by Mariah Dietz
Everything about me has been weird since him.
I glance at where he’s talking to a couple of girls wearing short dresses and heavy makeup. He props one hand on the wall, lowering his face with a stance that assures he’s flirting. The girls giggle and lean closer. Bitterness sits heavily on my shoulders, but I attempt to shake it off as I turn my attention back to Olivia.
“Do you want to go?” she asks.
I shake my head. “This is for the best.”
She stares at me for a second before wrapping her arm around my shoulders as another pair of girls pass us wearing bikini tops and short skirts, filled cups in their hands. Other than the half glass of beer I had earlier this week with Chantay, I haven’t had a drink in months. I never had a problem with drinking too much, but alcohol was a conduit to some of my vices which I’ve been trying to avoid.
“Liv!” Olivia tears her inquiring gaze from me and looks across the crowd at the sound of Arlo’s voice. He’s smiling his Olivia smile—the one that consumes his features and blinds him from the rest of the world. At his side are Paxton and Lincoln.
“There’s my girl,” he whispers as he slides his fingers into Olivia’s hair. The lust emanating from him is so intense I need to turn away before he kisses her. I turn my attention to Paxton and Lincoln. We’re not BFFs, but I can feel the comradery building each time Arlo has us all spending time together.
“Hey, Rose,” Paxton says, as Lincoln scans over the partygoers, likely looking for Rae.
I smile, immediately overthinking the simple reaction and trying to ensure my smile is casual and far from flirtatious. “Hey. This place is pretty crazy tonight.”
Pax grins lazily and nods. He’s all confidence, but I know it’s a carefully constructed shell at this point. Last year, his dad had an affair that went public and created a media frenzy for his family, and since then, I’ve heard his coping methods include binge-drinking, pot, and his crazy girlfriend, Candace. “It’s the beginning of the year. It’s always craziest for the first couple of weeks.”
I previously basked in this time because everything was so simple, less homework, less social obligations, fewer family obligations with the holidays still several weeks in the future. “Are Raegan and Poppy here?” I ask, knowing the two girls are the same brand of best friends as Olivia and me.
Lincoln’s gaze cuts to me. “Not yet, but they should be soon.”
“Ian just came by,” Olivia says. “He acted really strange.”
Arlo nods. “He’s been channeling Coach Danielson and acting like an asshole all night.” He shrugs. “He has a lot of freshmen on the team. I’m sure he’s sick and tired of acting as their babysitter and mom.”
Paxton nods. “He’ll get over it. They wanted to hold Montana to thirteen, and they did.”
I hate that I’m listening so closely. And I really hate that I’m hoping Isla isn’t here tonight.
“Hey.” The change in Lincoln’s voice has made me face our small group again and see that Raegan and Poppy have arrived. The girls are sophomores, but, for the most part, it’s a detail I often forget when we spend time together because both are grounded and smart and easy to like.
Poppy smiles at me, and it takes me only a second to decode the third-wheel ally grin she’s giving me and only a second more to internally grimace. I don’t know Poppy’s background, and we’re still at that stage where conversation can occasionally feel awkward or forced, so asking why she’s single hasn’t come up yet. Relationship questions have never been my strength, right up there with forming relationships, calculus, and not yelling for Olivia when I find a spider in our apartment.
Raegan ties her arms around Lincoln’s waist and smiles in greeting.
“Hey! Hey!” More of their teammates approach, loud and already laughing.
Hoyt shoves a glass into my hand before reaching forward like a cobra and grabbing Ian’s arm as he starts to pass. Our eyes meet and then part and then meet again like a pebble being skipped across a pond.
“I thought we discussed putting a hot tub in the living room?” Hoyt asks.
Ian’s shoulders are still rigid, but his face relaxes as he laughs. “There were zero deals that included a hot tub. In fact, this is the last party here for a while. My parents are moving back next week.”
Hoyt’s eyes grow wide with mock horror. “Tell me it isn’t so. Can’t they afford another mansion?”
