CHAPTER 15
MATTY
By the time I finally gave up, the sun was already high, the campus dead quiet.
In my brilliant plan from the night before, I’d somehow forgotten one minor detail—it was Sunday today.
And apparently Ophelia, like most students on campus, didn’t leave her room on Sundays.
Which meant I’d spent five straight hours camped outside her dorm, half hidden behind a damn oak tree like some idiot stalker, waiting for her to come out.
She never did.
Not once.
At one point, I actually thought about dressing up like a pizza delivery guy—stealing a Domino’s hat, showing up at her door, and pretending there’d been a mix-up so I could “accidentally” deliver her lunch.
Just so I could see her face.
The plan even sounded reasonable for about five seconds.
Then I realized she could probably figure out pretty easily that I did not, in fact, work for Domino’s, and that obviously made that plan too risky.
So, I settled for the next best thing.
I ordered a pizza, waited until it showed up, and set the box right outside her door. Then I knocked once, hard, and sprinted down the hall like a fugitive before she could open it.
Real smooth, Adler.
Maybe it wasn’t flowers or a grand romantic gesture…but at least she had something to eat.
Although, I guess I could have allowed the pizza guy to deliver it to her door himself instead of risking her seeing me.
But the thought of some stranger standing there, looking at my girl, even for a second…Yeah, no. I couldn’t stomach that.
Regardless, I was now sitting on my couch at home—running on no sleep, half a protein bar, refusing to shower because I couldn’t stand the thought of washing her off me, and packing enough frustration to start a small riot.
It also didn’t help that my dad had been texting all day, demanding we “talk” about last night.
Every buzz of my phone made my jaw clench tighter, stacking another layer onto the foul mood already brewing.
His tactic today was to try to convince me that I’d “misunderstood” Kenton and that I should let him explain.
I stared at the latest message.
Dad: You’re overreacting, son. Kenton didn’t mean anything by it. He was just joking around. Don’t make this into a bigger deal than it is.
My thumb hovered over the screen, heat crawling up my neck.
Yeah, sure. Because threatening me because I didn’t want to get involved in a gambling ring and jeopardize my whole life was hilarious.
I tossed the phone onto the cushion beside me, his text echoing in my head long after it hit the couch. The man had a real gift for pretending his bullshit didn’t stink.
“Fucking catch the ball!” Jace screamed as he lofted a throw pillow at the TV like the receiver’s hands were a personal affront.
I glanced glumly at the replay—the receiver had dropped an easy pass from Jackson Parker, right in the end zone. The ball bounced off his chest and hit the turf, the crowd erupting in boos loud enough to shake the speakers.
Jace slammed his palm on the coffee table and leapt up so fast his beer wobbled on the coaster.
“I would never drop that,” he said, pacing like he was practicing a postgame interview.
“When I get to the pros? Never. That was amateur hour. Unacceptable. You hear me, future opponents? I. Do. Not. Drop.”
Parker snorted and didn’t bother looking up from his phone. “Keep the pep talk to the mirror, Thatcher,” he said.
I glanced over, expecting to see him scrolling through game stats or maybe the team group chat.
Nope.
I saw…pink.
For a second, my brain short-circuited trying to process what I was looking at. I could see rows of pastel bottles, someone’s hand under a UV light, and I could hear the faint hum of a blow-dryer.
Was that…a nail salon?
I blinked and leaned closer. Yep. Parker was sitting there glued to a live stream of the inside of a nail salon.
It took me a solid three seconds to realize what I was seeing. Or rather, who I was seeing as Casey’s friend Natalie appeared on the screen.
“Wait…is that—”
He didn’t even look up. “Casey, Riley, and Natalie,” he said flatly.
My eyebrows shot up.
“You’re watching them get their nails done?”
“I’m watching Casey get her nails done,” he corrected, giving me a faint shrug, his eyes still locked on his phone.
I leaned closer, doing my best to sound casual even as my brain immediately started plotting. “So…hypothetically speaking, how does one, uh…do that?”
Parker’s gaze finally flicked to me, suspicious. “Do what, Adler?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly, straightening like a guy who definitely wasn’t considering installing hidden cameras on a girl so he could track her everywhere.
Parker stared a beat longer, then went back to his phone.
Out of nowhere, Jace huffed a laugh. “She’s so cute.”
I glanced up and blinked.
Jace was holding up his own phone, grinning like he’d just cracked the code to life. On his screen was the same salon, same pink walls, same terrible background music—just a different pair of hands in frame.
