“Are you okay?” he asks again, his eyebrows lowering with concern.
“Just tired,” I lie, but seriously, how many times do I need to deflect? The creepy texts from Dennis are heavy in my mind, the anxiety still turning my stomach uncomfortably.
“Same. Get some rest.”
I nod and walk back toward Marcus’s room.
“Hey, Fi?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you have feelings for Brantley Michaels?”
I stop and turn to look at him. He seems genuinely curious, but some other emotion is warring in his eyes. Worry? Disappointment?
I shrug. “Before? I did. Now? No.” It feels like another lie, but it’s not, right?
“What happened?”
I swallow and give him a sad smile. “He left.”
I think Sebastian knows there’s more to the story than those two words, but he just nods, and I continue to the bedroom.
I shut the door softly behind me and walk to the ensuite. I pee, brush my teeth, and wash my face, but I refuse to look in the mirror once my makeup is cleaned away. She’s always looking back at me, and right now I don’t want to see her. She would tell me that I should have fought for Brantley back then, and maybe I should have, but it doesn’t matter now. I’ve been fine without him. I had Anna for a time. And now I’m fine on my own. After all, I’m the most reliable person I know.
I step out of the bathroom and open the dresser drawer, pulling out the first sleep shirt I see. I sigh when I realize it’s B’s old Whitmore hockey T-shirt. It’s been part of my wardrobe for a while, and normally, I would smile wistfully and move on, but tonight I slip it over my head before I turn off the light, then snuggle into the covers. As I sink into sleep, I try to forget the dark blond, smart-mouthed jock who stole my heart and then stabbed me in the back but the dream comes anyway.
I entermy dorm room with Brantley following closely behind carrying my duffle bag. I stayed with Charlie in Link and Trey’s dormlast night, and I have to admit that I feel a lot better. Brantley tosses the bag onto the floor and looks around.
“No Catherine?”
“She’s in class or studying in the library.” I turn to face him, and my breath catches when I find him only inches away. I tilt my head back to meet his cocky smirk. He has no right to be so hot. It’s infuriating. He’s infuriating. I never liked jocks in high school—they were always so shallow. But Brantley’s different. He talks a good game, but sometimes he looks at me like I’m the only person he sees.
Our breaths mingle. Our lips are so close.
“Are you about to make your move, Michaels?”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.” His voice is husky, all of its usual lightness buried beneath the sexual tension building between us.
“But I don’t like your first name. The name Brantley should be reserved for country singers and frat bros.”
“Wow, Fi,” he murmurs. “You’re always so blunt.” His fingers trail along my jawline. “Give me a nickname then. Whatever you want, baby.”
I’m already so wet it’s distracting, my clit throbbing against my satin underwear. “You’re making it hard to think. Be–”
His lips crash onto mine, his hands clutching my cheeks possessively. His mouth moves, his tongue sliding into my mouth and over my teeth as if he wants to taste every inch of me. It’s wet and sloppy and so fucking good.
“I like the nickname B,” he says into my mouth.
“That wasn’t a nickname,” I manage, refusing to break our kiss. “You cut me off.” I push against his pecs and he stumbles, his back hitting the door as I press my body against his with renewed urgency.
“Fuck, that was hot,” he gasps, his cock tight against the denim of his jeans and rubbing forcefully against my clit through the thin fabric of my yoga pants. I moan. “So needy.”
“Shut up, B,” I growl, breaking our kiss to pull his shirt over his head.
“And so bossy.”
I bite his lip, the slightly metallic taste of blood hitting my tongue. “I said shut up.”
