It felt so good.
I stayed there, hunched over the wall, breathing hard as the water washed everything away.
God. I was pathetic. Still getting off to a guy I kissed once over a year ago.
I shut off the water and stepped out of the stall, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my waist. My reflection in the mirror stared back—hair dripping, cheeks flushed, eyes too bright.
All I could picture was Liam standing behind me, towel slung low on his hips, both of us still dripping from the water.
“Get it together,” I said to myself.
I stepped into the hallway, the cool air hitting my skin as I headed down the hall to my dorm.
My room was quiet when I stepped inside—full-size bed, built-in bookshelves, a mahogany desk, crown molding like a boutique hotel, and a wall of windows.
It was typical, comfortable in a way that made my shoulders drop. I liked the space, the quiet, the luxury. I hadn’t earned it,I knew that. The only thing I’d earned was my rowing. The rest had been given to me with suffocating expectations.
I stepped into dark slacks, a pressed white button-down, and a navy blazer. I grabbed my leather messenger bag, and as soon as I stepped into the hallway, I heard a familiar voice.
“Alex!”
Marcus appeared at the bottom of the stairs, dark hair combed back and gelled, wearing a dark blue quarter-zip with the Kingswell crest on the chest and khaki pants.
“There you are,” he said, flashing a grin.
“Hey, Marcus,” I replied.
Marcus squinted at me like he was obligated to inspect my face. “Bro, you look like you ran from the cops.”
“I trained this morning,” I said.
He laughed and slung an arm over my shoulder. “Damn. Already training for those scouts this year?”
“I never stopped training, Marcus. Two high-performance camps this summer.”
“You’re fucking sick, man. Let’s go eat.”
We stepped outside into the cool, bright morning. Students crossed the quad looking like future senators and CEOs, each of them wearing some signal of Kingswell—embroidered crests, polished jackets, unearned confidence stitched into everything they owned.
“Sooooo...” Marcus said. “Heard some interesting chatter.”
My stomach tightened. “About what?”
“Just a tiny, tiny rumor that someone was seen racing some state-school dude at sunrise like it was the goddamn Olympics.”
I stopped walking for half a second.
Marcus didn’t notice. “Unsanctioned sprint? No coaches? At dawn? Bro, that’s suicide. People get benched for good for shit like that.”
I forced myself to keep moving. “People shouldn’t believe everything they hear.”
“Please.” Marcus snorted. “The upperclassmen were already talking about it in the group chat. Something like, ‘an idiot opened the year by trying to kill a guy in a single.’”
“I didn’t try to kill anyone,” I said, betraying myself.
“So it was you.” His grin widened. “I knew it. Wait—did you at least win?”
I paused.
