Breaking His Ice (RIDGEWATER U #2)

Chapter 1

ELIJAH

I take a long drag from my cigarette and exhale slowly, watching the smoke curl up into the darkening sky. The water in the pool ripples with each lazy kick from Luke's legs as he half-floats against the edge. My mood is as dark as the shadows lengthening across the deck.

This is the last week before the semester officially kicks off. No classes yet, which means zero excuses to skip practice—not that skipping is ever actually an option. So it's just hockey, sleep, and whatever version of recovery we can fake before doing it all over again.

Liam drifts on his back, eyes closed, looking almost peaceful if you didn't know him. His voice breaks the relative quiet. "Coach is gonna murder us tomorrow with those two-a-days."

"Murder would be merciful," Luke replies, splashing water idly with his palm. "What he's got planned is straight-up torture. Alumni scrimmage after morning conditioning? That's just sadistic."

I flick ash from my cigarette onto the concrete beside my sunbed, not bothering to respond. The evening air feels heavy against my skin, humid enough to make breathing feel like work. Perfect weather for brooding.

"You think the alumni are gonna go easy on us?" Liam asks, his eyes still closed, face turned to the purple-streaked sky.

Luke snorts. "Have you met Richards? Dude's been out three years and still acts like he's competing for the Hobey Baker every time he laces up. He's gonna try to take our heads off."

"Least it's not Daniels coming back this year," Liam says. "Remember how he checked you into next week last year?"

"Don't fucking remind me."

I roll my eyes as they continue their back-and-forth. My fingers tap restlessly against the metal frame of the sunbed. Normally, I'd join in, talk shit about tomorrow's practice, complain about Coach's conditioning drills. But right now, I'm zoning them out.

"Hey, Captain Grumpy," Luke calls over to me. "You planning to share any wisdom about surviving tomorrow, or you just gonna sit there looking constipated?"

I take another drag, holding the smoke in my lungs before releasing it slowly. "Just accept death. It's easier that way."

"Profound," Luke deadpans. He pushes off from the wall, floating a bit farther into the pool. "I'm thinking four—no, five—espresso shots before morning skate."

"Your heart's gonna explode," Liam says.

"Better than passing out during suicides."

"You're both idiots," I mutter, but there's no real heat behind it. These guys are my brothers, even when they're being morons.

Liam lifts his wrist out of the water, squints at his watch. "It's already past seven."

"So?" Luke says.

Liam rolls onto his stomach, treading water. "Where's Zach at, anyway? He's missing our little pity party."

Earlier this morning, Zach left and drove all the way to Naples to pick up his little sister, Sam. To help her pack up and help her move into her brand-new dorm like the doting big brother he is.

Samantha Westbrook—the five-foot little devil—is coming here.

Not visiting.

Not passing through.

She's coming here to study.

At Ridgewater University.

At my school. My rink. My space.

Lucky me.

The distance was the only thing that ever made her presence tolerable. Naples was far enough that she could exist as a memory—blurred around the edges, easy to shove into the back of my mind. Just a name that popped up during holidays or in passing when Zach felt like oversharing and I pretended to listen.

Now that buffer is gone.

I've been counting down to this day ever since Zach told me. Dreading it in that quiet, constant way—like a low-grade headache you can't shake. The kind you forget about until you move wrong and suddenly it's there again, pounding behind your eyes.

She was always going to show up eventually. I knew that. I just hoped I'd have more time.

I take another drag of my cigarette.

"Oh, wait, isn't today his sister's move-in day?" Luke asks.

"Right, right," Liam nods. "He said he'd be back tonight though, yeah?"

I set my jaw, staring at a fixed point on the horizon where the sun is making its final descent. My fingers press hard enough into the sunbed frame to leave indentations on my skin.

"You good, Cap?" Luke asks, his tone shifting slightly. He's noticed my reaction.

"Fine," I say curtly. "Just thinking about how many of us are gonna puke tomorrow."

Liam studies me for a beat too long before mercifully changing the subject. "Maybe Zach's still helping her move boxes. Girls always underestimate how much crap they bring."

They exchange a look—matching grins, identical and smug.

"Lowkey," Luke says, "I kinda wanna go to the girls' dorm and see Zach's little sister."

Liam laughs. "Same. If she's as hot as her IG pics—"

I flick ash into the tray a little harder than necessary.

"She hasn't posted in like a year," Luke continues. "I wanna see what she looks like now."

