"Subtle," Stellan murmurs. Then louder, "Mel's roommate. They drove up together."
"Mel?"
"Mel Ortega. My study partner from law school." He slides me a plate of pancakes. "She was the one in the wheelchair."
I vaguely remember seeing a woman in a wheelchair chatting with a group of Stellan's friends last night, but I'd been too focused on Sloane to pay much attention.
“So you know Mel and her friend?” I try to sound only mildly interested, like I'm making conversation. “Have they lived together long?”
Stellan gives me a knowing look. "Why don't you ask her yourself?"
"Would if I could," I mutter. “Where is she?”
"She and Mel left around six, apparently. Mel has a bar exam prep class today." He studies me curiously. "This isn't like you, Tucker. Aren’t you usually the one sneaking out before dawn?”
I don't have a response to that because he's right. I've perfected the art of the unattached hookup, the clean exit, the no-strings policy. So why am I standing here like a lovesick teenager, trying to extract information about a woman I spent one night with?
Given who this specific woman is, it’s really better if I just let last night be what it was: absolutely perfect.
And utterly forbidden.
After breakfast, I pack up my stuff, carefully wrapping Sloane's necklace in a clean sock and tucking it into the side pocket of my duffel. I check under the bed, half-hoping to find some other forgotten item, another excuse to see her again.
"You coming back for the Fourth of July?" Stellan asks as I load my bag into the McLaren.
"Probably. Dad usually insists everyone shows up for the fireworks."
"Good luck with that." He claps me on the shoulder. "Drive safe. And Tucker?—"
"Yeah?"
"If you're that interested, I could get her number from Mel."
I consider it for a moment, then shake my head. "Nah, I'm good. Just curious."
The lie tastes stale on my tongue, but my pride won't let me admit I'm genuinely disappointed she ditched me. Stellan nods and heads back inside.
The drive back to Pittsburgh gives me too much time to think. I find myself replaying moments from last night—the way Sloane laughed, how she traced my tattoo, the sounds she made when I was inside her.
I no longer care that she’s entangled with Grentley. I just want more of her. Which sucks, because obviously I can’t have her. Grentley would put his fist in my jaw, for starters.
My phone rings through the car's speakers, Alder's name flashing on the display.
"What's up, mirror image?" I answer, forcing cheerfulness into my voice.
“Where the hell are you?” he asks without preamble.
"Dramatic much?"
“I literally held your hand while you cried as Lena worked on your mouth the other day.”
“Ah,” I merge onto the turnpike. “So she’s Lena now.” My brother is so obviously smitten with the new team dentist. Which is great, because he just got out of a truly terrible relationship and needs something good in his life.
My twin sighs. “She’s my roommate, Tuck. I can call her by her first name.”
“Sure,” I mutter, trailing off as I remember Sloane breathing my name into my ear. My mind is still very much back at the ski house.
"Are you even listening? I thought we were working out today.”
