“Your hand doesn’t count, Scotty,” Ben says, appearing from the hallway leading from the showers. He playfully claps Scott on the shoulder before moving to his own lockerbeside mine. I watch as Will immediately tenses, arms crossing.
“Not my hand, dude. Genevieve.” Scott waggles his eyebrows and I have to force myself to relax my fist which seems to clench anytime one of these men even utters her name, instead busying myself with unlocking my locker—yet again.
Will snorts, turning to grab his towel. “Scott, if you actually end up bagging Gen, I’ll do more than sit out a few games. Hell, I’ll give you a million dollars.”
“Hey, miracles happen! Besides, it’s not like I have any competition. Don’t see a line down the street to sleep with Genevieve Dupont.” Scott cackles and the force in which I slam my locker stuns the room silent. I turn, my entire body rigid with the sheer willpower it’s taking me not to push Scott’s entire stocky frame into the wall.
“I wouldn’t be so sure, buddy. Looks like you're not the only one trying to win this bet,” Will responds to Scott’s question but his eyes pointedly meet mine, as if to say your move. I know he wants to know. Needs to know exactly what Gen’s up to. What he noticed in the hallway is killing him; it’s obvious in the slight bob of his throat, the curiosity peeking through the look he’s hoping comes off intimidating.
“I’m going to say this once,” I growl through clenched teeth, throwing my towel around my neck and squaring my shoulders to show Will just how much bigger I really am. I walk toward him and he narrows his eyes slightly, the flicker of fear passing over him almost making me smile. “I’m not a little boy,William, so no—I’m not participating in your little ‘bet’. If I want to fuck Genevieve, I just will.” I push past him walking toward the hallway leading to the showers.
“So there is something going on then, isn’t there?” He calls after me, the nervous edge to his voice seeming to reverberate through the room.
I turn to face him, winking as I casually walk backward, and give him my cockiest grin. “Nope. Nothing at all.”
10
Gen
I can spot them a few rows in front of me, Will’s arm lazily slung over Olivia’s shoulders, casually playing with the ends of her hair. Just as my gaze lands on him he turns slightly in his seat, scanning the room until he spots me.
He gives me that little nod he’s always reserved for me, but it’s more hesitant than usual. My mind flashes to the game asI nod back and quickly look toward the professor, wanting to avoid Olivia Beckett’s wrath this evening. My phone buzzes in my bag and my stomach does a little flip as I hope and pray that it’s Grant. That he’s finally responded to me. I understand why he wouldn’t, after I—for not the first time—iced him out because of Will. If he would answer, I feel like I could explain.
It’s not him, though. It’s Will.
Will
Are you avoiding me?
I glance back at where he’s sitting and see him shift in his seat, the way he does whenever he’s antsy. It’s botheringhim—the suspicion that something’s going on with Grant—just like I knew it would. The tenseness in his shoulders is visible from where I sit, and as much as I wish it wasn’t because of me, I know it is.
Nope, just trying to pay attention!
I catch him relax in his seat as he sends his reply.
Will
I miss you Genny.
I huff out a breath, feeling spun. Because I’ve been missing him for a really long time, but it’s the threat of someone new that’s finally enough for him to try to come back to me.
It wasn’t always this complicated with us. Once upon a time, we were all the other one had. He was all I had. A new school, a new state, an entirely new class of people—it was a lot for an eleven year old still grieving her dad. Suddenly, I was in the throws of wealth and abundance at Lexington Prep, all expenses paid by a new stepdad. I can still feel the itchy blazer we had to wear, the nerves from that first week, a constant buzz beneath my skin even now. The voices that insisted I remember I was an outsider in this new world.
I remember the way Will burst into my field of vision that first day, me sitting alone at a table, content to just be ignored. The alternative was worse, and it’d been happening all day:where are you from, why did you move, how do you get your hair so curly, what’s it like to live in the Bronx?I didn’t bother telling them I wasn’t actually from the Bronx. It took me all of an hour to realize that rolling my eyes and smirking would fend off the nosy suburbanites.
But Will just sat down at my table, not at all put off by any part of me. Pulled me into his little circle, made room for me in his life from that moment and every day after. I remember us like that so clearly—me with my slicked back, curly ponytail, him with his perpetually tousled hair, the real life version of a boy band poster. Trading the turkey slices my mom would pack me for lunch for his mountain of fries, making plans after school between my ballet and his basketball. Slowly becoming intertwined.
The buzz of my phone has me blinking back to reality, and the same phone number that made my heart flutter all those years ago appears on the screen. And it’s still butterflies in my stomach when I see his name. I wish they would die off already.
Will
Seriously, are we good?
I sigh, pretending to organize my notebook and pens to avoid his gaze.
Are we good? I’m longing for a text from his brother’s best friend. The same brother whose return has thrown Will totally off kilter. Not to mention said brother’s best friend is the only guy I’ve seen Will literally sneer at. And yet, he dragged Grant off the court, stepped in when he didn’t need to.
This feels like the last thing I should type out, so instead I settle for a lie by omission.
