Chapter 8
Izzy
I shuffle forward in line at the Purple Kettle, playing with the stack of rings on my index finger. I’ve been up since five;
I started the day with a swim before hitting the gym. Caffeine is definitely in order before my two boring classes: statistics
and philosophy. I met up with Victoria, who is taking stats with me, and Ellie, our friend and teammate, on the walk over.
If this line hurries up, we’ll have enough time to enjoy our iced coffees outside before class begins.
That’s a big if. Mia isn’t working today, but if were, the line would be going a lot faster. She doesn’t like when people
dither .
“This is taking forever,” Ellie says with a sigh. “I need to be in class soon.”
Victoria just shrugs. “Aren’t you going to one of those huge classes that doesn’t take attendance?”
“They still take attendance.”
“No way.”
“They do. With the clicker question thingy.”
“That sounds fake.”
“Why do you think they ask you a question when you walk in? They want to know who’s there to answer it.”
Victoria pokes me. “Is that true?”
“It sounds legit to me.” The group at the head of the line finally finishes ordering, so we’re able to take a big step in
the direction of the register. “And why do you care, anyway? You never miss class.”
“I like the fantasy of it,” Victoria says. “It’s like coming from just a cock. It never happens, but it’s fun to think about.”
Ellie makes a face. “Straight people terrify me.”
“The elusive vaginal-orgasm-by-cock,” Victoria continues, nodding sagely. “Although you can ask Iz about it.”
“Oh my God, shut up,” I say, glancing around. The guy behind us has AirPods in, but really, anyone could be listening. I regret
telling her that Nik actually made me come, sometimes without even touching my clit. With everyone else I’ve slept with, Chance
included, I had to fake it. “You’re the worst.”
“Maybe Shona and I should try it,” Ellie says. “With a toy, obviously.”
“Wait, what?” I say, whipping my head around so fast my hair nearly hits Victoria in the face.
“It’s new,” Ellie says. She’s blushing, pink bangs falling into her eyes. “So don’t—”
“This is the best news ever! I knew you guys were flirting.”
Victoria squeals. “So you have Shona, Izzy has her—”
“Don’t you dare. I haven’t even seen him since the party.”
“Right,” she says, dragging out the word. “I’m sure.”
I’m not lying; in the week since the party, I’ve stayed away from Nik. It’s been harder than I’d expect, at a school this
large, but it’s like when I really want a pair of sold-out shoes and suddenly it seems like everyone is wearing them but me.
A couple days ago, as I walked past the athlete gym, I saw him bench-pressing enough weight that I almost started drooling.
Just yesterday, I nearly ran into him in the quad, but hid behind a shrub before he noticed me.
I still can’t believe he showed up out of the blue, asking me if I missed him.
Of course I missed him; I missed him before I even lost him. But that’s not the point. We were never dating, which means I don’t have the right to be upset by how things ended. The only thing more pathetic than getting upset at your former fling in a stupid party outfit complete with glitter would be pining over him, and as long as I avoid him, I can try to move on. Maybe I’ll get lucky and he’ll be gone for the
NHL by Halloween. He told me over the summer that he wants his degree first, but a girl can dream.
“Really,” I say. “I’m chill. I’m moving on. My crush on Harry Styles is returning.”
I wonder what Nik thinks of McKee girls. Who knows, maybe he’s hooked up with a new girl each night this week, enjoying the
fact that male athletes on this campus never have to go looking for company. Maybe the next time I see him, he’ll be holding
hands with some gorgeous girl who—
“Izzy,” Ellie says, nudging my arm.
“Are you going to order?” the dude behind the counter asks.
I blink, my green-tinged daydreams scattering. “Oh, sorry. Yeah. Can I get an iced coffee with a pump of vanilla syrup?” I
pull out my card, hoping to foot the whole bill before Victoria or Ellie offers, but someone else beats me to the chip scanner.
“No latte today, Isabelle?” Nik asks, tilting his head to the side as he tucks his credit card back into a leather wallet.
My heart jackrabbits as I glare at him. He’s got a smug look on his face, as if he’s thrilled to have surprised me. First
the party, and now this. Where did he even come from? I glanced around when we arrived to make sure I wasn’t about to run
into him, and I thought I was safe.
“This is the best day ever,” Victoria whispers. “Free coffee and a show.”
He looks good today, dressed in a gray T-shirt and dark wash jeans that I’m sure cost a couple hundred dollars each. I know what his wardrobe is like. Damp hair curls over his forehead. A leather messenger bag hangs from one shoulder, and somehow, the pen tucked behind his ear looks attractive, not douchey. He gives me a lopsided smile; it’s always a smirk, thanks to his scar.