Ian scoffs before laughing. “I’m moving out to the pool house. So do it up well tonight.”
“When is Banks going to start doing house parties?” Hoyt looks across his teammates. “Where the fuck is that wanker?”
A cup lifts, followed by the bright blue eyes of Tyler Banks. He’s handsome in a way that makes you forget your name, and then he speaks with his deep voice and smooth British accent, and your heart forgets how to function. “Never,” he says before dipping his lips to the blond beside him.
“Who’s that?” I whisper to Olivia, signaling with my eyes to the girl he has his arm wrapped around.
“Chloe Robinson. The two are dating. It seems pretty serious. They moved in together.”
My eyes grow wide with surprise. “That violates all of the rules.”
Olivia grins. “I like her. She’s smart and funny. She reminds me a little of you because she hates bullshit.”
“Who actually likes bullshit?”
Olivia grimaces. “Way too many people.”
Ian clears his throat. My eyes travel to his neck and then his face, attempting to read his expression as his eyes dance over the room beyond us. It’s silly and useless because I don’t know Ian well enough to understand or know his expression, regardless of how long I stare and try to. His gaze travels to mine, and for a second, I feel that same pull and connection to him that I fought tirelessly against last spring. The same one that made my palms sweaty and my lungs shallow because it feels like we’re somehow in a different dimension, in another place where it’s only him and me and us together. Where our pasts and our mistakes don’t define us, and we understand one another without a single word because here, things are simple and honest.
“Do you have a minute?”
I don’t want to make a minute for him. I want to hold onto my determination to abide by my rules and find sanity again, but before I can tell him no, he’s nodding his head toward the hallway, and my body is marching to an order that I’m not issuing.
I follow Ian through the dimly lit crowds and down the hall, where he stops at the doorway to a dark room. My traitorous and confused heart pounds obnoxiously in my chest. I’m considering the best excuses to remove myself from this situation when the lights flash on and my thoughts dash from self-preservation to books—so many books. The room is circular and two stories high, with maple bookshelves built along each wall that stretch from floor to ceiling, filled with hundreds of books, the spines ranging in every color of the rainbow. The second story has a slender rail that wraps around the opened space leading to a high ceiling where a large skylight looks out across the night sky. The wood floor is covered with an area rug so plush that my feet sink as I follow him into the room. It’s a sight I’ve never seen except in my imagination.
“I’ve been thinking about that email you showed me. Did you guys respond to whoever sent you those photos?” he asks, interrupting my appreciation for the room.
I turn my attention from the ornate stained-glass lamp with water lilies to Ian and shake my head. “I didn’t receive the email.” Annoyance is cast into my words because he knows this—at least, he should.
“Do you think Anthony would have done it? Last year, you mentioned that the budget for the paper was down, and you guys were going to have to cut back on the number of days you’d be printing.”
Looking at Ian, I wonder if this is how my parents felt after their divorce? That edge of regret for having shared information because it can be thrown back and used as an accusation or, in this case, serves as a reminder of a time when things and feeli
ngs were reciprocated. “You’re giving Anthony an awful lot of credit. His ego and reflection are pretty much all he sees. Besides, he’s not this creative.”
“Did they say anything? Ask for anything?” Desperation or possibly annoyance has his eyes dancing between mine, his question again brief and direct.
I shake my head. “He said they sent him the photos with a brief description of what they were planning to do and told us to watch.”
His brow knits. “So you guys are taking this as a story?”
“No,” I tell him instantly. “This isn’t newsworthy. This is garbage and a complete abuse of freedom of the press. No reputable journalist would take this trash and run with it.”
His gaze softens as his shoulders fall from the rigid stacks of muscles they’d been in, reminding me of when he’s on the field. This close, I can smell his cologne—sweet and spicy and delicious. It’s not fair that he smells this good, and my body should absolutely not be responding to it. Distraction, rebound, I don’t care what the label or price is, but I know that I need to leave before I consider kissing Ian.
“What does Anthony want you to do with the information?”
