Against All Odds (Holt Hockey Book 2)

I spot Isla standing by the hostess stand as soon as I step inside Gaffney’s. It’s busy and noisy inside the bar, which isn’t surprising. The few times I came here in high school, all the summer before starting college, it was packed.

A relief then, since I was underage and felt less conspicuous because it was so crowded.

At age twenty-one, weaving through the crowd is more of an inconvenience.

“Hey!” Isla greets me once I make it over to her.

We hug, then head toward the back of the bar. Isla texted me yesterday afternoon, saying tonight was trivia at Gaffney’s and asking if I wanted to go with her.

My Abstract Algebra class meets at nine a.m. tomorrow, and we have our first quiz of the semester. I should be reviewing my notes and getting a solid eight hours of sleep.

But I’m sick of being Responsible Rylan.

In Boston, I used school as an excuse anytime I was unsure or uncomfortable. Which was often, especially around Walker’s friends, who didn’t make much of an attempt to get to know me. And I was determined to get perfect grades as reassurance to my parents Boston had been the right choice, especially when everything else about going to school there continued to feel wrong.

I’m determined for Holt to be a fresh start socially, not just a new school. If that means showing up to class tomorrow hungover, that’s a college rite of passage, right?

Any awkwardness between me and Isla fades quickly as we catch up on each other’s lives.

We weren’t close friends when we were younger, for no reason except we didn’t get to know each other well by age five and that’s when our respective social circles were formed.

Up until running into her at the game, I hadn’t talked to Isla since graduation. Conversation flows easily as we swap stories about our former classmates. We find a table and take seats on the stools, waiting for the blonde waitress to work her way over here.

I find out that Isla is majoring in computer science and that her parents moved from Somerville to Seattle a year ago because of a new job opportunity her mom was offered. She dated a guy for a few months freshman year but hasn’t had a boyfriend since, so I share I haven’t dated anyone since breaking up with Walker almost a year ago. I don’t mention he cheated, because a part of me still feels ashamed about that detail. Like it was some failure on my part, not his. I know it’s stupid and silly, but I can’t seem to shake it whenever the topic of my ex comes up. Thinking about how Aidan looked at me when I was standing on his deck, pulling my clothes off, helps.

The waitress finally appears, and we both order beers.

“Did you do anything fun over winter break?” Isla asks.

“Uh…” The fun part involved the guy I’m working hard not to think about. “I was here, aside from a ski trip.”

“Oh, that’s cool. Where did you go skiing?”

“Vail. With a friend from abroad, her family has a house there.”

“Very nice.”

“Yeah. It was.”

She takes a sip of beer, then laughs and wipes the foam mustache away after I smile and push the napkins toward her. “I’ve never been skiing.”

“It was only my second time. Jess—my friend whose place we were staying at—takes it pretty seriously. I was ready to take a break after a few runs, but she was happy staying out there all day.”

“Are you ladies playing trivia?” A smiling blond guy appears. He’s tall—very tall—and good-looking—very good-looking.

“We are,” Isla replies, glancing at me and lifting her eyebrows quickly.

One corner of my mouth lifts as he rests one elbow on our table.

“I’m Clayton.”

“Isla.”

“Rylan,” I tell him.

“You guys know it’s teams of four, right?” Clayton asks.

I didn’t. No rules announcements have been made since I arrived. Last time I was here, there was no trivia-playing. We mostly just flirted with college guys so they’d buy the drinks and we wouldn’t have to worry about getting carded.

But Isla smirks and nods. “Is that your way of begging for a spot on our team?”

“I don’t know about begging, but I’m definitely interested.” A second elbow lands on our table as he makes himself comfortable, the innuendo impossible to miss.

The waitress returns with our drinks, and I quickly pick up my beer glass to hide my smirk as Isla and Clayton continue to flirt.

More things I’ve missed, being out with a friend and banter with a cute guy. Easy, simple fun.

“Hey, Clayton,” the waitress says.

“Hey.” He gives her a nod, but his attention stays on Isla.

I get player vibes from him—in both senses of the word—but he doesn’t seem like a douche. If I could do so inconspicuously, I’d flash Isla a thumbs-up.

By the time the waitress leaves, Clayton has taken a seat at our table. He’s on the basketball team, so I pegged him right as an athlete. Or was on the team, rather—he’s a senior and their season just ended.

