Page 18

DAMON

I hate how hyperaware of her I am, how my body seems to be tuned into her like a radio stuck on a single frequency.

How her laugh echoes in my head long after I hear it.

How I track her every move like an animal stalking its prey.

I note her escape to the bathroom and the panicked look in her eye with more than a little resentment.

Avery has always stood out to me, and it seems time has changed nothing.

It’s a rather inconvenient fact I’d love nothing more than to erase with the dregs from Brandon’s flask.

Our backs are turned on the dance floor as I shake free the last drops of the whiskey into my punch, only to be reminded of the color of Avery’s eyes. “Is this all you’ve got?” I ask accusingly before I tip my cup back and drain its contents.

“Man, this flask is eight ounces, and you’ve had more than half,” Brandon complains, as he screws the lid back on and tucks it into his suit coat.

“Is everything alright here?”

Brynn’s voice startles us, and we all turn around quickly as if we’re up to no good. “Of course, everything’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be?” I reply, squinting as if she’s the one under suspicion.

She purses her lips, her gaze flickering between us. “You’re acting weird.”

“So is your boyfriend.” I motion toward Jace who’s dancing alongside Chris with the high schoolers, twirling one of them around the dance floor like he’s a contestant on Dancing with the Stars .

Brynn follows my gaze, then rolls her eyes, before turning back to us, arms crossed over her chest. “Just . . . behave, okay?”

“What do you think we’re going to do? Spike the punch?” Brandon asks, his eyes wide and innocent.

I press my lips together, fighting a laugh as Brynn purses her lips, then mutters, “I’m watching you,” before she turns on her heel and heads back to Jace.

I exhale, and Brandon wipes the back of his hand over his sweaty brow. “Shit. That was close. I thought for sure she was going to sniff out the booze on our breath like a bloodhound.”

The words have barely left his mouth when I catch movement in my peripheral and turn to see Avery step into the entryway, her eyes sweeping the room before locking onto mine—and then she’s walking straight toward our table.

“Oh shit,” Brandon mutters under his breath. “Incoming.”

“What do we do?” West asks, wide-eyed as he turns toward Brandon.

“Maybe we should give him a moment alone . . .” Brandon trails off, nodding in the direction of my ex.

“If you leave me alone with her,” I start, “I swear to God . . .”

“Let’s bail,” Brandon mutters to West, acting like I’m not here.

West nods in silent agreement, and they both make a sudden, awkward dash toward each other, their paths converging in a hasty attempt to escape, when they smack into each other with a dull thud, arms flailing wildly as they struggle to regain their balance.

Their grunts fill the air. An arm reaches out, grabbing me for support.

Exasperated, I shove them both away from me, my patience worn thin. “You idiots,” I snap.

A string of curses echo through the room, punctuated by a loud crash. West’s foot, in its reckless fumbling, makes unfortunate contact with one of the fragile legs of the ancient folding table. It wobbles precariously before giving way, collapsing under the pressure with a sudden and ominous groan.

With the reflexes of a cat, I catch it before the contents go everywhere. Punch sloshes over the rim of the bowl, but I somehow manage to keep the table upright.

“Damon. Hi ,” a familiar voice says.

I lift my gaze, noting my friends’ retreat and reminding myself to make them pay later.

“So, you’re friends with them now?” I nod toward Brynn and Charlotte, my mouth a hard line as anger fists inside my chest.

She follows my gaze before she turns back to me, her expression unreadable. “Does that bother you?” she asks.

I bark out a laugh, wondering if she’s serious, but she simply continues to stare at me, waiting for my answer.

“Not at all,” I say, my voice dripping in sarcasm.

“I’m absolutely thrilled that we’re attending the same school now, and that you’ve also found a way to become part of the lives of my closest friends and teammates. ”

She glances down at her hands. “Would you prefer it if I no longer spoke with them?”

I snort in derision. “Does it really matter what I want?”

“Considering I want you back?” She meets my eyes once more. “Yeah, I’d say it does.”

How can she say shit like that? And how can she possibly think I’ll believe it after everything?

I grind my teeth until my molars ache, until I’m one second away from snapping my jaw in half.

My grip tightens on the table, and Avery must notice, because her gaze shifts to where I’m white-knuckling it. She steps forward, her tone soft when she says, “Here. Let me help you.”