His concern stops my thoughts, and the pictures in question percolate in my thoughts. More specifically, the picture of him with his hands on a half-naked girl. How long ago was the picture taken? Who was she? What did she mean to him? And then I quickly realize that his reaction has nothing to do with my feelings and everything to do with his reputation.
“You have nothing to worry about,” I finally respond, lifting my pointer finger with its black matte nail polish. “Because one, aside from the fact I have no interest in writing about who the football team wants to screw, you’re forgetting my best friend is dating one of yours, and I would never do anything to hurt her. Two,” I add, lifting a second finger, “If this comes out, it won’t do anything but bring you positive attention, proven with Hoyt’s recent stardom. Guys get away with this sort of thing. Three.” My ring finger pops up. “They’re not actually showing anything really shocking. Nudity is only scandalous to talk about, not to see. And finally.” I turn my wrist and drop all but my middle finger. “If you want to know who’s digging up dirt, you should be looking at your teammates. One of them likely knows this is going on and why.”
His eyes are still on me, but I see the divide he’s built before he takes a step back. “No one on the team would know about this and not say anything,” he spits out icily.
I shrug, wanting to call him an amateur for trusting so many, especially so many that he barely knows.
“Have a nice time at the party,” he says.
Is he dismissing me?
Before I can wrap my head around the possibility, he walks out.
Did he just leave for another girl?
Should it matter?
God, why does this hurt?
I need to get out of my head. One of the hardest things about spending time with people is realizing there are no equal measures of giving and taking. Sometimes you forget to stop someone at the foyer, and next thing you know, they’re in your closet and have seen too much—know too much. Meanwhile, they haven’t even opened their front door for you. I let Ian in, and knowing he clearly didn’t like what he saw, stings. I hate that sting. And I hate that I let him close enough for this to hurt so badly.
As I move toward the door, I separate this gorgeous room and Ian as two entities. I take a final look at the space, the wooden ladder on rails catching my attention, sparking memories from when I was little and still believed in fairy tales and taming beasts rather than forgetting lasting feelings for one.
“I tried calling you four times,” Olivia says as I find her in the living room, Arlo and a few other of his teammates still crowded around laughing. Two years ago, these same guys would be doing stupid stunts like sledding off of the roof into the pool or something equally dangerous. Now, they’re nursing glasses of pop and talking about classes.
“Sorry,” I tell her. “I didn’t hear it.”
Her gaze turns quizzical. “What happened?”
I sigh as I look around the room.
Olivia reads my thoughts instantly. “We’re going to get something to drink,” she says to Arlo before linking her arm in mine and turning us to face the kitchen.
Within five steps, I’m feeling better. Stronger. Braver. I pull in a deep breath, and when a cute guy follows me with his eyes, I even find myself smiling.
We’re silent as we wait in line for our drinks. Olivia’s giving me a moment to be with my thoughts—another reminder of how well she knows me. Most friends would be sharing a million thoughts and asking a million questions and making a million assumptions, but Olivia knows that would only overwhelm me and cause me to panic.
“Hi,” she greets the bartender with a kind smile. “Do you have any Coke or Pepsi?”
He smiles at her, a twinkle in his eye that says he appreciates more than her patience. “I have both.”
“Two Pepsi’s, please,” she says.
He nods. “Would you like ice?”
“Oh, that’s okay. We’ll just take the cans.”
He gives another curt nod, turns to the fridge behind him, and withdraws two cans of Pepsi that he quickly opens before handing them to us. “Anything else?”
“No. Thank you so much.” She places a tip in the jar in front of him, and we turn away as the people behind us start ordering a slew of drinks with little patience and even fewer manners.
Olivia takes a drink of her pop as she stares at me.
I grip the can, allowing the coldness to soak from my fingertips up through my arm, a welcomed distraction. “I didn’t realize this was going to be so awkward,” I tell her.
Olivia shakes her head. “I can tell he still cares about you. He still gives you that look like you’re the only thing he sees.”
