He scoffs, shaking his head as he steps fully into view. “You sneaky motherfuckers. How long has this been going on, then?”
I don’t answer. My arms are tight around Isabella, her bare skin warm against me, her face still pressed to my neck like she’s trying to disappear.
“None of your fucking business.”
He scoffs, crossing his arms. “Itoldyou not to go there, Ryan. From day one.”
“Yeah, I fucking got that. Thanks for your concern.” I force myself to swallow, meeting his gaze. Fuck. This is so not how I wanted to get caught. “Please don’t tell anyone.”
Austin smirks, tilting his head. “Hmm,” he hums, dragging the sound out, his gaze flicking between us. “I dunno. What’s in it for me?”
I can’t help the frustration that flares in me. “Austin?—”
His grin widens, and he takes a step closer. “Can I join?”
Isabella makes a choked sound against my neck.
I shoot him a glare. “Get the fuck out of here.”
The asshole lets out a laugh as he lifts his shoulder in a shrug. “Eh, doesn’t hurt to try.” He bends down, scooping his wallet off the poolside table and shoots us a wink. “You two have fun,” he adds as he walks off, before the door clicks shut behind him.
Isabella exhales, a long, shaky sound, then groans and buries her face in her hands. “Holy shit.”
I run both hands down my face, jaw aching from how tight I’m clenching it. “Yeah. Holy shit.”
We sit there, the water around us sloshing quietly as we both try to figure out what the fuck just happened.
My eyes flick to Isabella, and I can see the panic in her eyes.
I don’t know what the hell to do. We’ve been sneaking around for months, knowing it was dangerous as fuck. And now, here we are—caught.
It could’ve been anyone walking through that door, but it was Austin. As much of a pain in the ass as he is, he’s not the one I’m worried about.
Because if Coach or Nathan ever find out, then it’s over for us.
And I’m not ready to let go of her yet.
31
ISABELLA
“Idon’t even know why I bother anymore,” Aurora mutters, tugging the cropped denim jacket tighter around her chest, a shiver running through her despite the biting cold. She doesn’t seem to care, still rocking that short denim skirt and crop top. “I swear, if my professor makes me critique one more ‘avant-garde’ painting that’s literally just a blank canvas, I might drop out.”
I raise an eyebrow, glancing over at her as we keep walking toward the party. “Aren’t you supposed to appreciate all forms of art?”
Aurora scoffs, throwing her hands up dramatically. “Not when it’s complete bullshit.” She keeps walking, her boots clicking on the pavement with every step. “I spend hours on my stuff. My hands cramp, I get paint in my hair, and then some guy turns in a white canvas with a single red dot in the corner, and suddenly, he’s a genius.”
I can’t help the snort that escapes me. “You’re kidding.”
She shakes her head. “He didn’t even use paint. It was ketchup.”
My brows knit. “Ketchup?”
“From his fast-food order,” she replies with a wave of her hand. “He said it ‘represents consumerism.’”
I blink a few times, trying to picture it. “And what did the professor say?”
Aurora groans, throwing her head back. “That it was thought-provoking and great social commentary.”