Crouching beneath the table next to my thighs, she fiddles with the broken metal leg while I try not to think of how close we are to touching.

How all I’d have to do is reach down and run my fingers through the silk of her hair to remember how soft it is.

Or how, in another life, the position we’re in would be much more compromising.

We’d be naked, and instead of fixing the table leg, she’d be turned toward me, her hands and mouth?

“There.” She rises to her feet, pulling my mind from the gutter. “It’s wobbly at best, but as long as no one hits it, the table should hold.”

I grunt, and it’s impossible to ignore how close we are now—or how her sugared-almond scent curls around me, warm and distracting.

“I watched the game with Charlotte and Brynn,” she blurts out, cutting clean through the fog of thoughts clouded by how damn good she smells. “I just thought you should know. I didn’t want you finding out from anyone else.”

My eyes widen, brows rising as the familiar tide of anger pulls me back out to sea. “In Chris and Jace’s apartment?”

When she nods, I run a hand over the back of my neck, a bitter smile splitting my lips. “Why am I not surprised?” I mutter, then louder and more directly, I ask, “Is there anyone you’re not willing to manipulate to get what you want?”

She flinches, and I hate the way it makes me feel. Like I’m the bad guy, when I know I’m not. Because no matter how much she deserves the question, part of me still wants to take it back the second it hits her.

“It’s not like that,” she says, her tone sharp.

My brow quirks. “Isn’t it?”

“Okay, I admit that I saw you talking to them at the coffee shop the other day, but I genuinely like them, and they invited me to join them to watch the game, not the other way around. And believe it or not, I debated on even going, but I haven’t made any genuine friendships on campus yet, and I can see us becoming good friends.

They’re . . . different. Kind and genuine and open. ”

“Unlike most of the people you usually align yourself with?” I snap.

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” She’s been letting her parents control her life, including her social life, for years.

“Fine. You’re right. They are unlike my other friends.

Which is part of the reason I’m here. I mean, yeah, I want to win you back, but it’s more than that.

I’m tired of living my life for everyone else.

And I no longer want to be forced into friendships just because their family would make a good alliance with mine. ”

“Tell me,” I say, ignoring everything she’s saying because it’s all talk. Empty words with nothing to back them. “Do Charlotte and Brynn know we once dated? Do they know our history and how you ended things? Or did you leave that part out?”

She blanches, and I know I have her.

“That’s what I thought.”

“I’m not hiding it,” she’s quick to add. “I told your friends the truth, and I’ll tell the girls, too.”

“Right,” I say through gritted teeth. “You’re Miss Righteous now, on a war path to right her wrongs,” I say with an eye roll.

“Actually, the reason I’m here is quite selfish,” she says, surprising me. “Because the only thing I’m on a warpath for is to win you back, whether I deserve you or not.”

My gaze darts back to hers, and I can’t help but admire her honesty. I have no idea when she became so direct, but I have to admit I like this version of her?the one who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to reach for it.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

In all honesty, I have no idea what to make of her.

“Nothing,” she says with a sigh. “I don’t want you to say anything. Proving my intentions is my job, and I realize it might take time.”

That’s the understatement of the century.

I hold my tongue as a group of girls approach the table, eyeing me as they take a glass of punch, before leaving in a fit of giggles.

“You played well.”

I turn toward Avery, my gaze raking over her face as I picture her in Chris and Jace’s apartment?a place I’ve frequented for the last two years?her eyes glued to the screen as I fought for a win on the field.

The fact she witnessed my struggle irritates me.

Mostly because she was the reason why I couldn’t get my head in the game.

My only solace as I turn back toward the dance floor is that I somehow managed to pull out a win. “I played like shit. No thanks to you,” I say, my tone hard as nails. “I’m just lucky I managed to pull my head out of my ass in the second half.”

“If you think your anger will scare me off, you’re wrong.”

My gaze jerks back to hers, once again impressed by her candor. The Avery I knew was far more reserved.

“What? Do you think I’m foolish enough to believe I can show up, tell you I’m sorry, and the last two and a half years will just disappear?

” She snorts and shakes her head. “It’s a nice image, but it’s not realistic.

” She picks up a glass of punch, toying with the rim of it.

“The truth is I deserve your anger and a whole lot more.”

“That’s probably the first thing we agree on.”