Page 9

“Right.” Chris laughs. “Just like the sun rises in the west, the sky is green, and Santa Claus doesn’t exist.”

Jace frowns. “Um, hate to break it to you, bro, but Santadoesn’t?”

“Anyway,” Chris cuts him off with an eye roll, likewhat a clown,“back to Damon. You can tell me,us,” he clarifies, gesturing between the guys, “whatever is on your mind.”

I pick at a fallen slice of pepperoni in the box, wondering what the hell to say. At the time, I’d been reeling from seeing her again, and I’d needed to unload. But now . . .

Fuck it. I needsomeoneto vent to. I can’t handle this on my own. I can’t.

“I saw her this morning,” I blurt, crossing my arms over my chest as if to shield myself from the memory. “She’s in my Tightwaddery class, and she sat right down beside me.”

“Hold up.” Chris raises a hand. “What the fuck is a Tightwaddery class and why are you in it?”

I roll my eyes. Leave it to Chris to focus on the insignificant details. “I thought it was an easy elective.”

Chris snorts, and I motion toward him. “Like you’re one to talk when you took that Taylor Swift class last semester.”

Chris gasps and points a finger at me. “That class was legit. It applied literary analysis tools to Swift’s lyrics.”

“Whatever, bro, it was lame.”

“Can we get back on topic?” West interrupts.

“Thank you,” I say, jerking my head toward him. Who’s winning Best Roommate of the Year award?This guy.

“Fine,” Chris grumbles. “Carry on.”

“Anyway, she shows up out of nowhere in my first class and fucking asks if the seat beside me was taken, and I just stared at her like a dumbass for five minutes until the professor arrived and it was too late to leave. So, she sat down while I contemplated my fucking bad luck while class started, then afterward, she followed me out and asked if we could talk.”

“Damn.” Brandon leans back against the couch, rubbing the light scruff over his jaw.

“Back up,” Jace says from his spot on the floor in front of the couch. “Before you continue, we need some history here. Details. All we know about her is that she’s your ex.”

“Yes,” Chris snaps a finger, pointing at him. “We need context, so we know what we’re dealing with here. Were you high school sweethearts? Best friends turned lovers? Or maybe this was some kind of forbidden romance gone wrong? Did you take her V-card? Were you in love, or was it mostly infatuation? Opposites attract? What?”

Brandon stares at him like he’s an idiot. “Have you been reading romance novels again?”

Ignoring him, Chris stares at me, eyes wide in anticipation. “All of the above,” I say, feeling a pang in my chest.

“I’m sorry”?Chris cups a hand around his ear?“What? It sounded like you saidall of the above.”

I shrug, like the pain shooting behind my diaphragm doesn’t take my fucking breath away. “I did. We were . . . everything to each other.” I swallow over the lump in my throat, avoiding their eyes.

The room falls silent. No one says a word as they absorb what I just said, and I wonder just how fucked I am when I pinch the bridge of my nose and continue. “We met in seventh grade. I got a scholarship to play football for this private school outside Pittsburgh. It was just my dad and I, and though he busted his ass to earn a nice living, he never could’ve paid the tuitionwithout football. I wasn’t the only scholarship kid there, but there weren’t many of us. The rest of the kids were all a bunch of snobby assholes, elites who were born with a silver spoon in their mouths. But there was one person who was different. One girl. It didn’t matter that we came from different worlds.”

I pause for a moment, remembering. That shock of straight white teeth, the blonde waves spilling over her shoulders, and her long legs in those little plaid skirts. My heart aches just thinking about it.

“We became fast friends. She was myonlyfriend at first, until everyone saw what I could do on a football field. By the time I reached high school, everyone wanted to know me. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that my family had no money because I had something else they wanted, something they couldn’t reproduce?raw talent. An ability to win state championship and put Wellington Academy on the map, something they’d wanted for years. Avery and I were best friends all through junior high, but I think both of us knew we were inevitable.”

God, I remember that feeling. Being with Avery was like the pulling of the tide, like gravity sucking you in. I couldn’t escape it?her?even if I wanted to.

“In ninth grade, we started sneaking around because I may have been a star on the football field, but that still didn’t make me good enough to date Reginald Astor’s daughter.”

“Wait! Hold up.” West narrows his eyes, and I can practically see the wheels churning. “Did you say Reginald Astor?”

I clear my throat and nod.

“An Astor, rich, from Pittsburgh . . .”