Longer nails this time. Glitter polish. Definitely Riley.
“It’s always so cute how they talk about us,” Jace mused, leaning back on the couch like he was watching a rom-com instead of a manicure.
Parker didn’t even glance up. “She’s probably telling them about how you tried to make Pop-Tarts in the toaster with the foil still on.”
“I like a challenge,” Jace said defensively. “Keeps my reflexes sharp.”
“If you could challenge yourself somewhere I don’t sleep, that would be great.” I scowled, realizing now why the house had smelled like it had almost burned down when I’d walked in.
“Shh,” Jace said, raising a finger. “She’s saying something about me.”
Two seconds later, the receiver on the TV dropped another pass, and Jace exploded.
“CATCH THE DAMN BALL!” he roared, chucking the nearest throw pillow at the screen, nearly spilling his beer in the process.
My phone buzzed again, the vibration enough to grate on my last nerve. I didn’t even have to look to know that it was my dad again.
I scrubbed a hand down my face and sank deeper into the couch…definitely sulking.
Jace’s eyes kept flicking between the TV and his phone, a sappy, lovestruck grin tugging at his mouth every time Riley’s voice came through the speaker. He’d shout at the TV one second and then melt into a goofy smile the next.
Parker wasn’t even pretending to watch the game. He hadn’t looked up once, completely absorbed in whatever Casey was saying on the other end. His mouth curved into that quiet, content smirk that only showed up when it involved her.
I sat there, surrounded by two fully grown men acting like they’d been shot by five billion of Cupid’s arrows, and tried not to lose my mind.
That’s what I want, I realized.
And right now, the girl who made me feel like I finally had something worth wanting was somewhere I couldn’t reach.
I clenched my fists against my knees.
Yeah, I was definitely losing it, and I definitely needed a distraction. Or in about ten seconds I was going to rush out of here and pound on Ophelia’s door, ruining everything just as it was getting started.
I glanced around the living room, trying to find something, anything, since obviously football wasn’t cutting it today.
My eyes snagged on a brown box by the front door—an sticker half peeled back because Jace had obviously tried to open it before being distracted by Riley’s ass…
That exact scenario happening at least ten times a week.
Something clicked. I’d placed the order weeks ago on a stupid impulse and then forgotten about it when life got loud. My tattoo kit.
I sat up so fast the cushion squeaked. Perfect.
I shoved off the couch, grabbed the box, and tore it open, spilling everything across the coffee table. Metal pieces clinked against the wood. Needles, tiny ink bottles, cords that looked way too complicated for someone who hadn’t slept, and an instruction booklet the size of a novella.
That got their attention.
Jace stopped mid-rant and leaned over the back of the couch. “Um…tell me that’s not what I think it is.”
Parker finally looked up from his phone, his eyes widening. “No,” he said immediately.
I frowned. “I didn’t even say anything yet.”
Jace pointed at the spread like it might bite him. “Because I already know that look. That’s your I’m-about-to-ask-you-to-do-something-stupid face.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re the only one with that kind of face,” I drawled, raising an eyebrow.
Jace grinned unrepentantly.
Parker dropped his phone onto the cushion beside him, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “Matty, you can’t just…tattoo things.”
“Not things,” I corrected, grinning as I picked up the machine and examined it like I actually knew what I was doing. “People.”
Jace barked out a laugh. “Is now a good time to tell you I like my skin without tetanus?”
“Come on,” I said, sitting forward and plugging a cord into the power pack. “You two always say I never try new hobbies. Look at me—personal growth.”
“I literally have never said you need to try new hobbies,” Parker exclaimed.
I grinned and reached for the thick instruction pamphlet, flipping it open just long enough to see a wall of diagrams and safety warnings. The thing read like a legal contract mixed with medical jargon.
I stared at it for maybe two seconds before tossing it back onto the table. “Yeah, I think that YouTube video I watched is gonna be more helpful,” I mused, grabbing the tattoo gun like I had a license for this sort of thing.
Parker’s eyes widened. “Please tell me you mean a certified training video.”
“Eh,” I said, shrugging. “It had upbeat music and a guy named InkDaddy69 in the title. Close enough.”
Jace choked on his beer. “InkDaddy what?”
“Focus,” I said, testing the pedal until the machine whirred to life. “You two are gonna help me.”
Parker blinked. “Help you what—bury your mistakes?”