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For a moment, the air seemed to crackle between us. He raised his hand as if to touch my face, but then he abruptly grabbed his backpack and practically fled from the classroom.
My whole body tingles as I remember the moment our fingers touched. I still don’t know why it happened. Lincoln Evans is infuriating, and I hate the way my body responds as if it can’t get on the same page as my brain.
There’s a knock at my door, and I jump up in anticipation, closing my laptop and sliding it under my pillow. Sebastian texted me this morning telling me he was coming to Whitmore U for a quick visit on his way to Seattle. I asked about Marcus—they often make these business trips together—but Seb said he was too busy to come this time. I try to ignore the ache in my chest. I know Seb is just being nice, and Marcus really just didn’t want to see me.
“Hey, little sis,” Seb says with a wide smile when I open the door. He’s dressed in dark jeans and a blue and green button-up flannel.
I grin back and step into one of his signature bone-crushing bear hugs.
He pulls back, looking around my room, his arm still resting heavily on my shoulders. “This place is cool. Dad really set you up nicely in this suite.”
I feel a stab of guilt. Seb doesn’t know I’m here on a scholarship. The reasons behind it would make him angry and hurt his relationship with his dad. “Yeah, it’s a cozy space, and I like having a room to myself.”
“Can I meet your friends?” he asks.
“Well, my friend from down the hall, Fiona, is in class, so I don’t think you’ll get to meet her,” I say lamely.
Seb frowns. “Just one friend?”
“School’s only been going on a few weeks, Seb,” I say quietly. “And you know me—introverted to the end.”
He accepts my answer with a nod, his expression softening, and I’m grateful that he doesn’t push the subject. When I was younger, Seb and Marcus were always nagging me about making more friends outside of my boyfriend, Matt, but I was shy and awkward, and it’s hard to step out of your comfort zone when your two beautiful, extroverted stepbrothers are the most popular guys in school. Half of the time, girls would try to be my friend just to get close to Seb, which pissed me off to no end. The rest of the time, I was just invisible.
“So, what’s on the agenda?” Seb asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“Well, I thought we could grab a coffee, and I’ll give you a campus tour,” I say, pulling on a hoodie.
“That sounds great.” He smiles widely and opens the door for me to lead the way.
The sky is overcast with a thick layer of clouds, but it’s thankfully not particularly cold as we walk across campus. The oak leaves are starting to turn, hinting at bright shades of orange and yellow that pop against the gray stone buildings.
I take Seb over to the coffee cart in front of the hockey arena first.
“This place is a trip,” he says, admiring the gothic architecture. Seb whistles when we enter the building and pauses in the stands surrounding the chilly rink. “Wow, this is amazing.”
His eyes scan the expanse of stadium seating. Whitmore U’s logo—an angry-looking otter sporting ice skates and a helmet and wielding a hockey stick—adorns the center of the rink.
Seb snickers. “An otter?”
“Don’t knock it. Otters can be very vicious despite their cuteness. And didn’t you already know our logo, Mr. Hockey Fanatic?”
Seb shrugs. “I follow the NHL, but college hockey? Not so much. But…” He taps his finger on his chin. “I might start following it more if you can get us into a few games.”
I smile widely. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“I think Marcus would love it.”
I frown at the mention of our older brother. That ache from earlier returns even stronger.
Seb notices the change in my expression, and he quickly places his hands on my shoulders and steers me toward the exit.
“Show me more. This place has to have a grumpy groundskeeper with a scruffy cat.”
I giggle, and we walk out into the hallway.
Just as we’re leaving the arena, I almost run headfirst into Brantley. He’s leaving the locker room, his hair still damp from a shower. He stops as I skid to a halt in front of him.
“Well, if it isn’t Charlie Bennett,” he says with a wide grin, his hand reaching out to steady me.
