10. Cole
COLE
Iwasn’t planning to set foot in a bar tonight. After practice, I should’ve gone straight home, showered, and pretended I don’t have a stack of assignments due next week.
But when Austin mentioned something about coming out to have a drink later, for some reason, it stuck in my head. I turned him down, even after he told me Aurora probably wouldn’t show since she’s been skipping out on everyone lately.
But eating cold pizza alone, watching some bullshit late-night rerun I’ve already seen three times gets old fast. There are only so many nights a guy can stare at the same four walls before the silence starts feeling suffocating. So I grabbed my jacket and left before I could change my mind.
As soon as I push through the door, I’m hit with loud people and louder shitty music—none of which is my thing. This place looks like it hasn’t been renovated in a long time, but it has alcohol, so that’s good enough for me.
Most of the guys are here already, crowded into a corner booth, all paired off like always. Austin’s got Maisie beside him, and Ryan’s got Isabella tucked under his arm. Logan’s… single… I think? Nathan’s nowhere to be seen—probably stayed home and got some rest.
I like Nathan. Would never admit it to his face, but I respect the hell out of him. I can’t even imagine the pressure he feels being the coach’s son, but he wears it on his chest proudly and plays a hell of a game.
Plus, he’s quiet, unlike Austin, who’s currently making his way toward the bar. He spots me and does a double take, his eyebrows shooting up. “Well, shit,” he calls out, that stupid grin already in place. “Look who’s slumming it with us tonight.”
I grunt, turning my attention to the bar.
Austin chuckles, sliding in next to me. “Didn’t think you were coming.”
I glance over at him. “Just came for a drink. Don’t pop a boner.”
He claps a hand to my shoulder and laughs. “I like seeing you out with us, man. You wanna play darts?”
I just arch a brow.
Austin smirks, already backing off. “Didn’t think so. Worth a shot.”
He grabs two beers off the bar and glances back as he heads to the group. “You’re always welcome, though. Even if you just wanna stand there and look scary.”
Austin heads back toward the rest of the group, and I let out a quiet sigh, tap the bar to get the bartender’s attention, and order a beer. I slide the bill across the counter, pop the cap off, and take a long gulp.
Because what else am I going to do? Go home and stare at my ceiling until my phone lights up with something I don’t want to see? No thanks.
Half the campus is here, laughing, drinking, playing games like they’ve got zero real problems in their lives.
Must be nice.
I take a slow pull from the bottle, letting the cold settle behind my ribs.
Helps quiet the worry that’s been sitting there all damn day.
I told Sophie to text me when she got home.
That was hours ago and I still haven’t had a response.
Could be nothing. Usually is nothing. Except the days it isn’t.
I swipe my thumb across the screen, my heart in my chest, hoping to see a message. Still nothing.
I pocket my phone because staring at it isn’t going to change anything, and I take another sip, making my shoulders loosen, just an inch.
I lift my head and sweep the room again, mostly out of habit, until my gaze catches on a familiar shade of hair by the pool table.
So much for her not showing up tonight.
I take another sip, feeling my body tense.
I came here for a beer, not to watch Viper flirt with some guy who looks like he belongs in a frat.
But my eyes keep dragging back anyway, drifting down her long, bare legs, looking even longer in that short skirt and heeled boots that make my hand tighten around the bottle.
She lets out a laugh at whatever dumb shit frat boy says, looking nothing like the girl in the club that night. She’s soft and cheery and… giggly.
But I remember what she’s really like. How vicious she is.
What’s even worse is that my body remembers every detail from the club—the way she shoved me onto the chair, only to grind down on me a second later.
The way she put on a show for me, torturing me out of my damn mind, the way her breath caught when my hands were on her hips.
It pisses me off how much I remember of that night. How much I think of it. I’ve hooked up with lots of girls before, but do I remember every painstaking detail of those nights? Hell no. But for some reason, I can’t forget Aurora grinding on me.
It’s all still stuck in my head, and I hate it.
Even her perfume’s stuck in my head now. Dark and smoky, with something sweet underneath that sticks in the back of my throat and pisses me off every time I think about it.
I force myself to look away, focusing on the row of bottles behind the bar. Doesn’t do a damn thing to stop the buzz under my skin.
It doesn't matter what I do. I still feel her. Still know exactly where she is without looking. It’s like my body keeps tracking her even when I’m trying not to, like there’s a magnet in my chest, pulling me back to her again and again.
I mutter a curse under my breath and turn to see frat boy slide his hand onto her thigh.
She laughs and subtly moves it away. She’s not into him, that much is obvious, but she isn’t shutting him down either.
I roll my shoulders back. Not my business. She can handle herself. She always has. And I don’t give a shit who she talks to.