I don't get it.

I really don't.

Hot?

That's the word they land on, like it makes sense. Like we're talking about the same person.

The last version of Sam Westbrook that exists in my head is almost three years ago, and there was nothing hot about her. She was sixteen. Clingy. Annoying in that way only high school girls with too many feelings and zero volume control can be.

Her hair was chopped short into this uneven pixie cut she clearly regretted, half-hidden under that awful bandana she insisted on wearing like it was a personality trait. She showed up at my dad's house in Naples the summer before I started my freshman year here—burst through the door like she owned the place, like she hadn't grown up five inches since the last time I'd seen her.

And then she cried. Freaking cried.

Like someone had died.

We were standing in the driveway, my bags already in the trunk, engine running, and she clung to my arm with tears streaming down her face, voice cracking as she told me I couldn't leave yet. That it wasn't fair. That everything was changing.

It was insane.

Dramatic as hell. Unhinged. Embarrassing for both of us.

I remember standing there, stiff and uncomfortable, glancing at my watch while my dad pretended not to notice and Sam sobbed like I was being shipped off to war instead of starting college.

That's the girl they're talking about.

Not some mystery Instagram glow-up. Not the fantasy version they've built in their heads.

Just a short, emotional teenager with bad hair choices and way too much attachment to things.

"So?" Luke says, dragging me back. "You're quiet."

I take another drag, exhaling slowly. "You're hyping someone you've never met."

Liam smirks. "You sound defensive."

I shoot him a look. "I sound realistic."

They laugh it off, because of course they do. Because to them, she's just Zach's sister. A name. A curiosity. Something new to look at.

To me?

She's a memory I left in Naples for a reason.

I flick the cigarette into the tray and stand, already done with the conversation.

"Trust me," I say flatly. "You're setting yourselves up for disappointment."

"I don't get you, Cap," Liam says. "If I had a fiancée who looked like her, I'd be way less calm about it."

Luke snorts. "Yeah. I'd be all over her. Constantly."

They slap hands in a lazy high five, clearly pleased with themselves.

I scoff and shake my head. "Of course you would. You two think with whatever's below the waist."

Liam shrugs. "Can you blame us?"

Luke grins. "I mean, your fiancée's a solid nine."

"First of all—she's not my fiancée," I say flatly. "Second," I add, irritation creeping in, "that whole engagement-slash-wedding thing wasn't even real. It was for her dad. He was dying. It was fake."

"And yet," Luke says, unfazed, "she took it seriously."

"Because she's insane like that," I snap. "She's the only one who did."

Liam waves a hand. "Fake fiancée or not, it's still the same girl who's been crushing on you for, what—ten years? That's commitment."

"Hear, hear," Luke adds.

"That's insanity," I say.

Liam laughs, shaking his head. "Wow," he says. "You really don't like her, huh?"

"Nope." I take a drag, exhale slow. "She's a pain in my ass that won't take a hint."

The twins crack up.

"So what're you gonna do when you see Zach's sister?" Liam asks, still amused. "Because you are gonna see her. You two are gonna cross paths whether you like it or not."

I groan, rubbing a hand over my face. I can already picture it—Sam trailing me around campus like a lost puppy, popping up at the rink during practice, pretending it's some cosmic coincidence we're in the same place at the same time. Probably calling it destiny. Or fate. Or whatever dramatic bullshit she's into now.

"I'll just keep ignoring her," I say. "Pretend she doesn't exist—"

"Eli!"

The sound of my name cuts clean through the air—bright, clear, unmistakable.

That voice.

It's higher than I remember, pitched with a sweetness that shouldn't still exist, threaded with a familiar lilt that hits somewhere deep and stupid in my chest.

Goosebumps break out along my arms.

Fuck.

I turn slowly, like my body's bracing for impact.

She's standing at the edge of the patio, framed by the open doors, both arms thrown high above her head like she's signaling a rescue helicopter—or celebrating a win she's already decided is hers. She actually bounces once on the balls of her feet, giddy, impatient, like gravity has temporarily loosened its hold on her.

For half a second, my brain offers up the wrong image.

Sixteen-year-old Sam.

All sharp elbows and too-thin limbs. Cropped pixie cut. That ridiculous bandana knotted around her head. A kid who cried like someone had died when I left Naples, clutching my shirt and swearing it was the end of the world.

That's who I'm expecting.

That's who my memory reaches for.

But the girl in front of me—she's not that.