“I went to a basketball game sophomore year,” Isla tells him.

“And it was such a great experience you never went to another one?” he asks.

She takes a sip of her beer, her cheeks flushing pink. “I’m not a huge sports fan.”

“Ri-ght,” Clayton drawls. “Suppose you’ve never seen a hockey game, then?”

Isla blushes bright red. “All my friends like to go to those,” she tells him. “It wouldn’t have been my first choice.” She glances at me. “Rylan’s dad coaches the team.”

“Really?” Clayton’s attention lands on me for the first time since he came over.

Maybe I should be offended he’s basically ignored me, but I’m not. I might be looking for fun, which Clayton has written all over him, but there’s no spark between us. I think he’s attractive, but there are no butterflies. No prickle of awareness from having his eyes on me.

I nod. “Yeah.”

I wish Isla hadn’t mentioned it, but I’m not going to deny it. She’s probably used to our younger days, when my dad’s job was just common knowledge. A known fact. I doubt she’s considered the dynamics I’ve worried about since transferring, especially right now, when the spotlight on the hockey team is extra bright. I don’t want anyone to treat me any differently—either better or worse—because of who my dad is.

“That’s awesome,” Clayton says. “The hockey guys always rave about Coach Keller. Almost make me wish I’d kept the skates on after middle school.”

I smile, relieved by his response. “He loves his job.”

“Trivia starting in five minutes,” a guy who looks to be in his late twenties shouts from the corner. He’s wearing a ball cap that has Gaffney’s written on it.

“We need a fourth player,” Clayton says. “I can go see if—”

“I’ll play,” a male voice volunteers. A familiar male voice.

Immediately, I stiffen, stripped of all ease. I’m hyperaware of nothing I was concerned about a second ago—my posture, my makeup, my hair, my outfit.

The way it looks like I’m third-wheeling.

“Phillips! Hey!” Clayton sounds thrilled to see Aidan.

I’m not surprised to learn Aidan and Clayton know each other. Aside from Clayton just mentioning he knows guys on the hockey team, they’re similar. Both popular winter athletes who are seniors.

So Aidan’s flat “Thomas” confuses me.

I’ve never heard him sound so abrupt and unfriendly.

Clayton looks puzzled too, so I don’t think there’s some ancient animosity that explains Aidan’s behavior.

“Saw you guys won,” Clayton comments cautiously. I think he’s subtly trying to ask why Aidan seems to be in such a bad mood.

“Yep.” Aidan takes a seat on the stool next to mine. His denim-clad thigh brushes my leg, and I almost jump from the contact.

His soapy, masculine scent surrounds me, and I fight the urge to breathe deeper. I pick up my glass and drain half my beer in one gulp, telling myself to chill the fuck out.

Our last study session ended on good terms, although I’m suspicious he knew what he was doing the entire time and our second session could have lasted five minutes, just like the first one did. Aidan got both practice problems right without taking a single note during my explanation.

Either way, we’re fine. Good. Great.

Or at least, I thought we were…

“Hey, I’m Aidan.” He introduces himself to Isla, his voice several degrees warmer than it was talking to Clayton.

She blushes, a brighter red than when Clayton was teasing her. I’m pretty sure Clayton notices, because the smile that greeted Aidan’s arrival has totally disappeared.

“I know,” Isla says. “I’m Isla.”

“You a big hockey fan, Isla?” Aidan leans forward, flashing her a heart-stopping smile.

Now, Clayton looks like he swallowed something bitter. I pray I’m not about to end up in the middle of a jock pissing match and also wouldn’t mind seeing him take a swing at Aidan. It’s what I wish I could do, if I wasn’t hiding my irritation much better than Clayton is.

And by hiding it, I mean chugging beer so I can’t say anything.

Isla’s cheeks are bright red now. “Of Holt hockey? Sure am.”

“Great answer.”

“Hey, Aidan. Awesome game. Can I get you a drink?”

The blonde waitress who served us earlier has appeared. Much faster than she showed up when Isla and I first sat down, I can’t help but notice.

“Usual, please,” he says. “Thanks, Stacey.”

“You got it.” Stacey winks at him before sauntering away.

“So what’s your major, Isla?” Aidan asks.

His leg brushes mine beneath the table again, and I stiffen even more. My posture resembles a puppet’s.

