Page 15 of Exes That Puck (The Honey Badger Puckers #4)

I’m wrapped in his hoodie and then the sheet covers my legs, and my phone charges on his nightstand next to two Advil he must have left there.

A soft tap on the doorframe makes me look up. Zeke stands there with a cold water bottle, the same careful expression from last night.

“How do you feel?” he asks quietly.

“Fine.”

He nods, no pushing, no commentary about how much I drank or what I said. Just simple care.

“Let me get you home?”

I slip into yesterday’s dress that somehow ended on the ground and follow him to the hallway. Westley sits at the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal, and Dylan fills a protein shaker at the sink.

“Morning,” Westley says without looking up from his phone.

“Hey, Kara,” Dylan adds, like finding me here at nine in the morning is totally normal.

Zero side-eye. Zero smirks. Maybe guys really are cooler about this than girls would be.

Zeke grabs his keys from the counter. “We’re heading out.”

The drive passes in comfortable quiet. Radio low, winter light streaming through the windshield, streets lined with students walking to Sunday brunch. He keeps his hands at ten and two, and I watch campus slide by through the passenger window.

Something settles weird in my chest. This feels like a late-night call with a daylight exit. Temporary, surface-level, designed not to stick.

He pulls up to my dorm and puts the truck in park. No reaching across the center console, no “when can I see you again,” just a simple, “Text if you need anything.”

I nod. “Thanks for the ride.”

The lobby doors part, and Payton stands there with her arms crossed, ponytail pulled high, wearing her full judge-and-jury expression.

“I wonder who you were with.”

My stomach drops. “Payton, please... not right now.”

“Right now is exactly the time. I couldn’t sleep because I was waiting for you to get home.”

She follows me to the elevator, and I know there’s no escaping this conversation. When we reach our floor, she starts listing receipts like she’s been preparing for this moment.

“Remember that night a few months ago, I picked you up barefoot from the sidewalk after you guys fought. Held your hair while you cried.” She counts on her fingers. “Post-game Saturday when he accused you of flirting with his teammate’s brother. You got sloppy drunk, and I had to come save you.”

The memories hit like punches. Each one accurate, each one worse than I remembered.

“Thanksgiving break—2 a.m. FaceTime. You were shaking in your childhood bedroom, and I ordered you DoorDash and stayed on the call until sunrise.” Her voice gets tighter. “The silent week when you didn’t eat. I brought soup, convinced you to email your professor for an extension.”

I unlock our door with trembling fingers.

“The parking lot blowup last month. I left class to walk you back, sat outside the RA’s office while you calmed down.” She throws her tote bag on her bed. “How many times do I have to stitch you up, Kara?”

I’m exhausted by all these mentions as I say, “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me. Please.”

I sink onto my bed, still wearing yesterday’s dress. “He’s different now. He’s not pushy. We’re not fighting.”

“Because he wants you in any way that he can! Can you not see how toxic this is, Kare?”

I murmur, “I can’t stay away, Pay. Doesn’t matter the time or distance, we snap back. We’re obsessed. The sex is what we’re good at.” I look up at her. “We’re not back together. We’re just hooking up.”

Her face goes red. “So you’re just exes that fuck, and that’s it?”

The crude words make me lift my chin. “That’s all it is.”

“I don’t believe you. And I can’t watch you do this again.” She grabs her tote and heads for the door. “I seriously can’t. Don’t call me when he fucks everything up.”

The door slams behind her, and I’m alone with the echoes of everything she said. My hands shake as I pull out my phone and text Lola.

Kara:Blew up with Payton. Can I call?

I stare at Zeke’s message thread, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Part of me wants to tell him about the fight, about Payton’s anger, about how complicated this is getting. Why hold back now? I already broke the no-sleepover rule.

Before I can stop myself, I’m typing a long message.

Why did you have to fuck everything up? I know I was the one that initiated that we start hooking up again, but this was the worst idea ever. Payton’s mad at me, and she has every right to be. Why can’t I stay away from you?

I delete the stupid message. I just needed to get that off my chest. I delete it and wait for Lola to get back to me.

