Chapter 17
My heart thunders as I stare at my phone.
The text lands with all the weight of a rock through a calm pool, causing ripples.
I spent the better part of the summer convincing myself Nox didn’t mean a word of what he said in the dance studio, telling myself everyone would forget about our little arrangement by the time school started up again, that it would be in the past.
But it’s not.
It’s right here. Right now. Disrupting my entire equilibrium.
“Clara!” Willa calls through my open door.
“What?” I shout back, dropping my phone onto my mattress as if it’s on fire.
“You want some pina colada before I add the rum?”
“Yes, please!”
It’s moving day. We snagged an amazing three-bedroom dorm in building five, complete with a small living room area and kitchen.
Unlike the freshman-year buildings, which are designed to be more communal, to force us out of our comfort zones, these are like little apartments.
They’re fabulous, but a small part of me is missing our tiny shared rooms over in building one, now welcoming a new class of freshmen.
Last year was pure magic, lightning in a bottle.
And I know the three of us will have the best time this year, but it won’t be the same.
It won’t be friends dropping in at all hours of the day, getting pulled into random shenanigans, living as though the entire building is one huge commune.
The boys have already been separated—Logan to the hockey house, Grant to a room with some teammates, Nox to another solo studio, this one out of my view.
It’s different. Not good or bad, necessarily, just… different.
“You almost done unpacking?” Willa asks, shimmying through the door to our move-in day playlist while she holds out my drink.
“Yup!” I hop off my bed, leaving my phone and remaining boxes behind.
With a grateful sip of my drink, I follow her into the living room, where Nova balances precariously along the top edge of our couch, attempting to attach rainbow Christmas lights to our ceiling.
Willa quickly jumps up to help. I hang back, fully aware I’d be more of a detriment than anything else.
When the last sticky hook is up, Nova hops down with a grin. “What do you think?”
“It’s very…you,” I say, suppressing a laugh, though a telling grin bubbles across my lips as I take in the rainbow beaded curtains, the tacked-up photos of us from last year, and the glowing neon-pink sign reading, There’s no place like home.
But she’s right.
It is home.
I’m more at peace here in this boxed-up apartment than I have been at any point in the past two and a half months since we left. Swiftmore is home. These girls are home.
I pull her in for a side-arm hug. “I love it!”
“Good, because I don’t think I could take it down now if I tried.” Nova collapses into the couch while Willa runs the blender one more time, mixing in the rum. “What are we doing tonight?”
“Annabelle and her roommates are hosting a pregame,” Willa says, handing Nova a drink before filling the open spot to my right. “We could start there? Catch up with those girls?”
“Perfect! Logan said the hockey team is having a party, so we could head there after.”
My stomach does a loop-de-loop into my chest. I take a big sip of pina colada to avoid having to answer.
If Nox is there, he’s there. It’s not like I want to see him.
It’s not like I spent the past few weeks imagining every possible situation in which we might happen to bump into each other again. It’s not like I care.
But it’s not not like that either.
“Sounds good!” Willa chimes, then grimaces. “Just promise me one thing. Do not let me make out with anyone tonight.”
A snort escapes before I can stop it.
She gives me a hard look. Well, hard for Willa. “I told you guys, my kissing days are over.”
“But what about MMM?” Nova whines, a romantic at heart. “You still need to find him! He’s your soulmate!”
“I’ve given up.” Willa shrugs. “He doesn’t exist. He’s a freaking ghost. And I’m pretty sure I’m starting to get a reputation. I just want to focus on school and my job at the shelter and you.”
“I’m touched.” I drop my head on her shoulder so she won’t see my grin. “Now, go have this conversation with drunk Willa because I don’t think that horny bitch is listening.”
She picks up a pillow and whacks me in the face.
I probably deserve it.
We spend the night dancing and catching up with our friends, everyone swapping summer stories while falling seamlessly back into our old ways.
I scan every new room for a towering figure with wavy black hair, but he’s nowhere to be found.
Sleep evades me. As the hours drag, I toss and turn, skin clammy, mind reeling with the possibilities.
Are we going to address what happened? Is he going to acknowledge what he said? Does he look the same? Is he really as hot as I remember? Are we going to be friends now? Is that what I even want? Should I ask him about his summer?