She's... running toward me. Or walking fast. Or floating—I honestly can't tell, because my brain is stuttering, skipping frames like a corrupted video file.

She's wearing this yellow sundress with tiny white flowers on it, the fabric clinging to her waist before cascading down her hips.

Her hair is long now. Sandy blonde, spilling down her back in soft, glossy curls that catch the light with every step she takes. It moves like it belongs in a slow-motion shot, like someone styled it knowing it would be watched. She's filled out in ways my mind isn't prepared to process, confidence written into her posture, into the way she smiles like the world bends a little when she does.

God, she looks amazing.

Wait, what?

The realization lands sharp and unwelcome, a strange, crawling sensation spreading through my chest—confusion, disbelief, something unnamed that I shove down immediately.

I don't even realize I've stopped breathing until—she reaches me.

Two arms wrap around my waist, tight and sure, like she's been waiting years to do exactly this.

"I missed you, Eli!"

Her voice is muffled now, cheek pressed to my bare chest, her laughter vibrating against my skin as her soft hair brushes my collarbone. She smells like lavender and honey, like twilight in a summer garden where bees still linger over the last blooms.

I breathe her in without meaning to, and damn—it's a terrible mistake, because her scent clings to me, warm and tender and deeply intoxicating.

My hands stay useless at my sides.

This is wrong.

This is not the Sam I braced myself for.

And behind me, I can practically feel the twins' smug, feral delight as everything I was dreading crashes into me all at once.

"I missed you, Eli."

She says it again, like the first time wasn't enough.

Her arms stay locked around my waist. She shifts closer, cheek pressed firmly against my chest.

"I missed you so much," she says. "Like—so much. You have no idea. I tried not to think about it, but that didn't work. At all. So then I started counting instead. Months at first. Then weeks. Then days." She laughs softly, almost embarrassed. "I even tried counting seconds once, but that was really depressing, so I stopped."

Her hands find my back, fingers spreading against bare skin, warm and sure like they've memorized the shape of me already.

"I kept imagining this," she continues. "Like, what it'd be like when I finally saw you again. What you'd say. If you'd pretend you weren't happy or if you'd do that thing where you get all quiet and serious—" she pulls back just enough to tilt her head up, smiling against my chest, "—which, wow, nailed it."

She laughs again, bright and pleased.

"You smell the same," she adds. "I was scared you wouldn't."

I don't respond. I can't find the words fast enough to interrupt her, and she doesn't give me the chance anyway.

"I kept thinking, okay, just get through this year, then the next, and then I got into Ridgewater U." She exhales. "I didn't even think I would. But I did. And it felt like—like everything finally lined up. I've never been so excited in my life."

"So," Luke says, voice close now, amused as hell, "this must be Sam."

That snaps me halfway back into my body.

Liam laughs beside him. "Yeah. We've heard a lot about you."

Sam's head lifts from my chest, but her arms don't loosen. Not even a little. She turns just enough to look at them, her smile already stretching wide.

"Oh! Hi," she says, cheerful, like she's meeting friends she's known forever. "You're Eli's teammates, right?"

"Unfortunately." Luke grins. "Luke Archer." He taps two fingers to his temple in a lazy salute, flashing her a dimpled smile and punctuating the introduction with a wink.

"Liam," his twin says immediately, stepping in beside him with a smile just as effortless.

His gaze flicks between us—her pressed against me, me standing there stiff as a statue. His grin turns wicked. "Nice to finally meet our captain's fiancée."

She beams, practically glowing, clearly delighted by the title.

"That's me! Nice to meet you."

I grab her wrists and pull them away from me, stepping back in one sharp motion.

"Sam," I say, clipped. "Don't."

She blinks once.

Her eyes—silver, impossibly light—catch the patio lights and throw them back like cut glass. There's something mesmerizing about them, something that makes it hard to look away even when I want to. They're open, unflinching, full of a warmth that doesn't dim under my scowl. If anything, it deepens.

Her lips curve into a small, knowing smirk, like she's amused by my reaction rather than hurt by it. Like she expected this and isn't discouraged in the slightest.

"You're scowling," she says lightly, like it's an observation she finds charming.

Liam chuckles. "That's cold, Cap. You should be beaming now that your gorgeous fiancée's here."

I shoot him a sharp glare that could cut glass.

Sam just giggles, completely unfazed. "That's okay," she says, tilting her head as she looks up at me. Her eyes are bright—starry, almost—like she's watching something she adores. "That's actually his default setting when he sees me."

