Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Tristan
I don’t follow them down the beach.
I could.
I know the rhythm of Kane’s walk now. I know the way Stella slows when she’s thinking. It wouldn’t be hard.
But I don’t.
Because I respect him.
And because she deserves a date that isn’t shadowed by me.
Doesn’t mean I don’t think about it.
Too much.
I sit on my balcony later, elbows on my knees, replaying every look she gave him at dinner. Every laugh that wasn’t forced. Every second she seemed… open.
My chest tightens.
I saw her first.
My heart picked her before I even knew what that meant.
But I also froze first.
That’s the part that sticks.
If she chooses Kane, it won’t be because he stole something from me. It’ll be because I dropped it.
I drag a hand through my hair and exhale.
Freshman year she could’ve had him.
She didn’t.
That has to mean something.
I’m not out.
I just need to stop performing and start showing up.
The plan isn’t dramatic.
It’s small.
Intentional.
I end up next to one of Stella’s teammates in econ — Beal — loud, observant, the kind of person who knows everyone’s business whether she tries to or not.
“What’s Cortez order at the coffee shop?” I ask casually.
Her eyes light up instantly.
“Oh my God. You’re trying to romance the ice princess.”
“Just answer the question.”
She grins like she’s been waiting for this.
“Vanilla non-fat latte. Extra protein. Whipped cream. Hot. Always hot. Could be a heatwave — still hot.”
I file that away.
“And her schedule?” I ask.
Beal leans closer.
“We’d love to see her melt, Vale. Sworn secrecy.”
I shake my head, but I’m smiling.
The quad smells like cut grass and late-summer flowers when I spot her.
Blue sky so bright it almost looks fake. Bougainvillea spilling over the walkways. Students everywhere — backpacks, laughter, first-week energy.
Stella steps out of class and my brain does that thing where everything else drops away.
She’s in a soft cropped sweater that falls off one shoulder, athletic shorts that show the strength in her legs, that charcoal hair tie on her wrist like always. Hair loose down her back, catching the sun.
She looks… unreal.
I walk straight toward her.
Her eyes widen when she sees the coffee.
“You didn’t,” she says.
I hold it out.
She takes it anyway.
“You know I’m dating Kane, right?” she says, suspicious but flustered.
I tilt my head.
“I didn’t know one date qualifies as dating.”
Her mouth opens.
“So he hasn’t locked you down,” I add lightly. “Which means I’m still in the running.”
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling despite herself.
“Sushi?” I try.
“I don’t eat raw fish.”
“Thai.”
She narrows her eyes. “You’re looking desperate, Vale.”
I step closer.
“For you?” My voice drops. “I am.”
Goosebumps ripple along her arms even in the warm air.
God.
She looks overwhelmed more than anything.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she admits quietly. “I’ve never… I’m not a player like you guys.”
The guilt in her voice hits harder than rejection would.
I soften immediately.
“It’s fine,” I say.
I take her hand before she can retreat.
Her fingers tense — then stay.
“I’ll settle for lunch in the dining hall.”
“Vale—”
Too late.
I’m already pulling her across the quad.
Heads turn the second we walk in; the athlete dining hall is basically a rumor factory with protein shakes.
Everyone knows she was on a date with Kane.
Now she’s here with me.
Her face flushes.
“Vale, I’m going to kill you,” she whispers. “This is going to be all over social media.”
I stop walking.
She bumps lightly into me.
“They’re going to say I’m dating both of you,” she continues, anxiety creeping in. “They’re going to call me—”
I step closer.
Close enough that the noise fades.
“Anyone who bad-mouths you answers to both me and Kane,” I say quietly.
Her eyes search mine.
Because she believes me.
“My Cinderella,” I murmur, softer now. “Stella Bella.”
She rolls her eyes at the nickname, but she doesn’t pull away.
So I lean down.
Just a soft kiss.
Barely there.
Enough.
Electricity slams through me like five years collapsed into a single second. The same static. The same awareness that this girl rewires my nervous system without trying.
I pull back before it becomes something bigger.
Her pupils are blown wide.
Mine probably are too.
Around us, the room hums louder — whispers, curiosity, the story already spreading.
I don’t care.
Because for the first time since she walked out from behind that curtain—
I didn’t freeze.
And that changes everything.
The second I pull her toward the corner table, the room shifts.
It’s subtle — chairs scraping softer, conversations lowering half a decibel — but it’s there.
Stanford athletes don’t miss drama.
And right now?
We’re the headline.
I guide her into the chair across from me. No one joins us. No one interrupts. They just watch from a distance like we’re some kind of wildlife documentary.
My phone starts vibrating almost immediately.
Then hers.
We both glance down.
Group chats exploding. Mentions. Probably already a blurry TikTok from across the room.
I reach forward and flip mine face-down.
