Page 1

“Mom? What?” Disbelief hits me like a slap to the face. I have to put her on speaker so I can pace my dorm. “The plan was to go to London as a family for Christmas. What’s changed?”

“I told you.” She sighs over the line, exasperated. She probably assumes I’m too dense to understand what she’s implying. In reality, I get it. That’s not the issue. I need to hear her say it instead of beating around the bush. “Your father and I were invited to the Maldives with the Lutzes, so we’re going there instead.”

“We’re?”

“Your father and I.”

“But not me.”

I knew from the moment I answered the phone that she would break my heart.

My parents aren’t horrible people. They’ve never abused me. I’ve always had more than I could ask for.

But they are selfish.

All I’ve ever been to them is an accessory. In the beginning, I was a cute little kid to tote around to their high society functions. “Look at our little Beatrice. Isn’t she a doll?”

Except they forgot that babies turn into toddlers, who turn into children, who then become teens and adults. I was mostly raised by a rotation of nannies. It’s shocking that I can function like a normal person at all.

“No, sweetie. It’s just adults.”

With my eyes closed, I clench my teeth. As if I’m not nearly about to graduate from university. I am an adult, but to them, I’ll always be a pesky child.

“I understand.”

I don’t , but I learned to stop picking fights years ago. It gets me nowhere, and this one would only further prove her point that I’m not mature enough for this adults-only trip.

“I knew you would. Talk soon.” With that, she ends the call.

Huffing, I toss my phone onto the couch. Then I clutch a throw pillow and bury my face in it while I scream.

I don’t hate my parents, but I can’t say I like them either.

But I’m tired of being understanding of their whims. When they hurt me like this, they don’t even care. That’s the worst part.

It doesn’t help my mood that I’ve essentially been alone since my roommate and best friend ditched me months ago. Though it was for a good reason, it left me living on my own, and she’s so busy we don’t hang out like we used to.

I have other friends, but not ones I trust the way I trust Rosie.

Spending the Christmas holiday by myself on campus may just be the most pathetic thing I could do, but what choice do I have? There’s no time to plan a trip, and I don’t relish the idea of going alone anyway. I already spend enough time by myself. I don’t need to be reminded of how lonely I am by sitting in a hotel room with no company but my own.

Sighing, I push myself up from the couch, then I shrug into my coat. The last place I need to be right now is my empty, silent dorm room.

My frustration mounts as I head across campus to the dining hall.

I hate that I let my mom get me. I hate that I’m disappointed. I should’ve expected this, and that’s on me.

The worst part is that, despite it all, I always believe the best in my parents. Every time, I believe they’ll be different, and then I’m inevitably let down.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice… or in this case, a hundred times.

A guy leaving the dining hall holds the door for me. “Thanks,” I mumble, stepping inside and taking off my mittens. As I shove them into my pocket, I head straight for the dessert station. I deserve a brownie.

With a tray in tow, I pick out one of the brownies, drop a dollop of Cool Whip on top, and finish it off with a few gummy worms. Perfection.

“Rough day?”

I jump at the sound of the voice and whip around, coming face-to-face with my ex.

We’ve been broken up since the beginning of the school year, which means my rose-colored glasses have been completely removed, and I’ve settled into the why the fuck was I so obsessed with this weasel? stage.

“Hi, Tommy.” Hoping we can leave the conversation at that, I move over to the utensil stand and pick up a fork and a small stack of napkins. When he follows, I sigh. “Can I help you?”

“What’s with the attitude?” He falls into step behind me as I shuffle through the dining hall. I scan the tables, taking my time looking for one. There are plenty open, but I don’t want to sit with him.

“I don’t have an attitude.”

I’m sad and want to eat my brownie in peace. Is that too much to ask for?

Teeth gritted, I search the open area for someone I might know. Unfortunately, the only person I recognize is Luke Covey, who’s seated at a table in a corner, head buried in a book, wearing a pair of wired earbuds that look like they’re going to disintegrate if he so much as breathes funny.

“You definitely do.” He curls his fingers around my biceps to stop me. “Can we talk?”

Chest tightening, I look from where he’s holding me to his face. “Talk? Why?”

He barks out a laugh like I’m the crazy one. “About us?”

“Tommy.” I fight back the urge to stomp my foot out of frustration. “There is no us.”

This is my own fault. I stupidly took him back multiple times. So naturally, he doesn’t believe I was serious when I said it was over for good. It’s not the first time he’s tried to broach this topic since our last—and final—breakup.

“Come on, babe.” He gives my arm a squeeze that’s borderline painful. “You don’t mean that.”

“I very much do.” I shrug off his hold.

I should have stayed in my room .

As unease ripples through me at Tommy’s proximity, I look back to where I spotted Luke. Now, rather than curled over a book, he’s sitting straight, watching us. Concern is etched into the lines of his face.

Sometimes I wish Luke wasn’t such a good guy.

He might be a hockey player, but he’s not a man-whore like most of our school’s team. He’s quiet, almost borderline shy, and fucking hot .

