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15

Holland

T he moment I step out of the sciences building, the weight of curious stares and muffled whispers hits me like a tidal wave. Normally, I can blend into the flow of students on campus, but today is different.

Today everyone is staring.

At least that’s the way it feels.

Maybe I’m capable of commanding this kind of attention on stage, but I’m not Holland Tate in those moments.

I’m Lavender Smoke.

“Holland! Wait up!” Ava’s voice cuts through the noise on campus.

For a second, I consider ducking my head and running, but she’s faster than me, weaving through the crowd until she falls into step beside me. Her expression is a mix of curiosity and amusement.

I know exactly what’s coming.

“Did you see the message?” she asks, wide-eyed. “It’s crazy. Everyone’s talking about it.”

I blow out a steady breath and keep my gaze focused straight ahead. “Yeah, I saw.”

Ava tilts her head as she studies me. “I mean, it’s obviously not true, right? Everyone knows you can’t stand Bridger Sanderson.”

I keep walking, my stride purposeful, as if it’s possible to outrun this conversation.

When I remain silent, her voice dips, filling with confusion. “Holland?”

I glance at her, then at the path ahead. “It’s not… untrue.”

She stops dead in her tracks, forcing me to do the same. “What?” Her eyes go so wide I half-expect them to pop out of her head. “Are you saying—wait, no—you and Bridger? Dating? ”

“Ava,” I mutter, already regretting my choice of words.

“You’re kidding. You have to be kidding,” she says, crossing her arms. “Start talking, because I have so many questions.”

I press my fingers to my temples, trying to come up with a response that will satisfy her without revealing too much. I fall back on the lame answer I gave Garret. “It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated?” she repeats, incredulous. “What does that even mean? When did this happen? Just last night you said there was nothing between you two.”

Before I can reply, or more accurately, evade, her rapid-fire inquiries, the business building comes into view.

Thank God.

Even though I’ll have to face Bridger for the second time this morning, I’ve never been so glad to see it.

“Look,” I say, picking up my pace, “I’d love to explain, but we’re going to be late for class.”

“This conversation isn’t over.”

“Sure,” I say, relieved to duck into the building and put some distance between us. Even after she walks away, her questions echo in my mind, stirring up things I’d rather not think about.

Inside the lecture hall, I head straight for a seat near the middle, hoping to disappear into the rows of students. I’m pulling out my notebook when the architect of my problems strides in and scans the room. That’s when I do something I never would have before, and shrink back in my chair when his attention zeroes in on me.

I force my gaze away, hoping he’ll do us both a favor and pick another spot, but no such luck. He drops into the seat next to me, his presence as overwhelming as ever.

“Hey,” he says, glancing my way. “You doing all right?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” With a shrug, I lift a brow. “After all, I’m the one behind all the messages, right? Pretty clever to throw myself into the mix.” I drop my voice and lean closer. His gaze dips to my mouth before flicking upward again. “And throw suspicion off myself.”

His eyes narrow but he doesn’t say a word.

I swivel toward the front of the room as Abbott dives into the lecture, talking about teamwork and communication. Us being paired up for this project feels more like an absurd joke.

We don’t need to spend more time together.

We need to spend far less.

Midway through the class, Abbott pauses and looks directly at us. “Holland. Bridger. Why don’t you share an update on your project.”

I stiffen as every set of eyes in the room lands on us.

“Sure,” Bridger says, jumping in and flashing an easy smile. “Holland and I have been making steady progress. She’s a natural when it comes to organization.”

I blink, caught off guard by the flattering remark. “And Bridger,” I say, forcing a polite tone, “has been surprisingly good at brainstorming ideas.”

“Surprisingly?” he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear. “Careful, Tate. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

The professor nods in satisfaction before moving on. Bridger leans closer, his voice dripping with amusement. “Guess we really do make a great team.”

I glare at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Don’t push your luck.”

It’s a blessing when the professor wraps up class and dismisses us. I shove my notebook into my bag and rise to my feet, ready to bolt from the room. But Bridger is already up, blocking my escape.

“Do you have another class after this?” he asks, falling into step beside me as I head toward the exit.

“Yup,” I mutter. “That’s what happens when you take eighteen credits a semester in order to graduate early.”

“Six classes, huh? That’s a heavy load.” He gives me a bit of side-eye. “And you still have time to screw with my life? Impressive.”

“Go fuck yourself, Sanderson.” I give him a tight smile. “I’m sure you’re used to that by now.”

He snorts. “It’s a real wonder that you don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Oh, but I do!” I raise my brows and feign innocence. “Remember?”

His lips curve into a smile. “How could I forget?”

“Well, I’m sure you have someplace to be that’s not here.” There’s a pause before I add, so he’ll get the hint, “With me.”

“Actually, there’s no other place I’d rather be than with you, my girlfriend.”

“How lucky,” I mutter, picking up my pace.

“And here I thought you’d want to spend a little quality time with your new BF.”

“Turns out I like the idea of it more than I actually like having one.”

His grin widens. “I’m just trying to be the best fake boyfriend I can be. You’re welcome.”

We bicker the entire way across campus. It’s exhausting and exhilarating at the same time, like sparring with someone who knows all your best moves. I find myself having to level up my game.

When we reach the building, his movements stall as he clears his throat. “Look, I was serious when I asked how you were doing after this morning.”

I blink, startled by the sincerity that fills his eyes. “I’m fine,” I lie. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Well, if you’re not actually the one behind the messages…” There’s a pause as his tone softens even more. “Then I don’t want you getting caught in the crosshairs.”

The simple admittance has the rare ability to melt my irritation where Bridger is concerned. It takes effort to keep my walls firmly in place.

“I appreciate you looking out for me.” I say the words before my brain catches up with my mouth. “I’ll let you know if anything happens to change that.”

He nods, his gaze steady. “Good.”

And just like that, the tension between us shifts, softening into something quieter and far more complicated.