Chapter 3
Three
West
The party’s noise returns in a dull roar, like the ocean rushing in to fill a sudden void. The space in front of me, where she stood a second ago feels unnaturally empty. My fingers are still tingling where they tangled in her hair. It was softer than it looked.
My tongue swipes over my bottom lip. Whiskey, mint, and something else. Something I can’t name. Her.
“What the hell was that?”
Nate, my winger, is staring at me, his eyes wide over the rim of a red cup. The brunette I was talking to—Ashley? Allison?—is looking at me with a mixture of outrage and hurt. I don’t register her expression beyond a clinical assessment. Her presence is now an irritation.
I ignore them both. My gaze is fixed on the front door, and the path she carved through the crowd as she fled.
Fast.
For weeks I’ve seen her in the library, hunched over a book, a dark curtain of hair hiding her face.
Walking across the quad, always with a purpose, never just drifting.
She carries herself with a ‘don’t fuck with me’ energy that’s more potent than any perfume.
I’d made a mental note of her. An interesting variable.
A flash of green eyes in a sea of brown and blue.
I just never expected her to walk straight up to me and light the fuse herself.
The kiss wasn’t a surprise. The surprise was the jolt. A raw, unexpected current that shot straight from my mouth to my gut. Her body went rigid, but for a split second before she panicked, there was a tremor. A surrender. I felt it. A flicker of heat that told me everything I needed to know.
She thinks she hates me. It’s written all over her. The disdain for the parties, the athletes, this whole scene. I think she kissed me to prove a point to herself.
Bad move.
All she proved is that she’s been watching me, too.
“West?” Nate tries again. “You good, man?”
I turn my head slowly, my eyes meeting his. I don’t say anything. I just look at him until he grows uncomfortable and steps back.
“Right. Uh, I’m gonna go get another drink.” He disappears into the crowd.
The brunette is still there. “So, are you going to say something?” she asks, her voice sharp.
I finally look at her. Really look at her, and I feel nothing. Annoyance. Impatience. She’s a distraction from the only thing that suddenly matters.
“Go home,” I say. The words are quiet, flat. Not a suggestion.
Her jaw drops. “Excuse me?”
I don’t repeat myself. I just hold her gaze until the anger in her eyes is replaced by fear. She turns and storms off, disappearing into the sweaty mass of bodies.
My phone is already in my hand. I pull up a number and type a quick message.
Me:
Need a name. Girl. Black hair, green eyes. Just kissed me and ran. Check the library security feed from yesterday, 3rd floor, around 4 PM.
I don’t have to wait long. My phone buzzes a minute later. My contact is efficient. That’s why I use him.
A name, and a student ID number.
Kinsley Fischer.
Kinsley. The name tastes right. I pull up the university database, a system I learned the back doors to in my first year. It’s incredible what people will give you access to when they think you’re just a dumb jock.
Her file appears. Sophomore. Nursing major. A single dorm in Juniper Hall. And a phone number.
My fingers move, typing out the two words that have been echoing in my head since she ran.
Me:
You’re fast.
I hit send.
The hunt has begun, and she doesn’t even know she’s the prey.