I straighten. At least I put on more than just mascara this morning.
“I was about to pay for that.”
He hands me my drink. “I figured one more coffee run couldn’t hurt. Old times’ sake.”
My cheeks erupt in what I’m sure is a very noticeable blush. He bought my morning coffee at least a dozen times over the summer.
I drank whole milk iced lattes with the most colorful flavors on the menu: orange, lavender, raspberry. He always got a black
iced coffee, bitter enough to make me scrunch my nose when I kissed him. The best mornings were the ones when he could hang
out with me for a while, instead of rushing off for a session with his trainer.
I stab a straw into the coffee lid. There’s no point in bringing up those memories. “Come on,” I tell Victoria and Ellie.
“What, no thank-you?”
I want nothing more than to thank him, except my thank-you would involve a kiss, so instead, I try for a smile. A polite but
dismissive one, like you’d give the weird old guy staring at you on the subway platform. “Thanks. I need to get to class.”
“How is volleyball going? Did you talk to your coach yet?”
“It’s fine. And I did.” I step around him, ignoring the fluttering in my belly. “I’m going to be late.”
He flashes my friends a smile before guiding me forward, fingers brushing the small of my back. “I’ll walk you.”
I march to the door, knowing he’s right on my heels. Outside, before I can escape, he stops me in my tracks with a hand on
my arm.
“Please, Isabelle. Let’s find a time to talk.” He glances around as he tugs me behind the nearest tree. The September sun filters through the still-green leaves. “I know you have a match later, but what about tomorrow? Dinner?”
I bite my lip, brushing the hair away from my face. I should have put it up before I left the gym; it’s annoyingly windy outside.
Somehow, it doesn’t surprise me that he knows my volleyball schedule.
“There’s nothing to say.”
“We both know that’s not true.”
I practically fling my hair over my shoulder. A piece falls back over my eyes. “Look—”
“Here,” he says, pulling a scrunchie out of his bag. A pink scrunchie, to be exact. A scrunchie I lost one day after an impromptu
and ill-advised trip to Jones Beach with the guy holding it out.
I stare at it like it’s poisonous. “You found it? And kept it?”
He gives it a shake. “It’s yours.”
Our fingers brush as I take it, sending a tiny, delicious lick of warmth through me. I smooth my hair into a ponytail, willing
away my flush. It’s just a scrunchie, after all.
“Found it in my cupholder,” he adds, half smiling. “Remember when you—”
“Why are you toying with me?” I bet I could finish his sentence; he’s thinking about when I put my hair up to blow him while
we were both sunburnt and sandy and craving cold beers. I banish the thought. “You never—we never—”
His gaze doesn’t leave mine. “You know me better than that.”
“We can’t do this.” I take a step back. “Summer’s over.”
“And things look a hell of a lot different now.”
“So?” I blink, emotion crowding my throat. “You can’t tease me just because I’m the convenient option.”
“Is that what you really think I’m doing?” He traces the side of my face, fingers hooking on my chin.
This close to him, I feel the power in his body—and remem ber exactly how he used that to make me scream. Every intimate encounter before him ended in disappointment, but he made me feel so wanted, so good. A tangle in the bedsheets meant orgasms so intense I cried and him praising me for it in his lowest, roughest voice.
Good girl, Isabelle. So perfect for me, like sunshine after a storm.
I want to melt into him, but instead, I steel my spine. “I’m sure dozens of girls are dying for a shot with McKee’s newest
hockey star.”
He tugs on my ponytail, gaze darkening. “And I haven’t noticed a single one, sunshine.”
My heart skips a beat or five. The ponytail move is bad enough, but calling me sunshine again?
I should leave. Go to class. He’s just saying whatever he thinks will get me to agree to one last hookup, and I’m falling
for it. And yet I can’t help but sway closer, inch by breathless inch... until my lips brush his.
My entire body sparks at the light contact. I relish his sharp intake of breath, gripping his shirt even tighter as I swipe
my tongue over the seam of his lips. His familiar, clean scent makes me shiver. He slides an arm around my waist, holding
me close, my coffee nearly spilling over our shoes.
For one perfect, sparkling moment, it’s July again, and I’m drunk on him.
Then my eyes open, and reality crashes through. I jerk away, hitting my hip on his bag and stumbling.
“Sorry, sorry. That was just—a thank-you. A thank-you for the coffee.”
It’s just a kiss. Kisses don’t count for anything.
I make a break for my building, and this time he doesn’t try to follow me.