Luke snorts.

"You know I love everything about you, right, Eli?" she says softly. "Especially the scowling. It's like your secret love language for me." She smiles wider. "Like you're saying go away when you really mean stay."

She lifts her hands toward my face.

I catch her wrists and push them down, already annoyed.

"You know you're insufferable, right?" I say flatly.

"Yeah, but you've always loved that about me."

I roll my eyes hard.

There's no point arguing with her. She never listens. Never has. It's like throwing words into a void that just smiles back at you.

I stare ahead instead—and that's when I see Zach.

He's just stepping out through the patio door, pizza boxes in hand, a smug smirk already sitting on his face like he's fully aware of the torture his sister is putting me through—and enjoying every second of it.

I walk past Sam and the twins and stop in front of him. "Can you please take her away?" I say, deadpan.

Zach lifts a brow. "Can't," he says calmly. "You know how she is. Besides," he adds, "this is the most entertainment I've had all day."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Fine. If you won't handle her, I'll have you running suicides until you forget your own name during ice time tomorrow."

That smug grin falters. Just a little.

"Hey," he says quickly, pivoting. "No need for threats."

He then turns toward Sam and the twins, "Alright, everybody—pizza's here. Let's eat so I can drive my sister back to her dorm."

Sam spins on him. "What?" she protests. "You said I could stay longer, Zachy."

He clears his throat, tone firm now. "Not tonight."

She pouts. "But I just got here."

"And you'll be back tomorrow," he says. "Come on."

She huffs, clearly displeased, but doesn't argue further.

Just then, Cody bounded down the stairs, dressed to the nines and peering at his phone. "Yo," he says, thumbs flying. "Party at Theta Phi. Anyone wanna—" He looks up, mid-sentence, and his eyes land on Sam. He grins. "—and who's this hottie?"

Sam giggled. "Hi, I'm Sam."

Before Cody could turn on the charm, Zach smacked him on the head. "That's my little sister, dumbass."

Cody winces, rubbing his head. "Ow. Jesus. My bad." Then, unfazed, he grins again. "Nice to meet you, Sam. I'm Cody."

"I'll get changed and go with you," I tell him. Yeah, I know we've got a brutal two-a-day tomorrow, but tonight? Tonight I need to drink, blow off steam, and pretend responsibility doesn't exist. I can be a model captain tomorrow.

Sam's head snaps toward me. "Wait. You're going out?"

"Yeah," I say shortly.

"Can I come?"

Cody's mouth opens instantly. "Hell yeah—"

"No," I cut in, without hesitation.

She blinks. "Why not?"

"Because you're not coming."

She tilts her head, sweet as sugar. "Then how am I supposed to keep girls away from you?"

I stare at her. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No," she says, dead serious. "I'm going. It's time to stake my claim early, Eli. Let everyone know you're off the market. "

The room erupts.

Liam laughs so hard he nearly chokes. One of the twins claps. Someone actually whistles.

"You don't have a claim," I snap. "You don't get to stop me from meeting girls. Or flirting. Or living my life."

She shrugs. "And yet, I'm still going to."

Zach pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'm not driving you, Angel. I already had a long day today. Why don't you just go some other time?"

"That's okay," she says, already grabbing her bag. "Cody can."

Cody beams. "I sure can."

I look around at my teammates—every single one of them enjoying this far too much—and realize, with a sinking feeling, that this is only the beginning.

This is how my sex life dies: not with a bang, but with a five-foot-nothing cockblock named Sam who's apparently appointed herself the guardian of my zipper.

My living nightmare.

I shoot Zach one last look.

"Tomorrow," I say quietly, already turning away, "you're skating suicides."

His smirk finally slips.

"Yeah," he mutters. "Figured as much."

*****

SAM

I'm at the Theta Phi party with the hockey team, including my brother Zach, and for the last half hour, my only focus has been Eli. The second we walked into the Theta Phi house, he split off from the group, and wherever he goes, my gaze follows.

I'm not stalking him. Let's be perfectly clear about that. I'm simply maintaining strategic awareness of my future husband's whereabouts while simultaneously calculating the exact angle at which I need to "accidentally" spill my drink on the next spray-tanned sorority girl who thinks batting her dollar-store eyelashes at him constitutes a personality.

Eli doesn't know it yet, but ten years of loving him has made me extremely efficient at crowd control. Amateur hour over by the keg—I count three of them circling like vultures over the carcass of his attention.

