I snort, earning a side-eye from the girl beside me. Whatever. She can kiss my fucking ass.
Okay, maybe I’m in a mood because after telling me he’d “deal with me later,” Zach full-on ghosted me last night. Yeah, I expected him to show up.
To punish me.
Which had me horny as fuck. Can’t blame myself. Not when I haven’t ridden a dick since . . . Christmas Eve. And it wasn’t even good. There’s also the fact that nomatter how hard I try to fight it, my traitorous body has a thing for my stepbrother.
So, after I found Raiyne and gave him back his jersey, my ass went straight back to the dorm and waited.
And waited some more.
Then the pacing started because all I could think about was what Viktor had said. If Zach wasn’t with me, maybe he was with that stupid fucker. My damn mind went wild, conjuring up all the kinky positions they might’ve been in.
With their damn coach.
To distract myself before I ended up vomiting, I’d pulled out my phone and scrolled through social media . . . which then led me down the rabbit hole of watching hockey videos. And not the hot kind where they do that sexy warm-up shit, either.
Nope.
I watched all the gruesome ones where they get hit or lose their balance and crash into the boards feet first, breaking their ankles.
Or the videos where they’ve gone in headfirst.
I cringe, wishing I could erase the replay of the hit Zach took. I still don’t know if he’s okay. If he has a concussion—read up on that too.
This shit shouldn’t bother me . . . but it does.
A lot.
Because as much as my life has sucked royal balls, I care about people. Even when they don’t deserve it. Like, how deep down, I’m sad my bio dad is dead. Not that I cry over it, but there are days I get . . . mopey.
My former therapist would have a field day unpacking that shit.
Professor Miller concludes his lecture, and I pack up, stuffing my notebook and textbook into my backpack. The moment I step out of class, I spot a familiar face halfway down the hall, one I don’t mind seeing.
Eli smiles wide, waving. “Merci!”
Dork.
I smile as I approach because his happiness is contagious. “Didn’t know you were in this building too?”
“Yeah, stupid core curriculum classes.”
“Tell me about it. But I actually don’t mind Intro to Macroeconomics.”
He zips up his jacket because it’s cold as balls outside today. “I was going to grab something at the food court before heading to the art studio. Wanna come?”
“Fuck yeah. I could use a milkshake.”
His eyebrows draw up high, mouth hanging agape. “It’s below freezing. Why do you want a milkshake?”
I shoot him a wide grin and rub my belly. “Because they’re fucking delicious.”
And they are. Like goddamn addicting. I’m not choosy, either. Strawberry is my jam, but I’d sell my soul some days for a malted milkshake. Not to mention I’m hangry as fuck since I skipped breakfast this morning because my alarm is a lying bitch.
The moment we step outside, I contemplate moving back to Miami. My nose is so fucking cold that it’s already running. And my cheeks sting. Should have worn a damn scarf.
Thankfully, the food court isn’t far away, and I practically run inside, the smell of greasy burgers and fries hitting me like a freight train.
