
Dragging myself out of bed, I grab my shower caddy and head down the hallway. The music is blaring from the shared bathroom as I pass the rows of cubicles.
Taken.
Taken.
Taken.
Finally, the last stall in the corner is free.
I slip inside, pull the curtain shut behind me, and wash away the sleep, the soreness, and the lingering scent of Zach. I take my time, letting the water pound my back, hoping it will make the pain from the mattress go away.
It doesn’t. It never has, yet I persist in believing that one day it might.
Wringing out my hair, I finish up and turn the shower off before wrapping a towel around my body. At this point, the music has stopped, and the only noise I can hear is a few footsteps further down the bathroom.
“Yeah, I heard them again last night,” one of the girls whispers, irritation dripping from her voice. The hairs on the back of my neck rise because I know they’re talking about me. I just know it.
I lean in toward the curtain, careful not to make a sound.
“There’s so much grunting, and the banging… ugh. It’s like some deranged drum pounding into my skull.”
“It’s just gross,” another girl adds. “Like, we’ve already said something. How many more times do we have to tell her before she stops letting him come over and, well, come all over her?”
I take in a sharp breath, trying my best to stay still because the humiliation stings worse when it’s overheard.
“I think she’s doing it on purpose.”
“Why would she do that?”
You know what? Maybe I should stop listening. It might not be about me. They haven’t said my name. No one has. Maybe this is about someone else, and I’m just being paranoid.
“Because she wants to gloat that she’s got QB1 wrapped around her little finger.”
My stomach drops.
“For now.” The other girl laughs. “Did you see the picture Sarah sent him last week? Wonder if he’s responded yet.”
“I’m sure we’ll hear about them breaking up soon enough, and can you imagine how delicious her crying alone is going to sound?”
“Still won’t make up for everything we’ve had to put up with. Honestly, it’s just disgusting. No one wants to hear her screaming.”
My cheeks are hot. I wasn’t screaming. I couldn’t because there were freaking panties in my mouth. She’s making it up for effect, and my heart races because somehow I’ve made a name for myself without trying, which is the exact same thing that happened in high school.
What’s wrong with me?
Why are girls always waiting for me to fail?
The only people who can seemingly stand to be around me here are Zach and his teammates. Even then, I think the only reason they’re nice to me is because they have to be.
Would it have been different if I went to Southern Collegiate with Olivia? At least there I wouldn’t just be Zach Evans’ girlfriend—a title people whisper like it’s both an accomplishment and a sin. There, no one would know my name, and maybe I could figure out what I want to do in peace.
I let out a quiet, bitter laugh because let’s be honest, Southern Collegiate wouldn’t have been a fresh start either.
Not with Jamie there.
My ex, my boyfriend’s cousin’s baby daddy, and my own personal reminder that I was cheated out of a life I couldn’t even decide if I wanted because he didn’t. His choice was always the default. Not mine.
I lean against the tiles and take a deep breath as I wait for the girls to leave before I dare peek out of the shower. When I’ve confirmed it’s empty, I sneak back to my bedroom, only to be met with a small, pink Post-It note stuck to my door.
“The room of Honey Sanderson. The ultimate Pick Me.”
I stare at the words, and shame pulses through my cheeks like I’ve just been slapped. Pick Me. The same thing they used to say in high school when Jamie cheated and everyone assumed it was my fault for being the type of girl someone cheats on.
I guess they think Zach’s the same kind of guy, too.
I crumple the Post-It in my hand and toss it to the floor.
Screw them.
Zach isn’t a cheater. I know it. I know him and I won’t let them define our relationship like that.
Shutting the door behind me, I blow out a breath and lean against it, letting the same questions run through my head.
I’m stubbornly refusing to move in with Zach, but is it wrong?
If I were living there, would things be different?
Would I be friends with those girls instead of the afterthought in their group chats?
No.
Because then I wouldn’t just be the girl who sleeps with him, but the one who has him. The one who lives with him, wakes up to him. That kind of closeness? That would’ve been even worse.
At least here, I get to pretend I’m just another girl in a dorm room, even if no one believes it.
I change quickly, tugging on some leggings and a generic St. Michael’s sweatshirt, hoping I’ll blend in with everyone else because I need air and some headspace.
My hands are shaking as I grab my notebook and laptop, but I shove that feeling down because I absolutely refuse to let them see me cry.
Instead, I do what I always do: pretend I’m fine and go to class.
The professor ends class, but I’m not ready to move. I just sit there, smiling at my laptop screen, my head full of ideas for this paper. Even my notebook is covered in scribbled notes, and I smooth a hand over the page, admiring it. For once, I didn’t let anything—or anyone—get in my head today.
I stayed focused. I listened. I wrote down every idea that floated through my mind.
And the best part? I’m actually excited to write something. That’s never happened before.
Students start packing up around me, chairs scraping, backpacks zipping, but I take my time. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’ve found a class I might actually be interested in.
When the room empties, I pack my things away and walk to the end of the aisle. A perky blonde with a megawatt smile and a tall guy with sandy brown hair are standing there. Even though I try to step around them, I somehow manage to bump into them.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, moving past, but the girl stands in front of me, blocking my exit.
“No problem,” the girl says before clearing her throat and leaning into my personal space. “I’m Jenni.” Still smiling, she thrusts her arm out.
I notice her blue-and-white manicure as I take her hand.
With her other hand, she uses her thumb to point at him. “And this guy is Chris. He’s just transferred from Southern Collegiate to play on the hockey team.”
I lift my gaze and meet the guy with slightly red cheeks and messy light brown hair.
“Hey,” he says with a chin tip, then focuses his attention back to Jenni.
“Uh, hi?” I answer back, surprised at their keenness.
“We thought we’d say hello,” she continues, “since we’ve noticed you sitting on your own in class a couple of times.”
“Oh.” I look between the two of them, not sure what to say. They’ve noticed I sit alone so much that they felt compelled to talk to me?
Wow, I’ve reached a new level of pathetic.
“Well, it was nice to meet you both. I’ll probably see you in the next class.”
I take a step back, instinctively pulling into myself, but Jenni doesn’t take the hint. She steps forward, all bright eyes and invasive energy.
“And you are?” she asks, her voice trailing off with a curious lilt.
I look at her for a second, waiting for the joke. The insult. Anything that I usually get from pretty girls like her, but her face remains blank.
Wait, doesn’t she know who I am?
Oh, God. Did I just think that?
Yeah, and it sounds ridiculous, but my reputation precedes me here. Most people have already made up their minds about me before they’ve met me, but not her, it would seem.
I blink, thrown. For a second, I don’t know how to respond. Then I force out a breath and give her a small nod.
“I’m sorry. I’m… Honey.”
Her brows lift. “Honey? Like… honeybees?”
There’s no malice in her tone, just confusion and maybe a little hint of amusement.
“Yeah, it's short for Hunniford,” I answer, feeling somewhat embarrassed about my rather unusual name under their gaze. “It’s a family name.”
“It’s cute. I like it,” Jenni says, elbowing Chris. “What do you think, C?”
“Yeah, it’s really cute,” he says, his eyes locked on her like she’s the only thing worth looking at.
When she glances his way, he chuckles and shakes his head.
Ah. I get it. They’re dating.
Jenni turns back to me, still beaming, and completely oblivious to the tension tightening in my chest.
“Well,” she says, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “we just wanted to say hi, and if you don’t want to sit alone in class anymore, you’re more than welcome to come and sit with us.”