Not today, ladies. Not on my watch.

I've positioned myself perfectly—corner vantage point, back to the wall, direct sightline to Eli. He's laughing at something some hockey bro just said, his smile unleashing a dimple that should honestly come with a warning label.

"Who are you glaring at now?" Zach materializes beside me.

"I'm not glaring. This is my normal face." I don't take my eyes off my target.

Zach follows my gaze to where a willowy blonde is sidling up to Eli, her hand casually brushing his arm as she laughs at whatever hilarious comment he's made about ice or pucks or whatever hockey players discuss when they're at parties.

"That's Becky. She's harmless."

"Nobody named Becky has ever been harmless." I take another sip, the sugary alcohol coating my tongue. "Besides, she's wearing a push-up bra with a cold-shoulder top. That's basically a declaration of war in the female kingdom."

Zach sighs. "You know, when I said I'd help you adjust to college life, I didn't mean enabling whatever this surveillance operation is."

"I'm socializing." I gesture broadly with my free hand. "This is me, being a normal college freshman, at my first frat party. Totally regular behavior."

Across the room, Eli accepts a drink from Push-up Bra Becky, and I feel my blood pressure spike to medically concerning levels. He takes a sip, maintaining eye contact with her over the rim of his cup, and I swear I can see her nipples harden through her shirt. Disgusting. Zero subtlety.

"I need to execute a perimeter check," I mutter, already calculating the most efficient path to "accidentally" interrupt their little moment.

Zach grabs my elbow. "No, you need to meet some of my friends who aren't Elijah. Come on, there are actual single guys here who might appreciate your particular brand of... intensity."

"Single guys are irrelevant to my current life plan," I inform him. When I glance back to where I last seen Eli, he's gone.

Where is he? The blonde has migrated to another group, but my Eli has vanished completely. My internal alarm system blares at DEFCON 1.

Where did he go?

"I need to use the ladies' room," I tell my brother, already sliding away.

Zach gives me a look that says he knows exactly what I'm doing. "Angel..."

"Nature calls, brother dear. You wouldn't deny me basic bodily functions, would you?"

Before he can answer, I'm weaving through the crowd like a heat-seeking missile. First, I check the kitchen—crowded with drink-mixers and snack-seekers but no Eli. The back porch is filled with smokers and couples engaged in varying degrees of saliva exchange—still no Eli. The first-floor bathroom has a line six people deep, but I confirm he's not among them.

Which leaves upstairs. Where people go at frat parties for one thing and one thing only.

My heart rate doubles as I climb the stairs, stepping over a couple who apparently couldn't make it all the way up before sucking face. The hallway is dimly lit and lined with closed doors. This is fine. This is totally fine. I'm just making sure my future husband isn't choking on his own vomit or something. It's a health and safety check, really.

I press my ear against the first door. Definite moaning. But thank God it's not Eli's voice.

The second door is locked. The third opens to reveal a bathroom where someone is throwing up spectacularly into a bathtub while their friend holds their hair back. Charming.

The fourth door is ajar, a strip of light slicing across the dark hallway. I hear a low laugh—a laugh I'd recognize anywhere.

I push the door open without knocking.

And there he is—my Eli, pressed against a wall by a redhead whose hands are already working their way under his shirt. Her mouth is attached to his neck like a lamprey, and his eyes are closed, head tilted back in pleasure.

My vision narrows to a red-tinged tunnel. For a second, I can't breathe, can't think—just absorb the tableau in front of me like it's a bullet to the chest.

Then his eyes flick open and meet mine.

"Sam?" The surprise in his voice quickly shifts to irritation. "What are you doing up here?"

The redhead turns, annoyed at the interruption. She's gorgeous in that effortless way that makes me want to check her for evidence of a deal with the devil—all creamy skin and perfect bone structure.

"Who's this?" she asks, her arm still possessively around Eli's waist.

I step into the room, closing the door behind me with a decisive click. "I'm so sorry to interrupt," I say, not sounding sorry at all. "But there's a small fire downstairs, and I thought you'd want to know before the place burns down with you in it."

Eli's eyes narrow. "There's no fire."

"Not yet," I smile sweetly. "But the night is young."

The redhead looks between us, confusion painting her features. "Wait, do you guys know each other?"

"She's Zach's little sister," Eli says quickly, running a hand through his already disheveled hair.

