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“That she did. There are conflicting stories about who picked mine and River’s names, but he most definitely drew the short straw. I mean, River Waters?”
“River?” His eyes flare and he coughs once before he says, “That’s a movie star name.”
“He’s pretty enough to be one, and moody too.” I take in the very cool, very open lounge area. Students congregate in small groups, seated on couches and chairs.
A group standing by the pool tables waves Josiah over, and I’m introduced to his friends. They’re easy to talk to, welcoming me in. Which means I’ve made my first genuine friends here.
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That night, Istay over at Lacey and Lovey’s. The sleepover is both a good and bad idea. Good, because it means I don’t have to deal with my brothers’ jock friends. Bad because I end up getting drunk and developing a horrible case of verbal diarrhea. I’m almost positive I bitched about Kodiak to some random guy who may or may not have been flirting with me.
Post-night with Lovey and Lacey, I do everything I possibly can to avoid running into Kodiak. It’s not all that difficult. I can hang out with Josiah and his friends between classes. I spend time with Lovey and Lacey at the café. I study anywhere but at home, which means I find all the best, quietest spots in the library, and I eat an unprecedented amount of dry cereal and granola bars as a result.
It’s hellishly inconvenient, but it also means I don’t have to deal with my brothers or any of the other shit that comes with living with two guys who throw a lot of parties and have a constant rotation of embarrassingly desperate women in the house.
Regardless, I’m managing, and I’ve made a few friends of my own, so those are all wins and what I’m trying to focus on—at least until I get the pop quiz back from macroeconomics class.
Of course I’ve failed. With 25 percent. The note at the bottom of my test suggests I visit student services and set up tutoring to help me with the basics, since this test is the foundation for the rest of the semester.
Student services has been closed for hours by the time class ends on Tuesday evening. It’s warm tonight, and I’m aware that we only have a few more weeks before the weather turns for good, so I figure I’ll go for a swim when I get home and clear my head. Plus, the physical activity helps my anxiety. During my video session with Queenie yesterday, she suggested I take advantage of the pool while it’s still open. She was pleased that I’d made new friends, and even that I’d gone to a party. I left out the part where I got drunk, obviously.
Being uncoordinated means there aren’t a lot of sports I’m good at, but I love to swim. The water is the one place where I feel like my body isn’t awkward. And it’s quiet, peaceful—which is something I don’t feel very often. Especially not recently. It also tends to help me sleep, another thing I haven’t been doing well lately.
I almost throw up in my mouth the second I step into the front foyer and trip over a pile of nasty-smelling sneakers. I cover my mouth and nose with my palm and leave my shoes on. I don’t trust that they won’t get lost under the other ones, and I don’t want the smell contaminating them.
The living room is blissfully empty, the low drone of ESPN playing in the background. No one is watching, though, and I soon discover that’s because they’re all outside.
There have to be at least two dozen people in the backyard. Lots of them girls. On a Tuesday, for shit’s sake. I spot BJ, so I have to assume the rest of his housemates must be out there too. It’s very likely that Kodiak is among them, despite his dislike of social events that aren’t hockey games.
So much for a peaceful, quiet swim.
I make a pit stop at the fridge, debating whether I should make myself a sandwich, when the French doors open and the sounds of girls screaming and someone cannonballing into the pool stream in. I don’t bother to check who it is, since I don’t particularly care. I need food, and then I can disappear into my bedroom and forget about this crappy class I can’t get out of.
No one addresses me, so I assume it’s one of the girls coming in to use the bathroom. I grab the ham, lettuce, and mustard and set them on the counter, letting the fridge fall closed. I groan my annoyance when I spot the loaf of bread on top of the fridge. My brothers seem to think this is the logical place to keep carbohydrate products.
My height makes it exceedingly difficult for me when they put things up high. And they probably do so on purpose. Maverick thinks it’s hilarious when I have to jump to get stuff, likely because my vertical is abysmal. They also constantly buy whole grain bread—never the nice, plain, soft, stick-to-the-roof-of-your-mouth white stuff.
I push up on my tiptoes and mash my chest against the stainless steel door, reaching for the end of the bag. It’s just beyond my grasp.
“Say please and I’ll get it for you.”
I spin around and find Kodiak standing less than six inches away. His pale green eyes are fixed on me, but the only emotion in them is passive disdain. I will my own eyes to shift to the side and not down, but they don’t obey.
As a child, I saw Kodiak in swim shorts all the time. Our families were always together for barbecues, birthday parties—any excuse for our parents to hang out meant our nannies also got together with us.
Kodiak has always been a bigger-than-average kid. He hit his first growth spurt at eleven, and by the time he was fourteen, it was clear he was going to be more than six-feet. At nineteen, he was six-three. He was a lanky teen, but tall and with broad shoulders that promised to fill out in time.
Time has done its job. And so has Kodiak’s rigidity and his obsession with being the absolute best. He’s ripped—all hard edges and cut muscles. Broad shoulders, defined biceps, thick veins roping down his forearms. A chiseled chest and six-pack abs leading down to the slice of V that disappears into his basic, black swim shorts.
Fuck. I’m ogling him. My heart stutters in my chest, and color explodes in my cheeks as he leans in.
He’s so close that his wet hair brushes my temple, and I can feel his hot breath and the cool radiating from his skin. “You look hungry, Lavender.”
I recoil, hating the way my body reacts to his low, taunting tone. I’m aware he’s making fun of me, that he knows he’s physically appealing and I’m not immune. I hate that it hurts to be so horribly dismissed over and over again by someone who once meant so much to me.
I take an unsteady step back and hit the counter. He moves forward, one hand landing beside me, the other gripping the fridge door. His gaze moves over my face and drops to my mouth. My immediate response is to suck my bottom lip between my teeth and hide the scar.
Something in his expression shifts, and his voice drops to a whisper. “Nothing has changed.”