A countdown rages in the back of my mind, ticking closer and closer to 8 a.m. I arrive at the beach ten minutes early and sit down five feet from where the lake water laps up against the shore.
The sight of it is the first thing to truly drag me out of my head since the moment that text vibrated through my phone.
With a sigh, I slip out of my shoes and curl my toes into the cold sand.
Moisture wicks up against my skin, the grains sticking where they touch.
It’s enough to send a shiver swirling down my spine.
I wore a bathing suit, but two minutes in, I already know I won’t need it.
All summer, I’ve been practicing in the pool.
When I’m close to the steps, I can stay underwater for a few seconds without becoming overwhelmed.
But the lake is an entirely new frontier.
Sunlight glimmers off the muddled water.
In my mind, those sparkles turn to painful starbursts in the darkness.
Whispers of memory tug at my subconscious, enough to quicken my pulse—screeching tires, frantic splashes, the terrible muffled numbness as it all slowly fades away.
I force my gaze left, then right, searching for any sign of Nox.
Nothing.
He’s going to be late, which really is so typical, making me get up early just to wait here on him, as though I don’t have better things to do, as though the world revolves entirely around him, as though—
A red kayak emerges fluidly from behind the forest’s edge.
I narrow my eyes.
Yup, that’s Coach Fleishman holding the paddle, which means the perfectly sculpted arms carving through the water in front of him must belong to Nox.
Excellent.
Don’t stare. Don’t even look. The sand is the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life. Do. Not—
I look.
Duh.
And— Fuck.
One thing becomes abundantly clear as he reaches the shallows and stands up.
Nox is definitely not as hot as I remember.
He is so much hotter. Water clings to his tanned skin, catching the light, highlighting every hard edge, making him glisten.
I drink in the slow reveal, gobbling up every new inch as he steps purposefully toward the shore.
He truly is a work of art. Sinewy chest. Rippling abs. That deep V leading down to—
I gulp at the low-riding edge of his skintight suit. The water must have dragged it down, that black line stark against gleaming bronze. Three little curves beneath his hip bone snag my attention—a blue, black, and red half-circle.
Rings, I suddenly realize.
I never knew he had a tattoo.
I can’t pull my eyes away from it.
You’re gawking. Stop gawking.
Shit. I might even be drooling, but as he keeps walking closer and closer, no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop myself from tracing those three curving edges, again and again, imagining what it might be like to dip my fingers beneath the elastic band and pull it just a little bit lower to see the whole tattoo.
“My eyes are up here, you know.”
Dammit.
My face snaps up. A cocky grin curves his lips. I school my features into a glare, but it’s too late. I’ve been caught. His chin dimple digs just a little deeper.
“Did you bring a towel?” he asks, laughter bubbling under the surface.
“Yeah, why?”
I hold it up. He snatches it out of my hand and scrubs it into his hair. Water droplets pellet my face.
“Hey! Watch it!”
“I’m sorry. I thought getting wet was part of a swim lesson.”
A bolt of heat ricochets down my stomach. Warmth stings my cheeks. I’m not sure if he meant for that to sound so dirty, but knowing him, I assume he probably did.
Asshole.
I decide to skip the small talk and cut right to the biting remarks. It makes more sense for us anyway. “And how exactly is you strutting out of the water like some—some—some—”
“God?”
I pin him with a hard look. “—douchebag supposed to teach me how to swim?”
“It’s not. I just wanted to see the look on your face. And you know what?” He leans down and lowers his voice. The air grows thick, charged, as he narrows the space between us. Those green eyes drink me in. “It was worth it.”
I snatch my towel back and spin on my heels. “Screw this. I’m out.”
“Running away already? I thought that would take at least five whole minutes.”
I whirl around and confront him, poking my finger into his sternum. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“I know.” He shrugs and points over his shoulder. “You’re afraid of that.”
All my bravado seeps away in an instant. I swallow just to buy myself time. My throat is tight when I finally respond, my voice feebler than I’d like. “What are we doing here anyway? Why didn’t you want to meet up at the pool?”
“Because I already know how you swim in the pool.”
“And?” I ask, sensing there’s more.
“And in all the times I saw you there, you never once looked as terrified as you did that day that I pulled you out of the lake. Whatever happened to you, it happened in open water.”
He pauses, giving me an opportunity to explain.
I don’t.