43. LANE
LANE
My body is exhausted from practices and games but there’s no way I was missing tonight.
We cut down the main street toward the basketball house, shoes scraping against salt-stained sidewalk. Leo’s in front, talking with his hands like he’s narrating a documentary about the migration patterns of college idiots in their natural habitat.
“…and this,” he says dramatically, sweeping his arm toward the glowing house at the end of the block, “is where poor decisions go to thrive.”
Troy laughs, low and steady. Matty shoves him lightly.
I walk between them and let the noise wash over me.
When Leo texted earlier—Basketball house tonight. You in?—I didn’t even have to think about it. My teammates including me is a definite plus, but the second I knew Cora was going, there was no way I would miss it.
Leo glances back at me now. “You’re quiet, Lane.”
“I’m cold.”
“Liar. You love this weather. It makes you brood better,” Leo jokes, bumping into my shoulder.
I snort despite myself. “I don’t brood.”
All of my teammates stop, soaking in the pause of me pushing back. I get a few steps ahead of them before looking back. The guys look to me and back to each other before bursting into laughter.
“Sure you don’t,” Matty teases, clapping me on the back.
The basketball house comes into full view, lights blazing against the dark like it’s defying the season. Music pulses faintly through the walls and gets louder when someone opens the front door.
And with every step closer, my stomach tightens. Because this is Freddy’s house.
Starting guard. Fuck boy of campus. Smiles like he’s been told his whole life he’s untouchable. Cora’s ex.
The word ex should make it simple. It doesn’t.
I know he still texts and calls her. She doesn’t hide it from me—not that I’m worried about Freddy.
But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel Cora’s frustration.
A few weeks back, we went through the entire Freddy era—dating, why they broke up, how he treats her now—and it’s fucking infuriating.
I’ve seen the way Cora’s shoulders go rigid when his name pops up on her phone. He probably knows exactly how it makes her feel and keeps doing it—selfish prick.
Freddy is the type of guy that doesn’t want anyone straying too far after cutting them loose.
Some call it a plan B, jealousy, or a fall back plan, but I know he’s a manipulative asshole.
There’s no way to sugarcoat when your high school sweetheart takes you to look at diamonds for god damn engagement rings, or plans for an on-campus apartment, only to dump you weeks later.
What a fucking dick.
We’re almost to the steps when Troy turns, close enough to me to keep his voice low. “Listen. We need to be smart tonight. No letting Freddy get under your skin. Or any of you, really…” Our captain looks around the group, pointing at all of us.
Everyone nods and Matty jokes, “Pretend Freddy isn’t a dick… got it.” He claps his hands in fake enthusiasm.
To them, they just think we’ve had a few odd run-ins; that I’m protecting Cora because she’s practically part of the team. No one knows that I’m hoping she finds her way back to my place after tonight is said and done.
Cora is mine. Even if it’s a fact no one else knows.
Not the guys walking beside me. Not the team. Definitely not Freddy.
It was supposed to be a bad idea we both walked away from. Instead, she fits. And that makes everything complicated.
There’s something about being around her. Maybe it’s what pulled me to her that first night at Shore Thing. Or pulled me back. The way she confidently sat down, needing me, even if it was for something as stupid as helping some guy get lost and leave her alone.
Cora makes me feel like there may be a sliver of luck left in this world for me.
We reach the porch. The wood creaks under our weight. Someone inside yells. The door swings open before we even knock, a blast of heat and music swallowing us whole.
The air inside is thick with beer and sweat. Music is borderline too loud and there are even some sort of lights in the kitchen. Like they want it to be a club in here. I roll my eyes even though no one else is there to see.
I scan the space without meaning to, but I feel her before I see her. Across the living room, near the far wall.
White top. Faded jeans. Hair falling over her shoulders, reminding me of the first night we met.
She’s laughing at something one of her friends says. Head tilted back just slightly. Hand curled around a cup she’s barely drinking from.
