My phone clearlywoke up this morning and chose violence. I open social media after my run and—boom—Artemis’s scowling, stupidly gorgeous face fills my screen.
UCR Raccoons: Our Captain.
Of course he got the big C. He was always the obvious choice. Did the universe need to make him lookthatedible in the announcement photo? Absolutely not.
What I am surprised at is his self-restraint.
It’s November, and whatever wildfire had sparked between us during that kiss? Apparently someone—him—dumped a whole bucket of ice water on it. He dodged meeting up again. Then he had the nerve to send me pie.
Not just pie—thepie. The pie I had to threaten teammates over. The pie I hid the last slice of in the back of the freezer with a “touch this and perish,” warning.
He sends me the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth… and then goes dark. Rationally, I get it. He’s busier than a college student should legally be allowed to be. But I still find myself rereading our texts like a love-sick idiot, pretending the ache in my chest is something normal.
Who the hell sends pie and then ghosts? This bitch, apparently.
I drop my head to the dining room table with a satisfying thunk at the same time my phone rings. Roman. Shit. That’s a hard pass. A nightmare in brother form.
Coach said he wants to move me to a different line because my ‘focus is off.’ And no matter how hard I try I can’t seem to turn it back on again. Roman probably watched my game last night and is calling to bust my balls.
Not today, Satan.
Big BroRoRo Your Boat: Pick up your phone, dickhead.
He sends me a stream of eggplant emojis, then calls back.
“What?” It’s a groan.
“I saw the game.”
Another groan. Of course he fucking did.
“What’s going on with you Xavi?”
“I’m having an off moment, it’ll pass. We all get them.” I recite the usual motivational poster bullshit. I stop myself right before sayingeverything happens for a reason,because even I’m not that far gone.
“Right, and it has nothing to do with you fucking the Cedar Rapids’ enforcer?”
My stomach plummets. “What the fuck, Ro? Nobody’s fucking anybody.”
Not for lack of my dick campaigning for it.
“You sure? You’re practically drawingI love Artemishearts all over your fucking binder, man.”
That’s an option I haven’t considered. Is PDA his kink?Should I hire a blimp and declare my thirst to the entire Midwest? It’s definitely an option.
“This isn’t a smart play, Xavier.” Aw fuck, he’s bringing out the full name.
“You’re going to bomb your midterms because your brain is full of a moody millionaire.”
I snort. “I’m not failing school over a guy.”
“It’s not funny. Worst-case? You’ll get benched. After everything you’ve worked for, is that what you want? To warm the bench because you’re distracted by the enemy captain?”
My chest tightens. Dramatic? Yes. But… is he wrong?
It’s beautiful, predictable chaos. Do I have the luxury of an off week? Fuck. No. I don’t.
I breathe through it, shaky and annoyed. “I’m not fucking him, but I did kiss him.” It feels nice to get that off my chest. Confessional booth energy, minus the forgiveness.
