Dammit, I do look hot. It’s fucking freezing out there, but this skirt makes my legs look a mile long, so I paired it with low-heeled boots and an off-the-shoulder sweater. I shrug off my coat before popping open the drink she gave me. “My day sucked whale balls. That was the worst date anyone has ever been on, and everyone on campus hates me,” I say, setting the drink down on the coffee table without even bothering to take a sip. I’m so frustrated right now that I’m afraid I’d crush the can if I hold onto it any longer.
“Everyone does not hate you,” Holland says, opening the air fryer door to check on the cookies. She might technically be right, but that’s only because the article’s only been live for a few hours.
I let my gaze drift to her hockey player boyfriend who’s been silent since I got home. “Settle the argument, Rosco. Is Holl right and only a few people are pissed at me, or am I right that everyone on campus is contributing to a please-fund-me so I can transfer out of here?”
The big blonde center doesn’t hesitate. “Holl’s always right, and she’s right this time, too. Not everyone hates you.”
His words should be comforting, but I don’t buy them. And I’m not one for coddling. I’m a rip-the-bandage-off kinda gal. “And what about you? Do you hate me?” I ask him.
To his credit, Rosco doesn’t back down or slink off to his own room. He looks me right in the eye. “Why would I hate you, Claire? Because your article opened a can of worms that’s gonna have the dean scrutinizing every athletic program down to the finest detail? Or because oneof my best friends fell ass over blades for you and you were out on a date with some asshole instead of the best guy we know?”
His questions leave me speechless, which is rare. “Wait, Pete doesn’t?—”
Rosco shakes his head. “Your article and your personal life are your business, Claire. I don’t hate you, but I sure as shit don’t like your choices. Christ, now I sound like my mom.”
I crack a smile as Holland brings over a plate of cookies. I take one, and so does Rosco.
“You know what I am pissed about?” he asks, his eyes focused on mine again. “You ate all the gummy fish. Dammit, Claire, I’m an athlete. I need protein. Those fish were mine.”
I can’t help it. For the first time since Andy called about my article, I laugh.
14
Pete
I’m so fucking exhausted I’m surprised I’m still standing upright. To be fair, I’m leaning on the counter at Drip while Theo makes my coffee, so I can’t take all the credit.
The past few days have sucked all my energy away. Less than twelve hours after Ollie tried to interrogate JT about the rumors of his romance with Coach’s niece, a couple of the guys decided our rickety staircase would make a great ski slope. Our ancient, creaky steps caved under the pressure, literally. Miraculously, no one was seriously hurt, but it got dicey there for a bit. I stood powerless on the first floor watching as the steps fell and the adjoining landing shook. When JT’s door opened and Coach’s niece stood frozen with a stricken look on her face, I legit thought he was either going to pass out or try to jump up and save her. Mickey came to the rescue, though, because as batshit crazy as that guy is, he has a heart of gold, and he loves JT like a brother.
As if that weren’t enough drama, JT wasn’t just hiding the fact that he’s dating Coach’s niece. By the time graduation rolls around, our star goalie and his girlfriend will bebrand-new parents. That is, if he survives the season and Coach’s menacing glare. Yesterday’s practice was brutal. I’m not sure what was worse, all the extra drills we were running or the death stare emanating from Coach’s eyes directly into the net.
On my way home from practice last night, things went from bad to worse. Leo called when I was about two minutes away from Gramma’s. As soon as I heard his voice, I knew something was wrong. Ma had been watching TV, but when she got up to get herself some water, she fainted. I have to give my brothers credit, though. She was pretty out of it after she fell, so Henry called an ambulance right away, and Leo called me once the paramedics were on their way. I met them at the hospital and when we were told she was in stable condition, I sent the boys home to get some rest. I couldn’t sleep, though, and that’s not just because hospital chairs could double as torture devices. My mind was racing with worries, and it still is. They pumped Ma full of fluids and ran a zillion more tests, but there’s nothing conclusive. I’m worried as hell that her cancer is back, and so is Ma, but the doctors kept asking her if she’s in perimenopause and if she’s getting enough iron.
They’re keeping her another day or two for observation and to run even more tests. Gramma switched me out and the boys will sit with her for a bit after school. All I want to do is take a nap, but I have class in an hour, so sleep will have to wait.
Theo slides my drink across the counter, along with a muffin. “You look like you could use the sugar boost,” he says, and I laugh.
“Thanks,” I say. “Let’s hope the chocolate muffin and the cookies-n-crème-ucino are enough to keep me awake for the next few hours.”
“When the mid-day crash hits, come back here. I’ll put a muffin in the back with your name on it.”
I smile my thanks and head to a table so I can crack open my laptop and review my notes for my test in Genetics. I’ve taken two sips of my drink, one bite of my muffin, and read about five sentences when my senses go on alert.
I could close my eyes right now and it wouldn’t matter. Somehow, without even looking at the door, my brain knows Claire is here. I can’t stop myself from watching as she saunters up to the counter and picks up her to-go order. I can see she’s got earbuds in and she must be deep in thought because her gaze is trained on the ground as she makes her way over to the tables. That has to be the only explanation for why she takes the seat across from me, because when she looks up just long enough to see that I’m her seatmate, her eyes go wide.
Ouch. That’s a bruise my ego did not need this morning. For half a second, I wondered if she chose to sit here because maybe she considers us friends now. The look of horror she’s sporting tells me I’m way off base, but that tracks. When it comes to Claire Fowler, I’m off my game.
Her eyes dart around and since there are a few open spots, I’m surprised when she doesn’t get up and find another place to have her breakfast.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” she asks, as though the words cost more than she wants to pay. “I won’t be long. I have a meeting to get to, but?—”
“It’s fine,” I say, waving her off. “We shared a lot more than a café table in Florida, so I don’t think sitting next to each for another twenty minutes or so is going to kill us.”
My joke falls flat and Claire lurches forward as a couple guys from the basketball team stroll past our table and one of them loses his footing and bumps into her chair. Shereaches a hand out to steady herself and nearly knocks our drinks over in the process.
“The hell?” she mutters, looking back and sighing when she sees Aaron Dennis’s retreating form. “Sorry, did I spill your drink?” she asks, adjusting her seat.
“Our drinks are fine. Are you okay? What the hell was that?”
