Page 3 of Exes That Puck (The Honey Badger Puckers #4)

The sound of a clanking keyboard wakes me. Sunlight pries my eyes open, sharp and cruel. My head throbs. My mouth tastes like beer and regret.

Payton’s already up, sitting cross-legged on her bed with her laptop open. She glances at me over the screen. “You’re alive.”

“Barely,” I mutter, dragging myself upright. My sheets smell like stale liquor, so I peel them off the bed and toss them into a pile. Sunday reset. If I keep moving, I won’t think too hard about last night.

But Payton doesn’t let me get away with anything. She closes her laptop, eyes narrowing. “You kissed him, didn’t you?”

The air in my chest stalls. I’m too tired for this.

“What?” I ask.

“I saw how close you two were, Kara. You kissed him, didn’t you?”

Heat creeps up my neck. “It just… happened.”

Payton groans into her hands. “You’re supposed to be done with him. Not letting him suck you back in.”

“I know.” I grab my laundry basket just to escape. “It was a mistake. That’s all.”

She watches me too long, like she’s trying to read through me, then finally sighs. “Promise me you’re not going back.”

I nod, even though my stomach twists at the lie.

I escape the dorm to start laundry. While the laundry churns, I scroll through my phone. Zeke’s texts glare back at me.

Zeke: You make it home okay? Zeke: You okay?

I don’t answer. My thumb hovers, itching to type something, but I look at my other notifications. Lola’s name pops up next.

Lola: Hey. Sorry about last night. The kiss. I thought it would be funny. Lola: Did it work?

For a second I just stare at it. Out of all my friends, she’s the only one who ever sat on the edge of my bed and listened when I said I loved him anyway.

When Payton rolled her eyes, Tori said toxic and Emma said run, Lola said, ”You two are intense, not broken.

Work it out or cut it clean, but don’t halfway bleed.

” She brought me coffee the morning after our worst fight and told me to text him only if I meant it.

She’s never clapped when I said it’s over.

My pulse kicks. I shouldn’t reply, but my fingers move.

Me: You crossed a line. Me: But it worked. I kissed him outside.

Lola: No way. Okay. I’m sorry for the line. Lola: Everyone else hates him for you, but I know how much he means to you. I know you love him. Lola: I figured if he saw someone touch you, he’d either step up or leave you alone. Did he step up?

I bite my lip.

Me: He kissed me first. Me: I kissed him back.

Lola: Did you guys talk? Are you getting back together? Lola: I want you to be happy.

I stare at that. Happy. The word knots my chest.

Me: Thanks for checking on me. And apology accepted. Me: We didn’t talk, but I’m not getting back with him. He blew his last chance.

Lola: Okay. I’m on your side.

I drop the phone on the washer and stare at the wall. She’s the only one who believes in us. The only one who didn’t cheer when I said I was done. I can’t decide if that makes her a good friend or a bad one.

The day drags. I clean. I start an essay. I fold clothes. Every time I stop moving, my brain replays the feel of his hands cupping my face, the way his lips crushed mine like no time had passed at all.

That kiss felt good. Too good.

I shove my phone aside and throw myself into laundry, then wipe down everything on my side of the dorm. I tell myself if I keep moving, I won’t think about him.

That lasts maybe ten minutes.

Every time I pass my phone, my eyes drag to the screen. Zeke’s messages sit there like traps, glowing at me.

Zeke: You make it home okay? Zeke: You okay?

I fold a shirt, set it down, then pick it back up just to keep my hands busy. My chest squeezes so tight I could scream.

By the time lunch rolls around, Payton’s gone to meet friends, and the room is too quiet.

I scroll Instagram, pretending I don’t care, but every flick of my thumb makes my stomach twist. He hasn’t posted.

His teammates have. A picture of them in the locker room.

A Story of Carter shot gunning a beer. Zeke’s in the background once, head bent, half-hidden by his hoodie.

I zoom in like an idiot. Like I’ll find answers in the curve of his jaw.

I toss my phone onto my bed, but five minutes later I’m picking it up again.

I try to start my essay. I open the doc, type two sentences, delete them. My cursor blinks back at me, mocking. My brain won’t focus. All I see is his face last night when he kissed me. All I hear is Payton’s voice: You’re supposed to be done with him.

And I am.

I am so done with him.

The rest of the day blurs. Coffee. A half-hearted shower. Staring at my ceiling while the rest of my laundry sits unfolded.

By the time Payton’s back, I’ve scrolled so much my eyes burn. She chatters about dinner plans, but I just nod, numb. I keep telling myself I’m strong for not answering him.

But it doesn’t feel strong. It feels like pacing in a cage.

