“No clue,” Royce responds with a shake of his head.
“Don’t know who to believe,” Gray murmurs half incoherently. “So many lies.”
I give Royce a questioning eyebrow, but he just shrugs his shoulders. He is no more knowledgeable than I am on what the hell Gray is mumbling about.
“Hopefully, that means he’s working through his issues,” he whispers as we step outside of the room, leaving Gray to sleep off his hangover.
“We can only hope.”
We say goodnight before I slip into my bedroom, stripping down before climbing into bed. Staring at the ceiling with my arm bent behind my head, I can’t help but acknowledge how much better tonight would have been if Riley had been here, too.
God, what would it be like to even have her and Gray in the same room without the hostile glares and snippy comments?
The weird thing is, Icanpicture it. The four of us together… if she would only talk to him and he would actuallylisten.
However, before any of that can be resolved, I need to work out my own issues with Riley. I’ve my own making-up to do, and with school starting back tomorrow, Riley has officially run out ofmetime.She’s had the two weeks of space she asked for.Starting tomorrow, I’m going to work on making her mine—permanently.
9
RILEY
My first day back at Halston, and I’m a jittery mess—and that’s without any caffeine in my system.
The messed up thing is it’s got nothing to do with school itself. I’m excited for my classes this semester. It’s the people. Specifically, the three men who have infiltrated and completely upended my life.
Royce has been able to ensure I got the space I asked for these past two weeks, but now all bets are off. He can’t keep them away from me indefinitely, nor is it his job to. I’ve had my time to wallow in self-pity and figure out what I’m going to do—not that I’ve actually worked that out yet. Now, it’s time for me to face the three demons head-on.
Lifting my chin, I focus purely on feeling confident as I grab my belongings before leaving my apartment. As I’m walking down the stairs, I check my phone, not surprised in the least to see no missed calls or voicemails from my mom. My heart sinks, regardless. I’ve called her several times since Christmas Day, and not once has she answered. I should be used to this by now, but I just want to talk to my daughter. Is that so much to ask for?
Less than three weeks, I tell myself. In less than three weeks, I’ll see her again. Get to hold her in my arms. Hear her laugh and drink in her smile. I can get through till then.
Any confidence I mustered before leaving my apartment gets knocked aside the second I step onto the street.
“Logan?” My voice comes out far too breathless as I stop in my tracks.
I am so damn glad I prepared myself for seeing him again by watching his game on TV the other night. Even that didn’t do him justice. Logan truly has the ability to take my breath away. Which fucking sucks, considering I’m trying my hardest to get over him.
Still, with my night off on Friday, I’d told myself I was watching the game purely because I’d developed an interest in the sport. Of course, part of my interest stems from the fact Logan was playing. It’s not like I ever sit down to watch other college teams face off against one another.
Even as a tiny figure on the screen, buried beneath his hockey gear and face hidden behind his helmet, he’d still rendered me speechless. It’s like my brain downplays how hot he is, then I see him on the TV or face to face, and it slams into me anew that this man is sex personified. I hate it. It’s disgustingly unfair on us mere mortals simply trying to go about our day without melting into a puddle of hormones.
It hadn’t escaped my notice how his eyes had raked over the crowd as though searching for someone before the game began. Again, I told myself he was probably looking for Royce or Grayson, but I didn’t miss the flash of disappointment in his eyes before he focused on the game.
Despite that, he still played phenomenally. Even the sportscaster said so, and right before he came off the ice at the end of the night, he turned around, seeking out the cameraclosest to him and staring into it as though… as though he was staring directly intome.
“What are you doing here?”
My question is more of a croak; my nerves are already frayed, and he hasn’t even spoken yet.
He’s leaning against the side of his car, looking gorgeous as ever in jeans that mold to his thighs and a rich, maroon-colored hoodie. There’s a jacket sitting on the hood and a coffee cup in his hand as his eyes slowly rake over me, as if cataloging each and every aspect he might have forgotten about me in our time apart.
“Riley.” It makes me feel marginally better that his voice is raspy. Licking his lips, he pushes off the car but makes no move to come any closer. “You look gorgeous.”
Yeah, I’m wearing jeans that donothug my thighs or ass the way his do,and a coat so thick and puffy that I resemble a penguin.
“What are you doing here?” I repeat, satisfied when my voice comes out steady, this time with a hint of steel in it.
“Wanted to offer you a ride to campus.” He holds out his hand, offering me the coffee cup. “And bring you coffee.”
