Chapter 14
fourteen
A heavy, muscular arm flopped unceremoniously over my shoulder, almost knocking my chin directly off my hand, as Sebastian slid into the empty wooden chair beside me at The Corner Cup.
My brother sat sideways, throwing one long leg over the armrest and sprawling out, completely unconcerned by the fact that he was taking up more than half the narrow walkway.
Nora walked up right behind him, wearing one of Sebastian’s Parkhurst Soccer sweaters and holding two iced vanilla lattes. She gave me a warm, affectionate smile and slid gracefully into the chair next to Imogen.
“We were having a productive study session until you brought your massive, uninvited ego over here to disrupt us.”
“Studying?” Sebastian reached out with his free hand, snagging my chemistry binder right off the table and flipping through the densely typed pages with an exaggerated, pained groan.
“Ainsley, this looks like ancient hieroglyphics. How do you read this garbage without your brain leaking straight out of your ears?”
“It’s called passing grade eleven chemistry, Seb,” I said, snatching the binder out of his hands and swatting his arm away with my notebook. “You should try it sometime. It’s a fascinating concept.”
“Hey, for your information, I am passing,” he declared proudly, leaning over to steal a massive sip of Nora’s iced latte while she was looking through her purse, only for her to slap his forearm with a quiet laugh when she caught him.
“I got a B-plus on my European history essay. I’m practically an ivy-league scholar. ”
“You wrote that entire essay in thirty-five minutes in your car while we were parked outside the drive-thru,” Nora pointed out, her green eyes sparkling with affection as she looked at him.
“It’s called time management, babe. I have to work under extreme athletic pressure.
” Sebastian grinned, leaning his head back against the wall and interlocking his fingers behind his neck.
His gaze drifted past the top of my head toward the front entrance of the cafe, and his relaxed posture changed instantly.
The lazy, slouched angle of his spine vanished, his shoulders squaring up, his neck muscles tightening so fast I heard his jaw snap shut with an audible click.
I didn’t even need to turn around to know who had just walked back into his line of sight.
“What the hell is he still doing here?” Sebastian asked, his voice dropping an entire octave into a low, dangerous rumble that sounded like an impending storm.
Rhys was standing near the front exit, holding a brown paper bag from the bakery counter. He had clearly been on his way out the door, but as his green eyes casually swept the crowded room, they landed squarely on our table.
Instead of just continuing out the door like a normal, functional human being, Rhys stopped dead in his tracks. He casually tucked his free hand into his track jacket pocket, threw a long, evaluating look over at Sebastian, and smiled.
It wasn’t a friendly smile. It was the exact kind of razor-sharp, arrogant smirk that made every single guy on the Parkhurst varsity soccer team want to throw a punch.
“Montgomery,” Sebastian spat out, leaning forward over the wooden table, his forearms pressing hard against the edge. “Did you lose your way or are you just illiterate and couldn’t read the town line sign?”
“Just enjoying the local coffee, Novak,” Rhys replied smoothly, taking two unhurried steps closer to our table, entirely unfazed by the lethal death glare Sebastian was throwing his way.
“And you do realize this place is neutral territory, right? Plenty of food to go around for both Parkhurst and Crofton kids here.”
Rhys shifted his weight and turned his green eyes directly onto me. A slow, subtle glint of pure mischief entered his eyes—a look intended exclusively for me, carrying all the unspoken weight of our ridiculous secret pact.
“Don’t worry, Ainsley,” Rhys said, his tone dripping with an innocent sweetness that I knew was poison designed to push my buttons.
“I won’t linger and distract you from your...
homework. I know just how much intense effort you put into your work.
Especially when you’re forced to work under pressure. ”
My breath hitched sharply in my chest. He was referencing the gym bench press. He was referencing the coat closet. He was referencing every single second we’d spent playing this stupid, high-stakes, fake-dating game.
“I’m totally fine,” I squeaked out, my voice sounding impossibly tight and high-pitched. I desperately, intensely wished the floor beneath my chair would open up and swallow me whole.
Sebastian’s sharp eyes flicked back and forth between me and Rhys, a deep, suspicious crease forming right between his dark eyebrows. “Why the hell are you talking to her like that?”