Unbidden, my thoughts drift to our one and only night together during our freshman year. How his body felt above mine, the gentle way he kissed me.

It was the best sex of my life.

We didn’t exchange names or numbers, and afterward, we went on with our lives. It wasn’t until this year that I ran into him again. And I keep running into him. We’ve found ourselves hanging out in the same group of people and have chatted a few times, but he’s made it clear that he’s interested in something serious. Me? Though I’m over Tommy, I’m not ready for a relationship.

Across the room, Luke arches a brow and nods at the empty chair across from him.

“I have to go. I’m meeting a friend.”

Tommy guffaws. “You’re blowing me off?”

“Yes.” I step to one side, but he blocks me. “Hey,” I snap.

“I want to talk to you.” He shuffles in even closer. “You’re being ridiculous. You know we’re endgame, baby. Please put me out of my misery and?—”

A large looming shadow falls over us. Without registering the identity of the interloper, I close my eyes. There’s no need to look at him. I’d recognize that clean ocean and slightly salty scent anywhere.

“Are you so dense you can’t tell when a woman clearly isn’t interested?”

My eyes fly open at the rough timbre of the voice.

Tommy turns, a sneer already on his face. It’s laughable, the stark contrast between him and Luke.

Tommy in his preppy gray cardigan and brand-new shoes that were created to look distressed versus Luke in his light blue waffle-knit Henley, oil-stained jeans, and leather boots that look like they’ve been used and abused for years. Not to mention the striking difference in height. Tommy swears he’s six-foot, but five-ten, maybe five-eleven, is more accurate. Luke, on the other hand, is well over six-foot. I’d guess around six-five.

“Our conversation is none of your business.” Tommy puts on a tough front, but based on the way his hands are balled at his sides and how big his eyes have gone, he’s rattled by the hockey player’s presence. Not only is Luke taller, but he’s also a hell of a lot more muscular.

“It is my business when a woman is clearly trying to get away from you.”

I bite my lip, worry settling into my gut. Luke may play an aggressive sport, but the guy is more of a lover than a fighter.

“What’s your problem, man?” Tommy sneers, looking Luke up and down. His lip curls when he notices the tattoos on his forearms. “I’m talking to my girlfriend.”

Luke focuses on me, blinking his vivid blue eyes in surprise.

“Ex,” I clarify. “Very much ex-girlfriend.”

Tommy has the audacity to roll his eyes and let out a huff like a disgruntled toddler. “Babe, be for real?—”

“I am.” My voice is loud and strong, despite how weak I feel on the inside. All I wanted was to have a little treat and allow myself a moment of pity. Yet I can’t even do that because Tommy still thinks he’s entitled to my time. “I told you when we broke up that it was for good this time. Move on. I’m begging you.”

Tommy, his face turning an unflattering shade of red, knocks the tray out of my hands and straight into Luke’s chest before storming out of the dining hall.

The tray clatters to the ground, leaving a glob of Cool Whip on the hockey player’s shirt.

“Luke,” I breathe, on the verge of tears as a gummy worm falls from his shirt to join the mess on the floor.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He grasps my shoulders to steady me.

It’s only then that I realize I’m swaying on my feet. My heart pangs at the realization that he’s comforting me when he’s the one covered in my food.

“I’m sorry about that.” Sniffling, I frown at his shirt.

He looks down. “Fuck, Bertie, don’t worry about my shirt. Washers exist for a reason. Come here. Sit down.”

With my lips pressed together, I let him guide me to his table.

“Wait here,” he instructs. Then he’s shuffling back to the tray and plate on the floor.

I want to burst into tears when he kneels and helps one of the dining hall workers clean up the mess, despite her protests. Tommy would never do such a thing. He’d deem such a task beneath him. Luke is so different from the guys I grew up around. I guess that’s what draws me to him. He’s real .

Once the mess is gone, he doesn’t return right away. A wave of disappointment hits me as he walks away from me, but when he gets in line, I really do have to fight back tears.

Only a minute later, he approaches the table and sets a plate in front of me. The replacement brownie is covered in Cool Whip and gummy worms, just like my original treat. Beside the plate is a fresh spoon and napkins.

Luke Covey is too good for this world, and he’s definitely too damn good for me.

“Don’t cry.” He picks his backpack up off the floor and sets it on a chair, then rifles through the contents. “I won’t be able to stand it if you cry.”

“Why are you so nice to me?” I pick up the spoon and scoop a bit of the brownie and Cool Whip in one bite.

What kind of guy bothers to come to the aid of a girl who’s blown him off more than once?

He arches a brow, pulling a clean shirt from his bag. “Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?”

Lips parted, I blink up at him. “Because I turned you down?”

Rather than respond, he shrugs out of his stained shirt, completely bare-chested in the dining hall, showing off olive-toned skin peppered with ink. I greedily take it in, noting the several pieces that didn’t exist when we hooked up years ago.

He pulls the clean shirt on, and I nearly whimper in protest as the gorgeous view is covered up. But, somehow, Luke in a plain white tee is almost more lethal.

