by Mariah Dietz
“Raegan!”
I turn at the sound of my name and come face to face with Derek. His gaze slowly traces over my face, stopping at my lips and then again at my eyes. “This didn’t count. This was a blip on our radar. A memory we’ll laugh at in five years when someone asks us about how we started dating.”
Dating?
Five years?
He grins. “I’ll see you later.” His cologne sticks with me as he turns back to the others waiting for him, leaving me speechless and reeling at his words.
I need to find Poppy.
I need to decipher these words.
I need to…
A scream pulls my attention to the living room where a group is surrounding a girl with purple and blonde hair facing Candace. The tension is obvious, both girls leaning forward with hands raised like they’re about to start pulling each other’s hair.
“Paxton,” I grumble, weaving through the bystanders, hoping for a girl fight.
“Hey!” I call, my voice too loud and cheery.
“Can you believe this bitch?” Candace asks, pointing at the girl as she nails her with a glare that is both a challenge and a threat.
“You’re psycho,” the girl says in return. “I don’t know what your problem is.”
“You were eye-fucking my boyfriend earlier. I saw it.” Candace leans closer, provoked by the girl calling her crazy.
“You spilled your drink on me!”
I cringe, ready to stand back, knowing Candace likely deserves getting bitch slapped. If it wasn’t for Pax, I’d be drifting back into the growing crowd.
“I’m sure this is a misunderstanding.” I glance at the girl with purple hair and try my damnedest to look sincere and apologize before positioning myself between the two. “I’m sure it was an accident that her drink spilled. Parties get so crazy. Why don’t we get something to clean it up?”
The girl looks from me to Candace, who stares her down, the challenge still clear in her posture.
“Hey. What’s going on? No one wants cops. This is a celebration.” Heat tickles my bare arm, then cotton brushes against my sensitive flesh. Lincoln appears behind me. The bitterness of beer mixes in a tantalizing fashion with the sweetness of soap and savory notes of cologne. It makes me drunk, struggling to focus or move as I take another deep breath of him. “Who wants to be on my team for a game of flip cup?” His gaze is on the girl with purple hair, who’s smiling at Lincoln like he’s Christmas morning in a pair of jeans. His lip pulls up in a cocky and knowing grin, then he steps forward and links his arm around her.
Being forgotten by Ian pales in comparison to being invisible to Lincoln.
11
“Rae, Rae.” Arlo appears with two cups, handing me one as he flashes a bright smile. “Have you seen Pax?”
I shake my head. “No, but when you find him, will you tell him he owes me?”
He blows out a laugh. “Hell, yes. But first, I have to find his scrawny ass. He’s been MIA since we got here.”
“Are you sure he’s not in the kitchen?”
“I’ve checked the kitchen, the front yard, the back yard, the bathrooms, hell, I even went to the damn street to make sure his car was still here.”
“That’s weird. Did you try calling him?”
“Only a hundred times.”
“Stalker.”
He laughs again. “He was in a weird place after the game. I just want to make sure he’s okay.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Like he wanted to get some space from everything. He and the President are both acting strange lately.”
Betrayal has me turning my full attention to Arlo, waiting to hear more about what’s going on. Could Pax know that Lincoln kissed me? Does he know the context? Are they fighting?
“Are they mad at each other?”
“Nah. I think Lincoln’s just sick of Candace staying at the house. She had friends over last night, and they were being loud as hell.”
I should be soaring on a cloud of relief, but disappointment is strapped to my ankle like a weight, pulling me so far into its depths I try to drown it out by taking a long gulp of the beer Arlo handed me.
“This is so gross,” I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“It’s disgusting,” he agrees.
A smirk helps push the disappointment away a little farther. “You had a good game tonight. You should be having fun and celebrating. I’ll go look for Pax.”
“My game was woke.”
“Totally woke.”
“At least try and sound sincere.” He elbows me hard enough to make me sway.
“I did, but you ruined it by raising my compliment with your own.”
He hooks me around the back of my neck, wrestling me into a hug. “Go check the front for Pax, I’ll go to the back, we’ll meet back here in ten.” He rolls away, bobbing his head to a new song as he takes a long drink.
“I think he likes you.”
I look over my shoulder to find Derek, his eyes brightly glazed as he struggles to focus on anything for long.
“As a friend,” I confirm.
“A friend he’d like to see naked.”
“Wait, wait. You have a little something…” I lift a hand, wiping a thumb across his cheek, which I examine carefully. “Wait. Is that jealousy?”
He quirks a brow, amusement absent. “What’s the deal with you two?”
“We’re friends,” I tell him.
“Friends who hug?”
“Since when is hugging foreplay?”
“I saw the way he was looking at you.”
“Trust me. You misread that situation.”
“Did I, or am I misreading you?” His tone is too intense, his eyes too hard.
“You’re misreading it all if you think this is okay.”
“Raegan,” he says, dropping his chin back. “I’m sorry. I’m not…” he blows out a long breath. “I came over here because you looked upset. Forget what I said. Are you okay?”