“Computer science,” she tells him.

“That’s cool. Do you know how to make your own app?”

Computer science is cool, but math is amusing?

“I could code a basic one, yeah,” Isla answers.

“Awesome.”

Stacey returns with his beer in record time, and Aidan flashes her another one of those priceless grins.

Priceless, because they seem to get him whatever he wants.

Attention, alcohol, praise.

My irritation, which he clearly doesn’t care about.

“If I knew how to create my own app I would—”

“I’m grabbing another drink,” I announce, cutting Aidan off mid-sentence before slipping off my stool and heading straight toward the bar.

I’m pissed, and I’m not sure why.

That he came over and commandeered my girls’ night with an old friend, maybe. Possibly that he did it without directly acknowledging me once.

Clayton focusing on Isla didn’t bother me. I was excited for her.

Aidan focusing on Isla annoys the shit out of me. He couldn’t have bothered with a Hi? It’s two letters. One syllable. A second out of his night.

I find an open spot along the bartop and lean against the scarred wooden surface, waiting for the bartender to work his way down to this end. Another drink isn’t my best idea, especially considering how quickly I downed my first beer, but I really needed an excuse to escape that table. Plus, tonight I’m being Reckless Rylan, and this seems like something she would do.

Since the bartender is moving at the speed of molasses, I turn to survey the rest of the bar. Keeping my gaze far away from the back section.

Aidan isn’t the only hockey player here, but the others I recognize are all clustered around a large table. He didn’t come over to “play trivia” because he’s here alone or has no one else to talk to, and I have no clue what to make of that. All I know is it irritates me. We’re stuck together for one hour a week. He can’t steer clear outside of those sixty minutes?

“They’re passing out the answer sheets.”

“Cool.” I keep my eye on a group of guys by the pool table, debating if I have the guts to go over there and ask if they need another player. If Aidan is here, I’m sure Clayton and Isla have returned to flirting. And if Isla is occupied with a hot guy, I have no attachment to playing trivia tonight. Might as well take advantage of the buzz I’m experiencing to take another step out of my comfort zone.

“You mad at me about something?” Aidan asks.

I suppress the scoff that wants to come out. Still no Hi. Let alone a How are you? or a Nice to see you. “No.”

He snorts. “Well—”

“Phillips!” A tall guy I’ve never seen before appears. “What the fuck happened to you?”

“I’m playing trivia,” Aidan responds.

The guy laughs, once. “You’re what?”

“Oh, good. Are you guys already waiting to order? The line at the other end is insane.” A gorgeous redhead joins us. She looks vaguely familiar, but I don’t think we’ve ever met. Unless I’m already tipsier than I realized and I’m forgetting faces.

“Get this, Harlow,” Aidan’s friend says. “Phillips is playing trivia.”

Hearing her name solves the mystery. She’s Conor Hart’s girlfriend, I realize. She was at the hockey party I went to with Chloe and Malia.

“Really?” Harlow looks intrigued. “I didn’t know Gaffney’s had trivia.”

“Where’s Hart?” Aidan asks abruptly.

“Outside, on the phone with his mom,” Harlow replies. “Which reminds me, game recap, please. I was supposed to watch it, but the meeting with my thesis advisor ran long and then Eve had this art project crisis, so all I know is that you guys won. Did Conor get a goal?”

“Yep,” Aidan’s friend says.

I’m gathering he’s also on the team, but I don’t recognize him. I do wonder if extremely attractive is a requirement for being on Holt’s hockey team. Where the hell is my dad recruiting all these hot guys from?

“And an assist. But first star goes to this guy.” He punches Aidan’s shoulder. “Two goals and an assist. Phillips is making the rest of us look bad.”

Two goals and an assist?

I was planning to check on the score of today’s game. For my dad…and because I was curious about how Aidan played. But I haven’t yet. And I’m oddly…relieved, knowing they not only won, but it wasn’t the letdown Aidan was worried about.

“Been doing that for years, Morgan,” Aidan replies. Then, surprisingly, he glances at me. “Don’t look so shocked.”

Harlow and Hunter—I remember a Hunter Morgan from the game I went to last weekend, so I’m assuming that’s his first name—look at me, wearing identical expressions of surprise.

They obviously thought I was just randomly standing here waiting to order a drink, not that Aidan was here because he was badgering me.