He’s the complete opposite of Tommy. Close-cropped dark hair and stubbled jaw to Tommy’s slicked-back sandy brown hair and clean-shaven face. His face is sharp, angular, whereas Tommy is almost baby-faced.

Luke settles in the seat across from me. “You think that because you said no when I asked you on a date, I wouldn’t stand up for you when a guy is clearly being a dick? If that’s the kind of guy you think I am, then you don’t know me at all.”

My stomach sinks. “I… that’s not what I meant.”

He taps his fingers on top of the table. “Then what did you mean?”

“I don’t know,” I answer softly, gaze lowered to the tray in front of me. “I guess I’m not used to guys like you.”

Hurt flashes across his face. Clearly, he’s misinterpreted my words. “Guys like me. Got it.”

I clear my throat and force myself to hold eye contact. “I meant that you’re a good guy, and the guys I’m used to…”

“Aren’t? Who are you hanging out with?” His lips twitch with a barely there smile.

“I mean”—I wiggle my fingers, indicating what just happened—“look at how my ex acted. You didn’t even get mad when you ended up covered in my food.”

Head tilted, he frowns. “Why would I get mad about that?”

My shoulders crawl up to my ears. “A lot of guys would.”

Luke shakes his head, swiping a half-full bottle of water from the table. He uncaps it and takes a sip. “You need to hang out with better people.”

I don’t know what makes me say it, but the words tumble out. “Are you implying I should hang out with you?”

“No, actually.”

I wince at the way his words sting.

“I’ve made it clear I’m interested in you,” he says, his tone gentle. “I like you. A lot. I don’t want to just be your friend.”

My chest tightens at the admission. I have to say, I respect the guy for being honest.

“Right.” I lower my head and grasp the edges of my tray. “I’ll go to a different table.”

He puts his hand on the tray with enough pressure that I can’t move it. “Stay. Eat your treat and tell me what happened.”

“What happened?” I ask stupidly.

He sits back, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw. His blue eyes are an endless ocean I could drown in. The long dark lashes only make them more gorgeous. How unfair. My lashes are almost white. I have to coat them with mascara even if I’m not wearing any other makeup.

“You were sad when you came in. Tell me about it.”

He noticed my mood when I came in? My breath hitches at the idea. I should keep my mouth shut, but I find the words tumbling out anyway. “It was my mom. I was supposed to go to London with my parents over Christmas, but they got invited to the Maldives with friends, so they canceled on me, and I’ll just be here.” I shrug, scooping a gummy worm off my plate. “I know what you’re thinking. Oh, poor little rich girl can’t go to London . Really, though, I could go by myself. But I just…” I bite down on the gummy worm, tear the chunk off a little too violently, and chew it up. “I guess I’m tired of having to work for my parents’ affection. I’m tired of never truly getting it. I want them to see me as a person, not an accessory.”

The sympathy in Luke’s eyes has me wanting to crawl under the table and dig my way out of this building.

“I wasn’t thinking that about you,” he says, lacing his fingers on the table. “Don’t assume you know what I think. But I am sorry your parents make you feel that way.”

“Sorry, I just…” I gesture between us.

“I may be a scholarship student, but I don’t walk around here judging all of you who aren’t. Okay,” he drawls, “maybe sometimes.” He winks in a way that makes my stomach stir. “What are you doing for the holiday instead?”

Sighing, I rest my chin in my hand. “I’ll be here. I don’t see the point in doing something now. It would only remind me of how alone I really am.”

Sitting taller, he angles in. “You won’t be alone.”

“Uh, yeah, I will be.”

He cocks his head to the side. “I’ll be around. We can hang out,” he says. “As friends.”

“You’re not going back home?”

He shakes his head. “I’m from here.”

“Oh.” I study him, processing the suggestion. “Yeah, we can hang out.”

“Cool.” He tries to play it off, but he can’t hide the twitch of his lips that tells me he’s pleased with my answer. He clears his throat, the tips of his ears turning slightly red. It’s endearing and surprising that this insanely good-looking man has this shyness about him. “I just want you to know that I respect that you’re not ready to date. I don’t want to push you into anything. I just… I do like spending time with you.”

Smiling back, I pat his hand. “I like spending time with you, too.”

A part of me wishes I wasn’t so hell-bent on being independent after being with Tommy for so long, especially when said independence consists of spending most of my free time alone in my dorm eating way too much popcorn and binging all my favorite shows. It’s clear that Luke genuinely likes me, and he’s a good guy. But I made a promise to myself, and I’ll continue to uphold it.

I polish off the last of my dessert, wipe my face, and drop my napkin onto my plate. “Thanks again. I guess I’ll see you around.”

With a nod, he opens his book back up. “I’m sure you will.” When I stand and turn to leave, he tacks on, “Bye, Bertie.”

The tenderness in his voice is soothing. I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I should take it all back—tell him I was wrong when I said I didn’t want something serious. But I shake my head, pick up my tray, and take off.