Asking him for help or even telling him that Pax is missing doesn’t sound like a safe idea when I know the two don’t trust each other. “I was just looking for Poppy. I’m fine. I need to call her, but I’ll catch up with you.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Derek!” Luck is on my side as Ian appears again, giggling as he tries to tell a story about someone falling over.
“I’ll be back,” I tell him, smiling in an attempt to make my parting seem friendly rather than an escape attempt.
I keep my eyes peeled for Poppy as I scan each face for Paxton.
“You see him?” Arlo asks, meeting me near where we’d parted.
I shake my head.
“Man, I think he might be hooking up with someone. Finally got tired of Candace’s shit…” I don’t hear the rest of his likely offensive words because Lincoln approaches us, his shoulders so wide it seems he takes up the entire room.
“You talk to him?” Arlo asks.
Lincoln nods.
Arlo flashes a smile. “Was I right?”
“Maybe.”
Arlo cheers, drawing attention that he nor Lincoln seems to notice. “In that case, you go find yourself someone to celebrate tonight’s win. I’m gonna get another drink and then lose myself in someone.” He scans the crowd, looking for his next conquest.
“We have to find Paxton some pants first.”
I cringe. “Pants? Oh God. That’s not what I wanted to hear.”
“Help me go bust into a room and find some shorts or something for him to put on.” Lincoln tips his head in the direction of the stairs.
“You guys can’t steal someone’s clothes,” I say.
“We also can’t let the star quarterback of Brighton U show off his baloney pony.” Lincoln’s brown eyes are startlingly bright and intense, not dulled by alcohol like so many here tonight.
“Where are his pants? Can’t we just go get them?” I ask.
Lincoln lifts a shoulder. �
��Apparently not.”
I pull in a deep breath and glance over my shoulder to see if Derek is still with Ian. “It’s probably better if less people know what’s going on.”
Lincoln tilts his head. “Are you using us to avoid dick face?”
“I just figured since he and Pax don’t exactly like each other, it’s probably better if he doesn’t know. I’ll invite him to a party happening on campus.”
“Negative.” Arlo shakes his head. “I’m not going into rooms with the Pres. That’s not the rumor I want circulating.”
The ghost of a smile skates over Lincoln’s features. “Why not?”
“I’m going to play decoy. Hurry your asses up.” Arlo turns, looking for Derek.
“Be nice,” I warn him.
“Don’t ask me to make promises I can’t keep.” He winks, then raises his hands and gets lost in a crowd.
“Walk in front of me. I’ll be able to block you if he’s looking for you.”
I remain rooted in place, debating if this is a terrible decision.
It’s a horrible decision.
Downright shitty.
I’m still trying to forget the pattern his lips made as they crossed my skin.
“Since you seem torn to leave lover boy, why don’t I just take care of things.” He moves, and before reason can catch up with sense, I move with him, matching his angle and successfully cutting him off.
“It has nothing to do with him. My dread of seeing Paxton without pants was just catching up with me.” I swallow. “Let’s go.”
He doesn’t flash a smile or a grin. It’s not his way. Instead, Lincoln’s eyes prod mine, seeking honesty and validation. I remain still for several seconds, allowing him to search for insincerities that don’t exist, then turn on my heel and head toward the stairs.
A hand slides against my back, so gentle and light, I jump.
“Sorry.” His touch is gone, tearing a corner of my heart.
“No. I just … you surprised me. That’s all.”
“There’s a ton of people.” He lifts his hand, as though making his action deliberate before placing it on my waist again, this time firmer, each of his fingers connecting with my flesh, the veil of my cotton tee a regrettable barrier.
When we reach the stairs, I take a fleeting glance toward the party to make sure no one’s attention is following us. Turning just enough that his fingers run across my stomach, creating an awareness that makes my skin feel too warm and my breaths too weighted.
“Don’t worry. Arlo’s got this.”
“I don’t want to make things worse between you and him or with Pax.”
Lincoln makes a noise that sounds like annoyance. “Dickhead doesn’t pay attention to anyone but himself. He won’t notice.”
I want to tell him he does. That he’s paying too much attention to Arlo. “Is that why you guys don’t like each other?”
He takes another step, invading my space, the scent of him a strong hit that leaves me desperate for another. “There are so many things I’d rather talk about. Cholera, the bubonic plague, smallpox…”
“I don’t understand why you care. He’s not the star of the team. Right now, he’s only getting a second of attention from the press.” I have no doubt Lincoln is aware of this and likely uses it to his advantage. He knows his role. He wears his fame like a cape, attention following him everywhere he goes.
“He’s not a contributing player.” He nods in the direction of the stairs.
I go, knowing if I remain still any longer, I’m going to do something stupid like lean closer and take a deeper breath of him, or he’s going to head upstairs and call it a solo mission.
A long, dark hallway greets us at the top of the stairs. The walls are paneled with dark wood, empty except for a couple of sconces that aren’t on. A guy leans against the wall a few feet from us, one foot propped up as he smokes a joint.