“I’m not shocked,” I tell him.

And I’m not. I know he’s capable of a lot more than he chooses to show the majority of the time.

Aidan holds eye contact, a furrow deepening between his eyes the longer we stare at each other.

His friend clears his throat. “Hey. I’m Hunter. I don’t think we’ve met before…”

“Rylan,” I supply.

“Rylan,” he repeats. There’s no spark of recognition on his face, just confusion.

“I’m Harlow,” the redhead says, flashing me a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you, Rylan.”

“You too,” I tell her.

“Rylan studied abroad at Oxford last semester,” Aidan says.

I glance at him, totally taken aback. First of all, I never specified which school I attended in London. Either that was a lucky guess or he looked me up on social media to find that out. And secondly, why is he mentioning it now?

I get the answer a few seconds later, when Harlow lights up. “Really? That’s amazing! I would love to study in London. I was just in Ireland for part of winter break. Some of my dad’s family lives just outside of Dublin.”

“My program did a trip to Galway,” I tell her. “It was gorgeous.”

“I haven’t been to Galway, but it’s on my list. I’ve heard amazing things.” Harlow is fully turned toward me now, her expression animated. “Where else did you go?”

“In Ireland? Cork. And we did some trips around Scotland and Wales as well. Edinburgh was my favorite.”

Harlow nods eagerly. “Was the weather terrible?”

“Not too bad, actually. And I’m used to rain, from growing up here.”

“You grew up in Somerville?” She looks—and sounds—surprised.

That’s been the typical reaction from most of the people I’ve told, but there hasn’t been any of the derision or scorn I was worried about. The You stayed here? look.

“Yeah. My dad got a job here when I was five. We’ve lived here ever since.”

“What does your dad do?” she asks.

I resist the urge to look at Aidan. “He, uh, he coaches the hockey team.”

“Oh, fuck,” Hunter says, which is encouraging. “You’re Phillips’s freshman tutor?”

I raise both eyebrows, then glance at Aidan. “I’m a junior.”

“Coach told me you were a new student,” Aidan explains. “I just assumed that meant—”

“What are you guys doing over here?” Conor Hart appears, his dark hair visibly wet. It must be raining out, which sucks because I was planning on walking home.

“Meeting Phillips’s tutor,” Hunter answers.

Conor focuses on me, his eyes a stormy blue. Despite his intense gaze, the smile he offers is friendly. “Oh. Hey. I’m Conor.”

I smile back. “Nice to meet you. I’m Rylan.”

An awkward pause falls.

It’s obvious Conor has put together I’m his coach’s daughter, same as Hunter did. Neither of them seem to know how to navigate that.

“What can I get you guys?”

Finally, the bartender appears.

“Two—” Hunter stops talking.

I glance at Hunter to figure out why, but he’s looking at Aidan.

“What are you getting?” Aidan asks me, ignoring his friend.

“I can order my own drink.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m asking you to do.”

We have another uncomfortable stare-off. Extra uncomfortable because I feel multiple sets of eyes on us.

“Vodka cranberry,” I decide.

I don’t care that they’re common and considered basic. They taste good.

“Didn’t you already have a beer?” Aidan asks.

“Did I ask for your input?” I snap.

“Beer before liquor, never been sicker is a saying, is all.”

More staring.

Aidan sighs. “She’ll have a vodka cranberry, and I’ll take a pint of whatever you recommend on tap.”

The bartender nods, then disappears.

“You’re not getting your usual?” The snide question is out before I can swallow it.

“A pint of whatever is on tap is my usual, Alice.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding the least bit apologetic.

I huff.

More uncomfortable silence.

“What do you think of Holt so far?” Harlow asks me.

I send her a smile that I hope conveys my gratitude. I’m stuck here until my drink arrives and I’d rather talk to Harlow than argue with Aidan or stand around in awkwardness. “It’s been great.”

“I can’t believe that this is my last semester.” Harlow’s voice is wistful. “I’m jealous you have a whole year left.”

“Why? Your junior year sucked,” Conor says.

“How would you know?” Harlow responds. “You were ignoring me back then.”

Conor grins. “Exactly.”

Harlow rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.

“How long have you guys been together?” I ask.

Harlow says, “About a month” at the same time Conor says, “Twenty-four days.”

Then he whispers something to Harlow that has her blushing.