For a second, the room narrows. The noise dulls.
She feels it too, because then she looks up. I feel it in my chest, how bad I want her. Her eyes find mine and it takes everything in me not to race over there and kiss her in front of every person here who thinks they have a shot.
They fucking don’t.
The song changes and Brinn grabs Cora’s hand, pulling her out into the makeshift dance floor, which is just the living room with some of the furniture pushed back.
Troy tosses me a bottle of water, as none of us plan on drinking tonight. I unscrew the cap—thankful to have something to do with my hands—take a drink, and try not to stare while Cora dances.
I know I’m not the only one watching. Her friends are gorgeous, just like her, and they just make you want to be closer. I’ve never heard one of the guys talk shit about any of the women she’s friends with.
Before I can stare any longer, one of the basketball guys claps his hands, pointing to us. “Troy! Get over here, man. Bring the boys!” he shouts.
Troy grins, and just like that we’re being pulled toward the back room, swallowed by noise and bodies, the dance floor disappearing behind us.
I’m in the kitchen with Leo and Matty, plus some of the basketball team I’ve just met, arguing about something stupid—whether a hot dog counts as a sandwich—when I realize I’m laughing.
Not the tight, controlled version when I’m trying to blend in, but actually laughing.
Someone yells my name over the music. I turn to see Brinn standing next to Cora, waving the hand that’s not clutching her drink.
She’s got a red cup in one hand and a look in her eyes that says she’s definitely been drinking.
“Laaane Maxwell,” Brinn drawls, offering her cup like she want to cheers my water bottle. I indulge her and she takes a sip of the beer. Cora stands next to her and I swear her smile gets brighter with the way her friend drags my name out.
“That’s me,” I reply.
She points, pushing a finger in my chest. “You. Saving the day with Cora’s research.” The way she says the last word makes me believe she’s saying one thing but definitely means another.
Cora shakes her head, taking a drink of her beer.
“I heard she’s very happy with the results. Of the research.” She’s bringing the cup to her mouth again as Cora laughs, her cheeks pink.
“That’s… uhhh… good. Glad to hear it.” I fight back a small smile, but not before Brinn can clock it.
She playfully slaps my arm. “Oh my god! I’ve never seen you smile. It’s a miracle.”
One of the basketball players, Wes, comes over. “Brinn, don’t pinch his cheek or anything.” He jokes and Brinn puts her fingers up, like she’s actually going to grab my face.
Wes is younger—a sophomore, I think—and someone I met while lifting weights late at night. Apparently, his brother-in-law is about to be Brooks Pittman—NBA player for the New Jersey Jags. He divulged this when some of the football guys kept lurking.
Cora moves next to me, giving Wes room to be included. Her fingers brush my forearm when she settles in. My mind goes immediately somewhere it shouldn’t. To the way those same fingers curl into my shirt when we’re alone. To the way she looks at me in the dark when no one else exists.
I shake it off when I want to wrap my arms around her, pull her closer to me, get the fuck out of here and take her back to my place.
The four of us fall into easy conversation. The thing about the basketball team is that I like most of them. Most. Not all. I even see Leo out of my peripheral, giving me the thumbs up, probably because I’m socializing. Fuck, maybe he saw my almost-smile, too.
Wes asks Cora about the research, which she’s happy to get into. She doesn’t leave out a single detail as she explains her hypothesis, where she’s at, and what’s next. Wes must also be a numbers guy because while Cora talks about things I can barely grasp, he asks solid follow up questions.
My girl is fucking smart.
“Wes, did you know that Lane is her test subject?” Brinn slurs the last part as she pats my shoulder.
He turns and replies, “Damn. That’s pretty cool. Excited to see where you end up when you get to the end of it.”
Cora nods and I can feel the joy rolling off her when she gets to talk about something she’s passionate about.
“Well, isn’t this cozy.” A voice cuts through the moment like a skate blade on fresh ice.
Freddy.