Page 2

Wyatt

“Baby, where’re you goin’?”

I freeze at the sound of his deep, sleep-rough voice, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag. Shit.

Gritting my teeth, I force a smile and turn to face him. “My ride’s here. I gotta get to work.”

Lies. Lies. Lies.

Luca exhales a lazy sigh, propping himself up on an elbow. The sheets dip around his bare torso, the early morning light catching on the tattoo that stretches across his ribs. Great. Now he looks even more smug.

“If you would’ve told me, I would’ve given you a ride instead.”

I swallow the urge to roll my eyes. The last thing I need right now is to pay for an Uber, but I sure as hell don’t need him driving me home either. Moving back in with my mom as a sophomore in college is already bad enough. I feel like I’ve backtracked when everyone else is moving forward.

I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “It’s okay. Maybe next time.”

Another lie. They’re rolling off my tongue so easily now, I should be concerned.

Luca’s hair is a disheveled mess, his jawline rough with stubble. He coughs, voice thick with sleep, his heavy-lidded eyes tracking my every move as I hunt for my bag. He’s ruggedly handsome, the kind of good-looking that comes with zero effort and full awareness of its power.

And if his stare is anything to go by, he’s not used to being ignored.

“I don’t know where my phone is,” he muses, stretching lazily before flashing me a smirk. “Why don’t you save mine and text me later?”

Good grief, Wyatt. Why did you let Claudia drag you to this party last night anyway?

Spotting the strap of my purse peeking out from beneath a pile of clothes he must’ve shed the night before, I bend down, tug it free, and sling it over my shoulder. I scoop up my own sweatshirt—the one I wore to the party—and tuck it under my arm. My phone is already in my hand, the screen glowing as I pull up a contact list, pretending to care.

“Go ahead,” I say.

He rattles off his number, watching me closely as I tap it in. When I’m done, I hold up my phone with a sweet, fake-as-hell smile. “Got it.”

He grins as if he thinks this means something, but it doesn’t.

“You want me to walk you out?” Luca swings his legs over the edge of the bed, his muscles flexing slightly as he moves.

“No, it’s fine.” My phone buzzes, and my eyes flick down to the preview of a text from Tatum asking where the heck I am.

Guilt stabs at me. I stopped responding to her texts last night after Claudia picked me up. I was too wrapped up in my own self-pity, wallowing over the fact I had to move back home. Claudia hadn’t let me. She’d shown up, full of fiery energy and no room for negotiation, dragging me off to this party with the excuse that I needed to shut my brain off for a night.

It hadn’t worked. But I appreciate the effort.

Pushing out a breath, I step onto the front porch of the Alpha Nu house, where the aftermath of last night’s party is still alive in the wreckage. Cups litter the lawn. Streamers dangle from the railing. Someone’s jersey is crumpled in the flower bed, abandoned like the dignity of half the people who walked through these doors last night.

Adjusting my bag and sweatshirt over my arm, I jog down the steps, then pause as the world tilts ever so slightly. Ugh. The remnants of last night cling to me, a dull throb settling behind my eyes, my hands clammy, my pulse drumming a little too hard in my temples.

I start toward the bus stop at the end of the street, keeping my head down.

I don’t belong here. Never have.

And if my brother found out where I was last night—or worse, who I was with—he’d never let me hear the end of it.

Colter has always been protective of me. When we were younger, my friends thought it was sweet—like something out of an older-brother-of-the-year playbook. But the older I got, the more it grated on my nerves.

Because his version of looking out for me has changed over the years.

Back then, it was comforting—him taking care of me, stepping into the role our father left behind when he passed. Now? Now it’s scrutiny. Judgment wrapped in a watchful gaze, like he’s constantly waiting for me to screw up.

Colter is everything I’m not. Calm. Level-headed. Stoic to a fault. His emotions are locked down so tightly you’d think they don’t exist. Meanwhile, mine are impossible to hide.

I wear my thoughts on my face and speak before I think—two things that have landed me in trouble more times than I can count.

Pair that with my stubborn streak, and, well… you can guess how that’s worked out for me.

I drag a hand through my tangled hair, groaning as I pull my sunglasses from my bag. But just as I go to slide them on—

“Wyatt!”

I freeze.

That voice. I know that voice.

I’ve heard it a thousand times—some of which have been the highlight of one too many of my fantasies.

Give it a rest, Wy. Zane Kinnick will never see you as more than a kid sister.