“Just being polite and neighborly,” Rhys said smoothly, taking a slow step back toward the glass exit doors.
He placed his hand over his heart and offered a dramatic, mocking bow to our entire table.
“Goodbye, Sebastian. Nora. Imogen.” He paused, his eyes locking back onto mine for one last, agonizing second.
Then he gave me a sharp, unmistakable wink.
“See you around, Ainsley. Try not to miss me too much.”
Before Sebastian could launch himself out of his chair and cause a full-blown brawl in the middle of The Corner Cup, Rhys turned on his heel, pushed through the heavy glass doors, and vanished into the afternoon crowd outside.
“What the absolute hell was that?” Sebastian snapped. His knee bumped the wooden table, sending our paper coffee cups an inch into the air. “Why did he just wink at you? “Ainsley, why is Rhys Montgomery winking at you in public?”
Nora reached out instantly, her hands clamping around Sebastian’s forearm to keep him pinned in his seat, while Imogen stared across the table at me with horrified eyes.
I gripped my Heartbreaker cup with both hands until the cardboard crumpled slightly under my fingers, my face burning so intensely hot I felt like my skin was about to ignite, and took a long, frantic gulp through the straw.
“He’s just... he’s just trying to get under your skin, Seb,” I lied through my teeth, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to sound nonchalant. “You know how he is. He knows you hate him, so he’s trying to mess with you.”
Sebastian was still glaring violently at the front door, his chest heaving, his knuckles white where he held the edge of the table. But as I stared down at my cup, watching the dark, sweet liquid swirl around the bottom, my heart wasn’t hammering purely out of fear of being caught.
It was hammering because, despite how much I was supposed to despise Rhys Montgomery, that stupid, arrogant, insufferable wink was still burning on the back of my eyelids—and I had absolutely no idea how I was going to survive the rest of this war.
I didn’t get any more homework done after Rhys left. All afternoon, all I could think about was the way he’d looked at me and how he loved to tease our fake relationship in front of my brother however he could. I should have hated him for it, but I found it oddly thrilling.
Now, it was a quarter past one in the morning and the glow of my laptop screen was the only source of light in my bedroom that night, casting sharp, cold shadows against the walls.
My textbook lay open on my lap, a notebook balanced on it, and my brain felt like it had been run through a meat grinder.
I kept staring at the exact same problem, reading the words over and over until they ceased to look like English.
I desperately needed to get this work done tonight since I was going over to Rhys’s tomorrow, but my brain was like mush.
There was some special combination of the late hour and today’s events that left me replaying moments from the last few days on repeat.
Especially yesterday—the cold rain, the dark leather interior of Rhys’s car, the sudden, firm pressure of his hands framing my face, and the heat of his mouth against mine.
My fingers unconsciously strayed up toward my lips again.
I caught myself mid-motion, let out a frustrated groan, and slapped my hand back down onto my notebook.
“Get a grip, Ainsley,” I muttered to the empty room. “He was playing a role. It was for Justin and Kelcey. That’s literally the entire point.”
Except the memory of the way his thumb had gently traced my jawline refused to fit into the neat, clinical box of “playing a role.”
I spun my wheelie chair so I could look out my bedroom window.
My room sat on the second floor at the front of the house, offering a clear, unobstructed line of sight down our quiet, suburban street.
Five houses down, sitting slightly elevated on the curve of the cul-de-sac, was the dark silhouette of the Montgomery house.
Virtually all their windows were pitch black, save for one second-story window on the left side—Rhys’s room.
A faint, warm square of light shone behind his blinds.
I stared at that little rectangle of light, wondering what he was doing. Was he lying in bed staring at the ceiling? Was he holding another bag of frozen peas to his head? Was he thinking about the kiss like I was, or had he already forgotten about it the second he pulled out of my driveway?
The sudden, sharp vibration of my phone against my desk made me jump so hard my notebook slid off my lap and thumped onto the floor. I reached for the phone, my heart giving an erratic, foolish leap before I even looked at the screen.
That Guy
I stared at his contact photo—that abstract red and gold piece—for three full seconds before answering the call. I dragged the phone to my ear as I pulled my feet up onto the chair, tucking my knees into my oversized sweater.