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The girl grabs his arm, then rises on her tiptoes to whisper something. Aidan glances down at her, grinning in response to whatever she said.
I know he’s a flirt.
I’ve told him—multiple times—to hook up with someone else. Part of me thought that would be a relief. A door slammingclosed. Temptation removed.
So I’m totally unprepared for the hot flare of jealousy.
For the strong urge to stand up and walk over there and push the manicured hand off his arm like I have any claim to stake.
For the realization that I’m even more screwed than I realized.
I force my attention away from Aidan and back to Theo.
Successfully, until my phone buzzes ten minutes later.
I don’t check it for another twenty minutes, on the way to my next class.
Aidan sent me three texts.
The first one is a photo. He didn’t take it, and I smile at the thought of him asking one of his teammates to snap it. One of the guys he was with is in the background of the main parking lot, laughing.
Aidan’s pulling his shirt up with one hand. He’s holding his coffee cup in the other. Strategically, so I can’t actually see the bruise on his side. That makes me think it looks just as bad as he was joking about.
Beneath the photo, he’s sent two messages.
AIDAN: Since I know you like looking at them.
AIDAN: BTW, I’m still waiting on that review…
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
AIDAN
There’s something about being unhappy amidst a group of really happy people that’s incredibly isolating. Misery loves company, I guess. My misery is all alone at a rager that’s maybe the wildest party I’ve attended in college.
I should be having a good time tonight.
No, anamazingtime.
We beat Mulbridge five to three. One more win, and we’ll be headed to Cleveland. Playing for a championship. Which has been the goal all season but has always seemed unlikely. I’m in a state of disbelief, I think, about how likely it’s suddenly looking.
A hot blonde pulled me into a dance shortly after I arrived with Hunter and Conor and grinded her ass all over my dick. I made up an excuse as soon as the song was over and ended up in the kitchen, watching Hunter pass out his Jell-O shots and Conor standing with his arms wrapped around Harlow. Guys keep slapping my back or punching my shoulder, shouting congratulations. Girls keep trying to catch my eye or “accidentally” brushing up against me.
Something about it all just feels…empty.
It’s like I forgot what I liked about this.
Like drinking and flirting was a form of denial, but I’ve accepted reality, so it now seems ineffective. Unnecessary.
I walk out of the kitchen, stopping to talk to a couple of my teammates before heading into the bathroom. Not the half bath off the kitchen, but the one attached to the downstairs master. Pierce’s room, I think. Or maybe Brennan’s. Who the fuck cares? All I’m concerned about is that it’s empty, with no line.
I take a piss, wash my hands, then lean against the tile wall and pull my phone out of my pocket.
She never responded to my last text asking for a review.
I don’t need one. Rylan kissed me first, and I know she was into it. If Hunter hadn’t showed up, we probably would have had sex.
Her lack of reply isn’t a subtle hint. But I saw the annoyance on her face when she spotted the girls swarming me in the coffee shop. A hell of a lot more emotion than was in her expression looking at Coffee Shop Guy.