“We’re totally going to walk in on someone having sex.”
“That’s a viable possibility. Just think of it as bad porn.”
“I can’t believe he did this.”
“What? Have a good time?”
My eyebrows lower, hurt pressing on my chest. “Cheated on his girlfriend.”
“Candace is like a pimple that can’t be popped.”
I pull back, ignoring the guy who’s blowing out a cloud of smoke and chuckling at Lincoln’s analogy.
“Don’t tell me you actually like her.” His eyes go wide, like there’s a conversation being had between us where I’m telling him unicorns really do exist.
“It doesn’t matter if I like her or not. It matters that they’re dating, and he made that choice. This was a shitty decision, and she has nothing to do with it.”
“She’s not wrong,” pot boy says.
“This is why I don’t do relationships,” Lincoln says.
12
I struggle to remain ambivalent to his words. I don’t need him to know he’s just reminded me of rule number nine as to we could never be together: I want to date someone who has no reservations or qualms about dating—doesn’t consider the term to be a four-letter bad word, and Lincoln doesn’t believe in dating at all.
“What?” he asks.
“What?” I ask in return, blinking several times because my eyes feel too dry. I think I was staring at him, lost in thought. “This smoke is burning my eyes,” I lie.
He snickers. “You made a face when I said I don’t do relationships.”
I press my lips into a line and shake my head. “Nope. No judgement here.”
“Liar.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
I feel frazzled. Like I need to say or do something that isn’t going to make me sound either naïve or innocent. I reach for the nearest door handle and press down on the lever.
Locked.
“I also have no desire to be in a relationship. I have too much going on for anyone to expect or need anything from me.”
“Exactly.” He practically sings the word, like I’m one of the few who understand him and this idea. His brown eyes meet mine, curtained by dark lashes that are impossibly perfect, just like the rest of him.
A hollow spot in my stomach forms, distracting me from our task at hand and eradicating the positive parts of today.
“We might have to knock if they’re all occupied.”
I cringe. “That’s going to be awkward.”
“Less awkward than walking into an occupied room.”
“Marginally.”
He smirks. “Is it strange that everyone knows your brother?”
I lift a shoulder. Everyone’s always expected that it only provides favors, never consequences. “It just is what it is.”
“Does that translate to it blows?” He presses down on the next door handle, and this one opens, revealing a linen closet. He turns, eyebrows raised. “We could have him wrap a sheet around himself.”
“I’m inclined to say yes, but…”
“But…?” his eyebrows inch higher.
“Him being the only one wrapped in a toga might be strange, especially since this isn’t a Greek event.”
Lincoln seems to consider this for a moment before closing the door and moving further down the hall. “I bet people have high expectations for you.”
“Actually, it’s the opposite.” I pause at the next door, hesitating as I listen to see if anything can be heard on the other side.
“The opposite?”
I glance at him, noting a faint bruise forming on his jaw, likely from a hit he’d taken in the second half, a hit that only paused him for a second before he’d regained his footing and continued downfield to score a touchdown. “People assume things are handed to me. Like it’s the only reason I’m here at Brighton.”
Lincoln reaches for the door handle, his hand resting on mine, holding it in place. “Why did you choose Brighton?”
“Because it was expected of me.” The admission tumbles out, surprising me far m
ore than it does him. I’m sure of that, because I’ve tried to shove that thought far, far from my brain, and he barely blinks.
He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me. “Do you always do what’s expected of you?”
I blow out a laugh I wish were sincerer. “I think you already know the roles we each play.”
The corners of his eyes pinch with questions.
“Maggie is the rebel activist, fighting ‘the man.’ And Paxton is the athlete, which leaves me the role of academia.”
His eyes narrow, what appears like doubt tickles his lips. Then, the door in front of us opens, tugging me off balance.
An arm wraps around my waist as someone cries out an obscenity.
“I’ve got you.” The words are quiet, solely intended for me, and they replay again and again with absolute perfection. The deep rasp, the smooth bass, the sureness. My heart has just grown wings the size of an eagle’s and is attempting to take flight, jittery and uncertain.
“Sorry. I didn’t realize you guys were there,” a guy says, reaching to help me get back upright because I’m still suspended, relying on Lincoln to keep me from stamping the imprint of the floor on my face.
“I’ve got her,” Lincoln says as I assure the stranger it was my own fault.
“Sorry again,” the guy says, placing a hand on a brunette’s shoulder and leading her into the hall. “Oh, and you have to hold the handle up before you try to lock it.”
“Thanks,” Lincoln says, his hands slipping from my hot and sensitive skin.
We step into the room, and Lincoln closes the door but doesn’t move to lock it, his gaze drifting across the room. “Well, we might be stuck with a sheet.”
I turn, my heart still too enlarged, pressing against my lungs and making it difficult to catch my breath. The room is mostly dark, lit by a floor lamp in the corner, highlighting the wall next to the bed which is lined with posters of shirtless men flexing.
“Maybe she has a boyfriend?”
Disbelief is etched across Lincoln’s face as he stares at me.