I grab my jacket off the back of the barstool, thinking I’ll cut out and have a desperately needed smoke, but as I turn, I catch sight of Aurora’s little date peeling away from her, heading for the bar and leaving her alone, twirling her straw in her drink, looking bored out of her mind.
And for some reason—some unbelievably stupid reason—my feet go in her direction instead of the damn door. Her eyes lift and she pauses, her lips still on the straw when she sees me, her shoulders stiffening.
Her eyes narrow on me. “Here to ruin my night, Reaper?”
I ignore the nickname, arching a brow. “Guess you didn’t waste much time finding a replacement for golden boy.”
Her jaw tightens. “Jealous?”
I drag my tongue over my teeth. “Of him?” My mouth twists. “Don’t insult me, Prescott.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” She lifts her chin. “If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be over here with your nose in my business.”
My eyes drop before I can stop them, dragging over every inch I shouldn’t remember but still do—the way those thighs locked around my hips, the roll of her body against mine, the heat of her bare skin under my palm.
“You planning on giving him the same show you gave me?”
Her nostrils flare. She hates that I remember. Hates even more that I can dangle it over her head.
“Forget you ever saw me there,” she snaps. “Forget what happened.”
I step in and lean down until my mouth is right by her ear. “Already did.”
Her eyes flash the second I pull back, anger right there in the tight line of her mouth, even as she tries to cover it with that cocky little smirk.
“Yeah?” she says, tipping her head. “Then why’d you come over here?”
I hold her stare, my grip tightening around the neck of my bottle. “Why are you still standing here with me when your date’s waiting for you?”
Her eyes flick to the side where her date’s watching us with a pool cue in hand. She shoves at my chest—harder than necessary—then spins away and stalks back to him without another word.
I drain my drink, letting the burn in my chest remind me she’s a poisonous snake and I shouldn’t care that she's probably going home with that guy tonight. But I must be a masochistic motherfucker, because instead of leaving, I turn to watch as she picks up the cue.
She glances back at him and frat boy leans in behind her, his hands bracketing her hips, showing her how to line up. Her eyes snap to mine, watching my reaction, that evil smirk sliding into place.
She wants me to see this. She wants this to get under my skin.
The worst part is… it does. More than I want to admit.
She misses the shot completely, sending the ball skimming off the side, and a laugh escapes me before I can swallow it down.
I know why she missed. She was too busy looking at me.
She straightens and shoots me that signature Prescott glare. “You think you could do better?”
I hesitate for maybe two seconds, then set my empty bottle on the nearest table, walk over, and take the cue right out of her hands. “Move.”
She steps aside, and I bend slightly, line up, and sink two balls in a row.
When I look up again, she’s already there in front of me.
She snatches the cue back, slides between me and the table, and turns, rubbing against me as she lines up another shot.
My hands find her waist before I can stop them, digging my fingers into her hips, remembering how she teased me just like this back at the club.
I lean down, my mouth brushing the shell of her ear, and I’m hit with the same sweet scent she wore at the club. “Rub your ass on me again, Prescott,” I murmur, keeping my voice low enough that only she can hear, “and I’ll bend you over this table and fuck you in front of your date.”
Her breath hitches. “You wouldn’t dare,” she grits out, and there’s a slight shake in her words she probably hates.
“Try me,” I say, tightening my grip on her waist, every nerve in my body buzzing.
She pulls away, hands me the cue, her jaw tight and cheeks pink—furious I got to her—and walks back to frat boy, slipping her hand into his.
I watch her lean in and whisper something in his ear, see his mouth curve, see his hand settle on the small of her back as they head toward the bathroom together.
My teeth feel like they’re about to crack with how hard I’m grinding down on them. I rip my gaze away, telling myself to just let her hook up with whoever the fuck she wants.
Going anywhere near Aurora would be a terrible idea.
But I’ve always had a bad habit of wanting the things I know I shouldn’t touch.
I drop the cue and shove through the crowd in the hallway, pushing the bathroom door open.
She’s backed up against the sink with that guy all over her, his hands locked on her waist and his mouth on her neck.
And something in me snaps.
I grab him by the collar, and yank him off her, shoving him out into the hallway.
“The fuck, man?” he snaps, yanking his shirt straight.
“Find somebody else,” I bite out. “She’s busy.”
His eyes flick over my shoulder toward Aurora, but I slam the door in his face before he can say another word.
When I turn back, Aurora’s already facing me, her chest rising too fast, and her eyes—those bright, furious blue eyes—are locked on me, blazing with so much anger it almost makes me laugh.
“What the hell is your problem?” she snaps.
I step in until she has to tip her head back, then brace both hands on the sink behind her, boxing her in. “You want attention that bad?” I ask, watching the flash of surprise that cuts through her anger. My mouth twists. “Congratulations. You’ve got mine.”