That’s not what makes my stomach drop, though. It’s the fact that I’m miles from home—a whole state away from where I’m supposed to be.

In Eagle territory.

I swear under my breath.

“You gonna just stand there, or you gonna turn around?”

His gravelly voice cuts through the early morning stillness like a blade.

For a split second, I consider booking it—pretending I didn’t hear him, keeping my head down, and walking straight to the bus stop.

I almost regret not taking Luca up on his offer to drive me home. Almost.

Slowly, I turn. “What the hell are you doing in Keaton?” he barks.

I hold up a hand, wincing. “Why the heck are you yelling?” I glance around. “It’s too early for this.”

“Don’t ignore my question.”

I arch a brow. “I could ask you the same thing. Why are you in Keaton? Isn’t this like crossing over into enemy territory? Did you get permission from your wolf pack?”

His jaw tightens. “Will you stop turning this around on me and answer the damn question?”

I exhale loudly, dragging it out on purpose, and turn on my heel. I trudge toward the bench at the corner, acting like I don’t care that he’s still standing there, watching me.

Except—

His footsteps follow.

Loud, deliberate thumps against the pavement, each one like a crack of thunder behind me.

I don’t give in to him.

Not now. Not anymore.

If this were five years ago, I would’ve been falling over myself at the thought of having Zane’s attention on me.

I’ve had a crush on him since the day we moved into the house next door. And if I thought Colter’s overprotectiveness was frustrating?

Then Zane Kinnick is a whole different kind of infuriating.

I learned not to read into his words a long time ago.

It was easy to convince myself that he cared more than he let on—that if he was going to take after Colter and scare off any guy who so much as glanced in my direction, then surely whatever I thought what I felt between us meant something.

I was wrong.

Like I said, Zane Kinnick sees me as nothing more than Colter’s kid sister.

His loyalty to my brother is unbreakable, a bond stronger than anything that ever could’ve sparked between us. And I—stupidly—once thought he might give in to the temptation I swore burned between us.

But I know better now.

I drop onto the cold bench, tapping open the Uber app, only to have Zane’s sharp voice cut through the morning air.

“Why the hell are you sitting at the bus stop?”

I don’t even look up, crossing one leg over the other as I enter my ride request. “Umm… waiting for a ride?” I hold out a hand as if it isn’t blatantly obvious already.

He glares. His eyes flicker around like he’s looking for some logical explanation for why I’m here.

“Where’s your car?”

I sigh, long and dramatic, before finally leveling him with a look.

“Christ almighty, Zane, will you lay off? Geez, I don’t have the patience for you this early in the morning without at least one cup of coffee. Actually, scratch that—with you, let’s make it two.”

His jaw flexes, but his gaze snags on something, and I don’t miss the way his eyes darken, the heat behind them shifting into something heavier.

It takes me a second to realize what he’s staring at.

My stomach drops.

Oh shit.

I glance down, finally remembering what the hell I’m wearing.

A T-shirt. But not just any T-shirt.

A freaking Keaton shirt with Calloway’s number on it.

I’d grabbed it in a hurry, thrown it on without a second thought, not even remembering that I’d borrowed it to sleep in after the party.

But Zane?

Oh, he notices. He notices everything.

His entire demeanor changes, his fingers flexing at his sides, his nostrils flaring like he’s barely holding himself back from saying something he’ll regret.

But instead of calling me out, instead of shoving his frustration into words, he steps forward—and before I can react, he snatches my phone right out of my hand.

“What the hell, Zane?” I jolt up, reaching for it, but he angles away, thumbing over my screen. “Give that back to me.”

He doesn’t.

Instead, he clicks a few buttons, then finally—smug as ever—drops the phone back into my palm.

“There. I took care of canceling it for you.”

I stare at the screen, blinking.

“You did what?”

He crosses his arms, unbothered. “Give me ten minutes, and I’ll give you a ride.”

I gape at him. “Are you kidding me? You canceled my ride? What if I don’t want to ride with you?”

A slow, infuriating smirk lifts the corner of his mouth.

“Looks like you don’t have much choice, now do you?”

I open my mouth—ready to lay into him—but he gestures behind me toward the sports medicine clinic across the street.

I turn my head, my eyes narrowing as I take in the line of cars crammed along the curb.

So that’s why he’s here.

He wasn’t here for me. He was just looking for somewhere to park his car.

Him and that stupid fucking car.

I grit my teeth just thinking about it.

