When I look at Tristan, his earlier vulnerability has vanished like a mirage. Did I only imagine it? He’s smirking at me the way he always does. “Should I win an Oscar?” he asks.
Ice skitters over my skin. Oh God, this is humiliating. My face must be as red as an apple. Is he going to ridicule me for it?
I swallow. “Yes. Better start your campaign soon.”
He frowns. “My campaign?”
“Your Oscar campaign.” I’m surprised how even my voice sounds.
“Oh.” He smiles, but it looks forced. “So you think…” He searches my face, and I wish I could hide away. I don’t want him to pick up on my inner turmoil. “You think I seemed sincere?”
I nod. “Harper will probably throw hands at me after that one.”
His smile fades, and ice enters his eyes. What is that look? What did I say wrong?
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I won’t break her pretty nose. We have too much history.”
His smirk returns, and I wish I could hide from it. I’m not in the state of mind to see this cruel look of his.
“Make sure you don’t,” he says.
As the camera crew packs up their equipment, I stand up, needing to get away. The gentle wind cools my face, but it’s not nearly enough. I feel like I’ll be blushing until graduation day after this epic humiliation.
Later that evening, I’m lying with my eyes fixed on the ceiling. My thoughts are a whirlwind as I replay Tristan’s confession and the look in his eyes when he spoke.
He seemed so genuine that my heart had fluttered out of control.
Because I have feelings for him.
Fuck.
It won’t stop me from getting my revenge. I have to use this humiliation. Harness it.
I’ll show him he can never break me.
My phone buzzes, pulling me from my unpleasant reverie. An email notification pops up from an address I don’t recognize. The subject line reads: “Tristan.”
My heart races as I open the email.
Hey, Amy,
I know it’s been years. You maybe hate me because of everything that went down with Harper. I want to make amends. I’m friends with Tristan now, and I have information that I think you’d find interesting. I’ll be in one of the study rooms on the fourth floor of the library until ten p.m.
Nick
Holy shit. Nick is contacting me? What the hell could this be about?
I glance at the clock. 9:53. I’d better hurry. After throwing on a hoodie and sneakers, I rush out of my dorm room and head toward the library.
I sprint across the dimly lit campus, my heart pounding. As I enter the library and make my way to the fourth floor, a strange sense of foreboding prickles over my skin.
Whatever he has to tell me can’t be good.
When I reach the fourth floor, my eyes scan the study rooms until I find one occupied by a tall guy with dark hair. Wow. He’s really grown up. I don’t think I’ve ever really looked at him since he started at Pacific Crest last year.
I take a deep breath as I enter the room, trying to calm my racing pulse. Nick’s expression is grim.
This isn’t good.