Then I take hers gently from her hand and do the same.
She blinks at me.
“Bold,” she says.
“Necessary.”
I stretch my hand across the table, palm up.
She stares at it like it’s radioactive.
“Chicken?” I ask lightly.
Her eyes snap up.
“Me? I’m afraid of nothing.” Her spine strained and her eyes snapped fire at me.
“You felt it,” I say, lowering my voice. “When we kissed.”
Her cheeks flare bright red.
God.
That reaction alone is worth the public spectacle.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mutters.
I lean back, amused.
“Liar.”
She kicks my shin under the table.
And somehow, we fall into conversation.
Real conversation.
“How’d Royal Oaks end?” she asks.
“As expected.”
Her eyebrow lifts.
“Which means?”
I smirk.
“Leo and Jade burned it down.”
Her eyes light.
“I watched the Netflix miniseries.”
“You saw me in it then.”
She shrugs.
“I might’ve fast-forwarded your parts.”
I laugh.
“Liar.”
She smiles despite herself.
“I’m glad it got exposed,” she says more quietly. “That place deserved to fall. I just wish I’d been in the headspace to do it myself.”
There’s no bitterness now. Just distance.
“I’d love to meet Jade,” she adds.
“Oh,” I say, leaning forward. “So you have a celebrity crush on Jade?”
She rolls her eyes.
“I admire her.”
“I can make that happen,” I say easily. “They’ll probably fly out for a few games. We could double date.”
Her lips twitch.
“I’m sure Kane would love that.”
“Ouch,” I press a hand dramatically to my chest. “Stella, you’re bruising my ego.”
“Maybe a breezy sorority girl would look good on you, Vale.”
That one lands.
She stands, gathering her tray.
I move without thinking.
My fingers wrap lightly around her wrist.
Not tight.
Just enough.
She stills.
“This isn’t over,” I say quietly.
Her pulse jumps beneath my thumb.
“Just so we’re clear,” I continue, holding her gaze. “I’m coming after you, Stella Cortez.”
Her breath catches.
“And I’m coming hard.”
Her cheeks bloom again.
And that’s when I feel it.
Another presence.
Kane.
He’s standing just behind her, having clearly caught the last line.
His expression is unreadable for half a second.
Then —
He smirks.
“I’m still in the ring,” he says lightly.
Stella groans.
“You two are embarrassing me.”
She steps back from both of us now, flustered and glowing and very aware of the audience.
“I’m going to be the talk of campus,” she mutters. “And I am not a girl who enjoys the limelight.”
I glance at Kane before answering her.
“That’s what we like about you.”
She frowns.
“You’re not trying to get with us for fame or fortune,” I add. “You’re just… real.”
She freezes.
Then narrows her eyes.
“Oh,” she says slowly. “So that’s what I have to do to get you both to stop pursuing me? Become like them?”
She gestures vaguely toward the sorority section of the dining hall.
“Noted. Sorority makeover. Booking it now.”
Both of us groan in unison.
“Don’t you dare,” Kane mutters.
She smiles — triumphant — and backs away toward the exit.
“Behave,” she throws over her shoulder.
And then she’s gone.
The room exhales.
Whispers resume at full volume.
Phones tilt.
Speculation spikes.
Kane steps beside me.
For a second, neither of us says anything.
Then he nudges my shoulder.
“You up for some dessert?”
I bark out a laugh.
“Always.”
We clap each other on the back like nothing just happened.
Like we’re not both pursuing the same woman.
Like this isn’t the most insane dynamic on campus.
Across the room, I can feel the confusion.
What the hell is wrong with them?
Why aren’t they fighting?
Why aren’t they territorial?
Because this isn’t ownership.
It’s choice.
And she hasn’t made hers yet.
Kane glances at me as we walk toward the counter.
“You’re not backing down.”
“Not a chance.”
“Good.”
“Same to you.”
We bump fists.
Brotherhood intact.
Competition alive.
And somewhere across campus, Stella Cortez is probably pacing, wondering how she became the center of a war no one is actually waging.
Good.
Let her wonder.
Because this time?
I’m not freezing.
I’m playing to win.
Apparently transferring schools doesn't get you out of initiation.
I should've known that.
The locker room smells like sweat, deodorant, and whatever cheap cologne the freshmen drown themselves in before parties.
Kane leans against the lockers, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold with the kind of amusement that means he's already agreed to whatever stupidity is about to happen.
"Technically," Beal says, tossing a duffel bag at me, "you're not a freshie."
I catch it.
"Correct."
"But," another guy adds, grinning, "you're still new to the brotherhood."
Kane shrugs.
"Rules are rules."
I unzip the bag.
Inside is the Stanford mascot suit.
The Tree.
I stare at it.
Then at them.
"You're joking."
"Nope."
"Absolutely not."