“I probably have something in my teeth.” I grimace. “Trust me; it has nothing to do with me. I told him about how Anthony had received those photos before the website went live, and he had a mini freak out.”
Olivia’s brows jump. “At least he did. Arlo just laughed and thought it was a joke.”
I shrug. “I’m still not convinced it’s not.”
Olivia releases a breath, her gaze cast on Ian. “I think you make him nervous,” she says.
I shake my head. “Believe me; it has nothing to do with me. He just wanted to ask more questions about the website and who sent the email.” I switch hands with my pop, placing my chilled fingers to my exposed collarbone. “I don’t know what to say or how to act around him. It’s awkward. This is why I don’t date—almost dating is too complicated, I can’t imagine what the real deal is like.”
Olivia smirks.
“Rose!” Lacy calls my name before we have the opportunity to further dissect the situation, and then her arms are around me, hugging me. “How are you? How was your summer?”
Behind her are Isla and Chantay. I was Isla for a long time in their trio, and this summer, when I began canceling more and going out less, they began spending more time with Isla. It was my decision, yet envy and betrayal dance with regret as they start sharing stories from their night.
“Have you guys seen Paxton Lawson tonight?” Chantay asks as she fans herself with one hand. “Totally hot,” she says, peering around as though she might spot him.
Olivia takes another sip of her drink. She’s never liked hanging out with them. They’re loud, with super short attention spans, and rarely care to discuss anything but a great party and a hot guy—basically the polar opposite of Olivia.
“It’s senior year,” Lacy adds. “Time to put all the cards on the table.”
I shake my head as I force out a laugh. It sounds fake, but the noise of the party hides the fact.
“You’ve been stuck in neutral for a while,” Lacy says. “Maybe this has to do with a certain someone with dark hair and blue eyes and killer tackle…” She gives me a pointed look, and for a second, it feels li
ke she’s trying to offer me the opportunity to tell her—to tell myself—that I have feelings for Ian.
“It was bound to happen,” Chantay says. “Maybe, what you need is a married man? Oh!” Her eyes shine with intent. “A professor!”
Genuine laughter hits my ears, shocking me because it’s mine. “No,” I tell her with a conviction that stills my focus. “Absolutely not.”
Lacy’s smile is patient and kind, verging on sad for a second, almost like she’s feeling sorry for me.
I shake off the feeling with another quick drink of my pop.
“Oh, God, there he is.” Chantay turns, deliberately staring at several guys on the football team who are gathered together. “Could you introduce us?” Chantay asks, turning her attention to Olivia. “Aren’t you like friends or something with one of them?”
“She’s dating Arlo,” I remind her with a warning glare.
“That’s right,” Isla says, dragging her eyes across my jeans and tee. There was always something about Isla that made me not trust her, and that vibe is hitting full-force as her lips curve into a troubling smile. “Arlo was the one who used to be fuck buddies with Jade-what’s-her-name and got injured at the end of the year.”
Olivia’s gaze turns icy as she lowers her can of pop.
“Arlo’s the wide receiver who Isla tried to sleep with for the past two years. He broke up with Jade and has been dating Olivia since last spring,” I enunciate and punctuate the important words.
Lacy giggles. “Way to go, Olivia. He’s sexy. He has that smile and those muscles. Oh, and he was all over social media last year!” She turns to Chantay, snapping her fingers as her eyes grow wide. “Remember, he was the guy who beat up like ten dudes. Boom. Boom. Boom. Knocked them all out.”
“There were five of them, and he only hit three of them, and it was because they were bothering two teenage girls,” Olivia says, anger bristling her shoulders. That fight nearly cost Arlo his future and place on the team.
Chantay’s brow lowers with confusion as she looks at me. The problem is, they’re here looking for a good time—a few drinks, dancing, and the hope of ending the night with a hot guy. Fact checks aren’t anywhere near their dossier. We’re ruining their buzz by talking about the implications behind seemingly insignificant details that actually are significant, which makes this conversation destined for a collision.