My phone rings. Lola.

“Hey,” I answer, and my voice cracks on the single word.

“What happened?”

By the second hello, I’m crying. The whole story spills out—how good last night felt, how awful the guilt feels, how angry Payton is, how lonely this in-between space is. Lola listens without offering advice, without giving me a speech about leaving him. Just stays on the line while I fall apart.

When the call ends, I curl under my comforter with mascara staining my pillowcase. My phone goes on Do Not Disturb, and I fall asleep mid-scroll through social media.

I wake up in the early afternoon feeling lighter. The weight on my chest has eased, like crying wrung something toxic out of my system. I shower, put on sunglasses to hide the puffiness and pull on a fresh hoodie.

Kara:Meet for greasy food? Hungover lunch at 2?

Lola: Say less.

I grab my tote and tell myself to take things one at a time. Homework and projects tonight, feelings later.

The diner smells like grease and coffee, exactly what I need. Lola’s already claimed a corner booth, steam rising from her fries. I slide in across from her and order a BLT and chocolate shake.

“For medicine,” I tell the waitress.

We’re both in hoodies and sunglasses. The perfect college hangover uniform. Lola pushes the ketchup toward me without being asked.

“I’m so dumb, Lola. I don’t know what I’m doing. Payton’s right.”

She doesn’t flinch. “You’re not dumb, Kare. You love him. It’s okay.” She nudges my shake closer. “Hydrate with dairy.”

I take a long sip, letting the cold sweetness coat my throat. “She listed every time she’s had to pick up my pieces. Every single one.”

“All of them?” she asks, almost wincing.

I nod, pressing my lips together. “It was the reminder I needed, I think. This is just bad. It’s so stupid.”

“Maybe...” Lola pauses, choosing her words carefully. “Maybe stop sleeping with him for now?”

I look up sharply. “You think I should cut him off?”

“Not as punishment. Just space for clarity so feelings and patterns don’t blur together.”

“He’s different now,” I say, defensive. “He didn’t push last night. He’s being nice and caring and good to me.” The specifics spill out about the water and Advil, the quiet drop-off, no pressure for plans or promises. “That matters, right? He’s trying, so it’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

Lola nods. “Do you actually want to give him another chance? Like, be together?”

I snort. “Second chance? Try tenth.” I pause, considering. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to decide today. Don’t jump. If he’s changing, he’ll still be changing next week.” She steals one of my fries. “No decisions while you’re raw or hungover.”

That makes sense. Everything feels too big right now, too immediate.

“You should talk to Payton,” she says gently. “Maybe apologize.”

“Apologize to Payton? She’s not going to accept it. She’s impossible. She wants me to just end it.”

“She’s loyal. She’s watched you shatter, and she hates the person who drops you.”

I stare at a fry, guilt pricking at my chest. Walking me home when I was barefoot and crying. Sleeping on our floor. Extension emails. Standing guard outside the RA’s office. She’s not wrong about the history.

“Own your choice,” Lola says. “You’re doing what you want to do. So, don’t ask permission. Tell Pay that you heard her, you love her, and you’re setting boundaries this time.”

She helps me craft a script while I pick at my burger. Something that acknowledges the damage without making excuses.

I pull out my phone and start typing.

Kara: I’m sorry for this morning. You’ve had my back through everything, and I love you so much for it. I’m not back with him. I’m keeping distance and I’ll be honest if that changes. I love you. Can we talk tonight?

The message shows delivered. No immediate dots.

“What if she doesn’t forgive me?” I ask, worried.

“She will. But give her time to be mad first.” Lola reaches across the table. “And maybe we do a buddy system this week? Text me before any Zeke meetup. Just ‘going’ and ‘home.’ Nothing dramatic.”

Relief I didn’t know I needed washes over me. “That sounds good.”

We split the check, and the cold air stings our cheeks when we step outside. I pocket my phone without checking for messages.

Halfway down the block, my phone buzzes.

Payton:Tonight. 8, our room.

Short, clipped, but it’s a bridge.

I text Lola a prayer hands emoji and take a deep breath. One talk at a time. One boundary at a time.

I can do this.