Harper may have been the one who read my fanfic, but it was all Tristan’s idea. I know it was. Harper was angry with me, but she wouldn’t resort to cruelty without someone pushing her into it. She was never cruel before she got together with Tristan—that miserable winter during our sophomore year of high school. He’s the reason she dropped me like an out-of-date fashion trend.
Like I was an embarrassment to her.
Because I was an embarrassment to Tristan. He was the leader of the stupid popular kids at our high school, and he ruled the school like a tyrant. Harper was able to make her way into his exclusive club, beautiful as she is, but her best friend had to go. He drove a wedge between us.
He signed me up for the game. I know he did. He’s probably planning to use the publicity to humiliate me even more than he did that day almost two years ago.
I’m going to fucking kill him.
Tonight.
I jump out of my bed and grab a sweater from my closet. There’s always an ocean chill this time of night, and I refuse to be shivering when I confront him.
I storm out of my room and head down the hall. The bass is so loud that my teeth rattle in my skull, flaying my nerves.Tristan’s frat on a Friday night will be so much worse, and I have to keep my head.
When I make it down the stairs and step outside, I inhale the cool ocean air. The salty scent is a balm, and my heart slows in my chest.
As soon as I get to the big red door of Zeta Nu Xi, I throw it open, clutching the manila envelope in my hand. My face burns as partygoers turn to stare at me. I must stand out like a neon sign with my glasses and oversized sweater, but I don’t care.
I have to find him.
As expected, Tristan is in the center of the room with a red cup in one hand and an arm around a gorgeous woman. A malicious smile rises to my lips. Harper broke up with him at the end of last semester. I heard about it through the dorm gossip chain, and inside, I rejoiced. Good for her.
Granted, they’ve broken up countless times since sophomore year of high school, and the fact that they go to the same college means they most likely won’t be done with each other until after graduation.
But for now, Tristan is single.
I hope he hates it. He seems like the type of pathetic loser who has to be in a relationship to feel validated as a human being. I hope he’s miserable now.
Our eyes meet from across the room. Tristan’s widen. He examines me from the top of my head down to my slippers. When his gaze meets mine again, that familiar, malicious smirk tugs at his lips.
Bastard.
I can’t help but feel a little smug that I’m one of few people who doesn’t find him even slightly attractive. Cruel people are ugly to me, no matter how objectively gorgeous they might be.
Harper doesn’t find him attractive either. She and I constantly made fun of him before they started dating. When hefirst started showing interest in her our sophomore year, I asked her why she was even considering him when she found him so vapid and boring.
“He’s Tristan Wolfe, Amy,”she’d said.“I can’t believe he’s interested in me.”
I forgave her for it. Harper has an innate need for attention. Her dad was an addict before he died, and her mom was so consumed with the burden of codependency that she didn’t have enough mental space for her children. Harper and her younger brother, Nick, were neglected in a way I could never fully understand.
I march up to Tristan, waving the envelope in the air. “Tell me how I got this, and I’ll let you live.”
He glances down at the envelope and then back up at me, eyes glinting with amusement. The pretty girl in his arms looks up at him and frowns.
“Give me a second, baby.” He nudges her aside and steps closer to me.
Too close. I can smell alcohol mixed with mint on his breath. The heat of his huge body radiates over my skin, and I take a step back.
He’s entirely too big. Big shoulders. Big hands. I never noticed it in high school. I’d never been up close to him until that day in the library when I thought there might be more to him than beauty and sadism. When he probed me with those pretty blue eyes and asked about my passion for writing as if he were really interested.
The liar.
“Don’t be shy,” he says, clearly sensing my discomfort.
I make sure that my smile doesn’t reach my eyes. “Don’t confuse my loathing with shyness.”
His eyes widen before he laughs. “Loathing. I love the way you talk. Like you’re writing medieval fanfic.” He tilts his head. “Eroticmedieval fanfic about two Jane Austen characters.”