“I have extra earplugs, if you need them,” Aidan tells Hunter.

“Shut up, Phillips,” Conor says.

The bartender returns with our drinks, mine maroon and Aidan’s amber. He pays before I even have the chance to pull out my card.

Any other guy, and I’d say Thanks.

But that seems to be a harder word to tell Aidan.

I don’t know why. Something about feeling uneven in comparison to him. He throws me off-kilter effortlessly, and so I’m always struggling to keep the balance. Trying to prove I’m unaffected, so I overcompensate into aloofness.

And Aidan turns to talk to Hunter before I can say anything at all. Maybe buying my drink was his idea of an apology for ignoring me earlier.

“Do you, uh, do you know those guys over there?” I ask Harlow, nodding toward the pool table.

She follows my gaze, looking away so quickly she might as well have just been casually glancing around. Way more suave than I could have managed.

“A couple of them,” she tells me. “You interested?”

“I had a rough break-up, and I’m at a new school where I know about ten people. So…maybe.”

Harlow smiles, then steps closer and lowers her voice. “I had Gen Chem with the guy leaning against the wall. Ninety-five percent certain his name is Ryker.” She makes an apologetic face. “Sorry, I’m not always great with names. And then the one shooting right now is Finn…Ashford, I think? He’s on the soccer team.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I chew on the inside of my cheek, debating whether I have the nerve to go over there or not.

“You want a wingwoman?”

“You don’t have to…”

“I’d love to. Hanging with the same hockey crowd gets old. Plus…” She leans closer. “It’ll piss Conor off, and I like to keep him on his toes.”

“Bring my drink over to the pool table, Hart,” she calls out, then links our arms together and pulls me in that direction.

There’s some commotion behind us as we walk away, but I don’t look back as Harlow leads the way. The guys notice our approach one by one, a combination of interest and apprehension obvious on their faces.

“Hey, Harlow.” The guy Harlow said she had a class with—Ryker—glances behind us. “Would you happen to know why half the hockey team is glaring at me right now, by chance?”

“They’re intense guys, Ryker. Just ignore them,” Harlow tells him.

He doesn’t correct her, so it seems like she was right about his name.

“Should I also ignore how Hart is walking this way, looking like he’d love to murder me?”

“Definitely,” she replies. “He’s just delivering my drink.”

“Oh-kay,” Ryker says, then glances at me. “Hey. You wanna play some pool?”

I nod. “But I have no clue how to.”

“That’s cool. We’re just fooling around. C’mere, I’ll show you.”

Harlow gives me an encouraging look, then holds out her hand. “I’ll watch your drink.”

“Thank you.” I take a large gulp of crimson liquid, then hand it over.

Ryker holds out a hand as I approach. “I’m Ryker.”

I shake it, smiling. “Rylan.”

He smiles back. “Cute. We kinda match.”

Alice and Aidan. We’re adorable.

I ban his voice from my head, where it doesn’t belong.

Instead, I force the grin to remain on my face. “Just a warning. Not only have I never played pool before, but I’m generally uncoordinated.”

Ryker laughs. “We’ll make it work. Okay, to start…”

I make the mistake of glancing up right as Ryker starts to explain the rules. Conor has reached this corner, so Harlow is now double-fisting two drinks. She’s also looking up at the hockey player hovering protectively over her like he’s oxygen and stardust. Necessary and magical.

“Sorry,” I say, interrupting Ryker. “Do you mind if I run to the bathroom before we start playing?”

“Yeah, no problem,” he tells me. “I’ll be here.”

“’Kay. I’ll be right back.”

I pass Harlow, mouthing bathroom when she quirks a brow at me. She nods.

Isla is sitting at the same table when I walk by the back section. Clayton is still seated next to her. I catch her eye as I pass by, pointing toward the restrooms in case she wants to talk.

For once, there’s no line in the women’s restroom. I pee quickly, and am washing my hands when Isla walks in.

“Hey,” she tells me. “Everything okay?”

“I wanted to ask you the same. There was a huge line at the bar and then these guys at the pool table…”

“Not much of a girls’ night, right?” Isla says, smiling.

“We can still make it one. It seemed like you were into Clayton, so I wanted to give you guys some space, if you wanted it.” I keep my selfish motivations of getting away from Aidan to myself.

Isla blushes. “I want it. As long as that’s okay with you?”