"Oh!" The redhead brightens. "So you're like his kid sister too?"

Something in me snaps with an audible crack. Kid sister? KID SISTER? I've been planning our wedding since before I knew how babies were made, and this random tongue-donor thinks I'm his KID SISTER?

"No," I say, my voice sugar-sweet poison. "I'm his fiancée."

The silence that follows is so complete I swear I can hear the individual dust particles freezing in midair.

"His... what?" The redhead's face drains of color.

Eli's mouth drops open. "Sam, what the—"

"Fiancée," I repeat, lifting my chin. "Going on six years now. Though apparently, he's still in the habit of letting random women vacuum the life force out of him at parties." I step closer to her, my eyes never leaving hers. "I mean, I get it. He's hot. Those dimples should be registered as lethal weapons. But honey, if you're going to be the side piece, at least make sure he's not wearing the necklace I gave him for our anniversary."

Eli's hand flies to his chest where, yes, the simple silver pendant he's worn for years—a gift from his grandfather—hangs against his skin. Not that she needs to know that. It's also completely irrelevant to the narrative I'm currently spinning.

"You're engaged?" The redhead looks at Eli with growing disgust. "You didn't think to mention that before you had your tongue down my throat?"

"We're not—" Eli starts, but I cut him off.

"Oh, he likes to pretend we're not together when he's at school," I sigh dramatically. "Commitment issues. We're working through it in couples therapy."

The redhead yanks away from him like he's suddenly burst into flames. "You're in couples therapy and you're still pulling this shit? What kind of sociopath—"

"Tessa, she's lying," Eli tries, but the damage is done. The seed of doubt has been planted and is now sprouting into a lovely garden of suspicion.

"You know what? I don't even care what the truth is," Tessa says, smoothing down her shirt. "This is way too much drama for the first month of school." She turns to me with a surprisingly sincere look. "I'm sorry. He didn't say anything about being in a relationship."

"They never do," I say solemnly, patting her arm. "If it helps, you're much prettier than the last one."

She gives Eli one final withering glare before slipping past me and out the door, her heels clicking rapidly down the hallway like she's escaping a crime scene.

Which leaves me alone with a furious hockey god—exactly where I want to be.

"Are you going to keep doing this?" he demands, his voice low and tight with anger.

I give him my sweetest, most unhinged smile. "Yes. Until you have no choice but to fall in love with me."

"This isn't funny, Sam. You just got here and you're already sabotaging my senior year."

"If you bothered to read any of my messages or the cards I sent you, you'd know I already gave you a two-year pass to have all the fun you wanted," I explain reasonably. "But that pass expired the moment I enrolled at Ridgewater. New rules now."

He stares at me like I've grown a second head. "With whose permission? You can't just act like you have some kind of claim on me. You know our 'engagement' six years ago was fake—I only did it because of your dad!"

"Details," I wave dismissively. "The point is, I made a vow that day, and I take my promises seriously."

Eli runs both hands down his face. "You're insane. You know that, right? Clinically, certifiably insane."

"Maybe," I concede, stepping closer to him. "But I'm also the girl who's loved you for ten years without wavering once. Show me someone else with that kind of dedication."

"Dedication isn't the same as obsession," he counters, but there's less heat in his voice now.

"Semantics." I shrug. "Look, I'm not asking you to marry me tomorrow. I'm just asking you to stop messing around with random girls who don't even know your middle name or that you're allergic to seafood or that you cry every time you watch Field of Dreams."

"I don't cry—"

"You do, and it's adorable." I reach up and straighten his collar where Tessa had rumpled it. "All I'm saying is, give me a chance. A real one. Not just as Zach's annoying little sister who follows you around, but as someone who might actually be good for you."

For a moment, something flickers in his eyes—something that's not annoyance or pity. But it's gone so quickly I might have imagined it.

"You're messing up my game, Sam," he says finally, stepping back from my touch.

"Good. That's kind of the point," I shoot back.

I turn to leave, feeling his eyes on my back. At the door, I pause and look over my shoulder. "By the way, you have a hickey forming. Might want to cover that up before you go downstairs."

His hand flies to his neck, and I grin, victory warming my chest. "See you at breakfast tomorrow."

I close the door on his stunned expression, heart racing with adrenaline and the thrill of the hunt. Ten years of loving Eli has taught me patience. I can wait a little longer for him to realize what I've always known: we're inevitable.

Besides, I've got all semester to sabotage his love life.