When the room finally goes dark, Payton asleep across from me, I’m still wide awake, phone glowing against my pillow.

Zeke’s name sits at the top of my messages. My thumbs type out I’m fine before I delete it.

The three dots never appear. Nothing from him.

I flip back to Instagram. Nobody posted anything. Nothing from his teammates or anything.

I close the app, drop the phone face-down, and stare at the ceiling.

I should feel strong for ignoring him. But all I feel is restless. And stupid.

My alarm won’t stop buzzing. I smack at my phone until it finally goes quiet. My head’s heavy, my body heavier, like I didn’t sleep at all.

The girls’ group chat is already alive.

Tori:did anyone start the psych paper?

Emma: no.

Payton:2 pages. kill me now.

Tori: shit

I scroll through it while pulling on leggings, trying to pretend I care. My own blank Word doc is still open on my laptop from yesterday. The cursor blinked at me all night, and I still couldn’t string two sentences together.

Higher up in my notifications are the ones I can’t stop staring at.

Zeke:You make it home okay?

Zeke: You okay?

Still unanswered. My chest squeezes, like just looking at his name is a confession.

Payton’s moving around behind me, humming while she throws books into her bag. I keep my head down, pretending to pack my things for class.

“You coming to breakfast?” Payton asks, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Maybe later. I need to shower first.”

She nods, studying my face for a beat too long. “Don’t overthink things, okay?”

I want to ask what she means, but she’s already heading for the door.

I lock my phone and drag myself to the shower, letting scalding water beat against my shoulders until my skin turns pink. When I get back, the room feels too quiet. A Post-it note on my desk reminds me about our psych paper. Due tonight! Don’t forget!

Right.

I grab my backpack and head across campus, phone burning a hole in my pocket. Every buzz makes my pulse jump, but it’s always the group chat. I don’t know why I want it to be him. It’s better that it’s not

Emma:Kara! You’re being quiet. Hungover from Saturday still?

Kara:No just tired. See you guys later.

The lecture hall is half-empty when I slip in, sliding into a seat near the back. I stare at my notebook, pen moving without purpose. The words blur together. My handwriting gets messier as my mind drifts. I draw spirals in the margins, then scratch them out. Draw them again.

My phone buzzes, and I jump at it desperately needing something to take my mind off him. I check it under my desk.

Payton:Want to grab lunch after your 11am? Dining hall?

Kara: Yes

The rest of the lecture passes in a haze.

By the time I make it to the dining hall, my friends are already camped out at our usual table. Trays loaded with salads and sandwiches, voices animated despite Monday morning fatigue.

“There she is,” Tori announces as I approach. “You look dead.”

“I am,” I mutter, sliding into the empty chair beside Lola. She gives me a subtle look. The kind that says we need to talk later.

“So,” Payton starts, unwrapping her turkey sandwich. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe Wolf Boy goes to different parties. We need to expand our search.”

Emma chuckles. “You’re obsessed.”

“I’m dedicated,” Payton counters. “Besides, Kara needs the distraction too. Right, Kare?”

All eyes turn to me. I force a smile, picking at my salad. “Yeah. Sure.”

Tori leans forward, grinning. “Speaking of Saturday night, you disappeared for a while. Everything okay?”

My stomach drops. “Just needed air after…” I look at Lola and raise my eyebrows.

“Uh-huh.” Her smile turns knowing. “And it had nothing to do with a certain hockey player eye-fucking you all night?”

“Lola,” Tori warns quietly.

“What? I’m just saying that kiss was meant to piss him off. And it worked,” Lola says.

Heat crawls up my neck. I shove lettuce around my plate, avoiding their eyes. “Can we not talk about it? I’m trying to move on.”

“Good,” Emma says firmly. “That’s exactly what you should be doing.”

Tori looks at Lola and says, “You should not get back with him. Aren’t you sick and tired of the back and forth? I mean… come on.”

Payton nods enthusiastically. “Totally. Which is why we need to find more parties. New guys. Fresh starts.”

They keep talking, planning weekend adventures and gossiping about classmates, but their voices fade to background noise. I nod when it seems appropriate, laugh when they laugh. Playing the part of the girl who’s moved on.

Lola stays quiet through most of it, occasionally catching my eye with that same concerned expression. She knows. She knows I’m drowning and doing a terrible job of hiding it.

When lunch ends, we scatter to afternoon classes. Lola lingers, falling into step beside me as we head toward the academic quad.

“You okay?” she asks once we’re alone.

I want to lie. Want to tell her I’m fine, that Saturday night was a mistake I’ve already forgotten. But this is Lola. The one person who never judged me for loving him in the first place.