“Of course. We can get lunch or coffee sometime soon, finish catching up.”

“I’d love that.” She hugs me, then quickly glances at her reflection in the mirror. Releases a giddy sigh that I’m jealous of. “Night!”

“Night,” I reply, even though she’s already halfway out the door. Dry my hands as slowly as possible, then pat my nose and forehead with a dry paper towel to get rid of any oil.

I’m stalling.

Because I’m attracted to Ryker, but I’m not giddy around him. There were no butterflies. I didn’t wonder what he thought of my outfit. If he showed up somewhere and ignored me, I doubt I’d care.

Basically, my body doesn’t react to him the way it responds to Aidan Phillips, and that pisses me off. But the only solution I can come up with is to go back out there and fake it.

Sulking in here about whatever weird chemistry attracts me to Aidan isn’t going to fix anything.

I open the bathroom door and swallow the swear that wants to spew out.

It might not have fixed anything, but remaining in the restroom would have avoided this.

Aidan is leaning against the wall opposite the restrooms, his arms crossed casually. The pose seems deliberate, the rest of his body humming with tension. “That’s your type?” he asks me. “Pool players?”

My chin tilts defiantly. “Maybe.”

“Which game do you prefer? Blackball or eight-ball?”

I have no idea what the hell he’s talking about, and that’s probably obvious on my face. I’m buzzed, my cheeks warm and my reactions slow.

Aidan scoffs, then shakes his head. “Is this about your ex? You’re trying to get over him?”

I got over Walker a year ago—when we broke up—but I don’t say that. “It’s about me. I might have grown up in Somerville, but everything else is new to me. New school, new people. I’m trying to fit in. To finally have some fun, which I thought you, of all people, would get.”

“Me, of all people? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means.”

He shoves away from the wall, towering over me and blocking the way back into the bar. I’m five eight, not exactly short. But with an angry, six-three Aidan inches away, I feel tiny.

“What exactly does it mean, Rylan?”

Stubbornly, I hold his gaze. “Six girls, Aidan. And I know you weren’t a virgin when we hooked up. Are you really going to judge me for playing pool with a guy when we both know you’ve fucked most of this campus? What kind of sexist double standard is that?”

“I’m not judging you. But good to know that you’re judging me.” His tone is sharp and annoyed.

“Stick your little dick wherever you want. Doesn’t make any difference to me.”

Okay, I’m drunker than I thought. But I don’t take any of it back.

Aidan’s eyes flash like they’re lit with green fire as he reaches out and runs his thumb along my bottom lip, the rough pad igniting all my sensitive nerves.

I quiver, everything that was missing with Ryker rushing in. All the giddiness and dizziness and awareness. The butterflies and the weak knees. They drown out my annoyance that it’s all happening with him, of all people.

“This fucking mouth.” He growls the words with a fierceness that settles low in my belly. I resist the urge to shiver.

Instead I step back, out of his reach. “Get out of my way.”

“No.” He remains in place, blocking the exit.

My jaw sets. “I mean it, Aidan. The overbearing asshole act might work on some girls, but not on me.”

“It’s not an act,” he tells me. “You want to hook up and have fun? Fine. Do it with me.”

I’m tempted. Very tempted. But my pride—plus the small part of my brain that’s thinking logically—won’t let me give in.

It was one thing before I knew who he was. Now, I have no excuse. I’m tutoring him. He’s on the hockey team. And…he’s in a different league. An experienced player who has slept with more people since we hooked up a few weeks ago than I’ve ever been with.

I lift my chin, glaring at him. “I told you—I’m not interested.”

“Bullshit,” he says.

“You’re one of my dad’s players.”

“So? I’m not going to tell him anything.”

I scoff. “You’re not worried he’s going to find out and kick you off the team?”

My dad wouldn’t do that. But I doubt Aidan knows that for certain.

“Do I look worried?” Aidan leans closer, erasing the small amount of space I put between us. “I haven’t told anyone what happened in that hot tub. I can keep a secret.”

“I’ll see you on Tuesday.” I push past him, relieved when he lets me pass by. And a little bit disappointed, which I quickly quash.

He’ll lose interest soon.

Move on to someone else.

I’m not interested in standing in line behind all the other girls on this campus who want to fuck him.

At least, that’s what I tell myself as I head for the pool table.