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I wander deeper into the living room, bumping fists with a few teammates when I see them. Robby tosses me a can of beer.
I crack the can open, scanning the room for Finn. There’s no sign of him. But I spot someone I wasn’t expecting to see here. Deliberate for a few seconds, then walk over to him.
“No parties at Arlington this weekend?” I ask Brooks.
He studies me for a few seconds, then shrugs. He looks uncomfortable and out of place, standing alone in the corner. No drink and no girl. “Finn made the trip here sound like an open invitation,” he tells me.
I look away, taking a swig of beer. I can’t decide how I feel about Brooks. He reminds me of Harrison. He’s friendly and chill, for the most part. But also gives me a judgmental vibe. And he was, or is, into Cassia. He lost to her that night at the court, and still spent the whole time grinning. Didn’t exactly ignore her on the camping trip either.
“You rushed off fast the other weekend.”
Unease ripples through me, recalling our interaction that morning. Finn never questioned where I spent the night, probably assuming I passed out on a couch somewhere. Brooks has a much better idea where I was.
I decide I’d be just fine with never seeing Brooks again.
“Had stuff to get back for,” I say.
Brooks says nothing else.
My eyes focus on a figure headed this way. The crowd shifts slowly. I follow the admiring looks to her face once it becomes fully visible.
Fuck.
Brooks follows my gaze. “Bailey asked around about you.” He pauses. “She came downstairs that morning, right after you did.”
“Nothing happened. I got wasted and crashed in the first empty bedroom I found. It happened to be hers. I told her I had a girlfriend and got the hell out of there as fast as I could when I woke up. The end.” The words are a panicked rush. I never expected to see the blonde again. Never even considered the possibility. I mean, what are the damn odds?
Brooks nods slowly. “Bailey doesn’t give much credence to anyone’s relationship status. Or her own.”
“You’re speaking from experience,” I surmise.
He releases a long exhale. “Yeah. The one girl?” He nods toward the blonde. She’s paused to talk to some guy. “Her.”
“She cheated on you?”
“Yeah.” Brooks shakes his head, then takes a long pull from the can he’s holding. “With my best friend.”
“That’s brutal, man. I’m sorry.”
“Me too. You can’t buy loyalty. Shouldn’t take it for granted either.”
He aims a pointed look my way, and my molars grind together. There are lots of guys—at this school and on this planet—who would be better for Cassia. Who are richer and smarter and less likely to make stupid, drunken mistakes that result in waking up next to a naked stranger.
But none of them know her the way I do.
None of them love her the way I do.
Oftentimes, history gets a negative connotation. We avoid repeating it. Learn from it. Sometimes, we celebrate it.
But we rarely revel in it. Appreciate it. But so much of my past with Cassia—the first time we met, playing basketball in my driveway, the first time we kissed—is history. And there’s a weight and importance to that.
Something unique we share with each other and no one else.
Cassia appears beside me, holding a red cup.
Finn is right behind her, grinning widely. “Hey, Adams! Been looking for you.”
Panic spirals through me as I nod at him. Nowhere near meeting Finn’s enthusiasm.