As if Zane Kinnick wasn’t already infuriatingly hot, he had to go and drive a black ’67 Pontiac GTO, a car so damn pretty it should be illegal.

“Don’t even think about calling another ride,” he warns, already jogging across the street toward the sports medicine clinic. “I just need to pick up some paperwork. I’ll be right back, and then I’ll give you a ride home.”

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms. I wasn’t going to argue with him. Getting a ride from Zane was better than paying a hundred bucks for an Uber back to Braysen.

Keaton was about twenty minutes from home, mostly highway miles cutting across the Savannah River, marking the line between Georgia and South Carolina.

I wait until he disappears inside before I let myself glance over, watching as he moves with easy confidence, his fitted shirt pulling tight over his shoulders, denim hugging his thighs like the designer had him in mind when they made them.

Quit while you’re ahead, Wyatt.

Shaking the thought away, I shove in one of my earbuds and pull up a playlist, the bass-heavy music buzzing through my chest as I pop a breath mint in my mouth.

Barely five minutes pass before I hear the familiar sound of his throaty exhale.

“All right, you ready?”

I glance up just as he stops in front of me.

“You’re the boss,” I mutter, tossing the mint tin into my bag and holding my hands up in mock surrender. “Lead the way.”

He rolls his eyes, stepping off the curb, but he still looks both ways before gesturing for me to follow. Like I’m not capable of crossing a street by myself.

We don’t walk far. His precious GTO is parked a few cars down, gleaming under the morning sun.

Zane doesn’t ask questions—not yet, at least—but I should’ve known better than to think he’d let me off easy.

Just as he shoves his key in the lock, he glances up, eyes narrowing over the roof of his car.

“You want to tell me what the hell you’re doing in Keaton yet?”

“No.”

His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he yanks the door open, climbs inside, and reaches across to unlock my side.

I slide onto the leather seat and adjust the bag in my lap, praying he drops it.

He doesn’t.

“So I’m just supposed to pretend I didn’t watch you do the walk of shame out of the Alpha Nu house?”

I flinch, my fingers going rigid around my bag strap.

The engine roars to life, a low rumble vibrating through my bones. My stomach knots, but I keep my gaze focused on the people passing by outside the window, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing my reaction.

It’s not what it looks like—but I already know he’s made up his mind.

And I’m not about to waste my breath correcting him.

I didn’t think I could be so lucky. But I hoped—when he hadn’t said anything right away—that maybe, just maybe, he would let it go.

“Quit ignoring me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.

He chuckles, low and knowing. It settles something in me, though I refuse to acknowledge it.

I hadn’t planned on telling Zane what I was doing last night—or why I walked out of a house that belonged to nearly a third of the Keaton football team.

I should’ve thought about my choices before coming with Claudia, especially considering she’s been hooking up with one of the players, Robbie.

Of course, she had no intention of leaving, which left me crashing there too.

But none of that matters now.

Zane’s already made up his mind, convinced he knows exactly what went down.

And really, what’s the point of defending myself?

I do what I always do—dig a deeper hole.

“Why do you care so much? So what if I hooked up with an Eagle player last night?” I tip my head toward him, my voice sharp, mocking. “You gonna put me down for it? Like you aren’t out doing the same thing back in Braysen?”

The words taste like bile, but I let them sit there, heavy and acrid.

The thought of him with someone else flashes across my mind, and my stomach knots.

I force myself to lean back against the seat, crossing my arms tightly over my chest.

Zane doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t deny it either.

And that? That’s all I need to know.

“All right, good talk.” I exhale sharply. “Can you hit the fucking gas now, or do you need me to show you how to drive this thing?”

His grip tightens around the gear shift, his knuckles white as he throws it into reverse, then drive, before stepping on the gas.

We don’t speak the whole way back to Braysen. My gaze lingers on the blur of miles slipping past—like if I focus hard enough, I can will myself away. Anywhere but here.

At one point, Zane leans over and turns up the radio, drowning out whatever thoughts are racing through his head—and mine.

I chance a look at him. His jaw is still tight, his grip tense around the wheel.

And for a split second, I swear I see something in his eyes.

Something like hurt.

But I don’t say anything, and neither does he. It’s easier this way.

Easier to convince myself I imagined it.

That whatever I saw wasn’t real.

I’ve been wrong before when it comes to Zane Kinnick and his feelings for me.

And I should know better by now than to think he cares about me the way I do him.