PROLOGUE
TORI
12 Years Ago, College
“You look so hot!”my roommate, Lexi, says as she walks into our dorm room, her voice breaking through the soft hum of pop music playing from my phone. I’m blotting the excess fire engine red lipstick from my lips when I wink at her through the mirror.
“Thanks, sugarlips. Zip me up?” I fluff my long, brunette waves one last time as Lexi steps behind me, tugging the zipper of my little black dress until it hugs my body perfectly.
“Hot date tonight? It’s about time you got out there. Lord knows where that twatwaffle Chase has been,” she says, exasperated.
I should tell her I’m actually going to see Chase, but I don’t want to hear the long list of protests that will follow. So instead, I turn, smile at her, and say, “Heading to a frat party. Don’t know that I’m looking for anyone in particular, but figured I’d show up looking like a tall glass of water for whoever is thirsty and worthy.”
Frat party. Baseball house party. Same thing.
The glow of my desk lamp casts a soft halo over the room as Igrab my purse and do a quick once-over in the mirror. The dress clings to every curve, my lipstick pops just enough without being over the top, and my heels add the perfect amount of height to my petite frame.
I know I look incredible. I know when I walk into that party, eyes will be on me, and I know those eyes are connected to mouths that will immediately tell Chase I’m there. Because even when he’s not mine, I’m still his. I hate it, but I also love it, because no matter who he’s currently hooking up with, they know it won’t last. He’ll come back to me. He always comes back to me. And tonight, I’m done waiting.
He’s had enough time to sow his wild oats, played the fuckboy baseball player for two months, and now it’s time to come home. Not physically, as in Moraine, but back to me. I am his home.
I am his home. He will come back to me. We are endgame. We are fated. We are forever.
The cool night air brushes against my skin as I walk the few blocks to the baseball house. The faint sound of music and laughter grows louder with every step, and the distant glow of string lights comes into view. I keep these thoughts on repeat the entire walk to the party, not wavering once in my determination to get what I want.
I know to some I seem pathetic, but they don’t know our history. I’m not some insecure girl clinging to her high school sweetheart with a vice grip. I know my worth, and I know his. The problem is that he doesn’t know his own worth. He needs me to remind him. That’s all.
Every time we break up, it’s the same conversation: “You’re too good for me. I don’t deserve you. You’d be better off without me. I’m a fuck up. You should find someone better…” blah blah blah.
Skye says he does it for attention, and she’s not wrong. I know he does it for attention, but is it any wonder he needs more affirmation than most people would? His parents didn’t give two shits about him or his little brother when they were growing up—always too high to care. I’m surprised Chase ever started playing baseball considering his dad’s deep dive into drugs began with a painkillers addiction following a baseball injury.
They may have overdosed and left Chase and Trent as wards of the state, but the truth is both Dylan and Charity Martin abandoned those boys before they ever died.
I’m not his parents. I won’t leave him. Even when he gives into his insecurities and leaves me, he’ll come back. Granted, it’s never taken him two months to come back to me—hence the reason I’m taking action.
I arrive at the baseball house, and as expected, the music is loud, the lights are dim, and the people are already sloshed. The smell of stale beer and cheap cologne wafts through the air as I approach the front door. I pause, closing my eyes and inhaling deeply before standing up straight and donning my game face.
“Tits up, Tori. You’ve got this,” I whisper to myself, giving a final pep talk before pushing open the door and stepping inside.
The party is in full swing, bodies pressed together in tight clusters, the bass from the speakers vibrating through the floor. I scan the room, my eyes adjusting to the low lighting. Chase isn’t here—yet. But I see the one person I know will get his attention: Aaron Taylor.
Target acquired.
Aaron is leaning against the bar, a red Solo cup in hand, his easy smirk practically oozing arrogance. I walk directly to him, ignoring the eyes that follow me, and slide my hand up his back before leaning in close. “Hey, Aaron.”
He turns, his eyebrows lifting as his gaze sweeps over me. His smile widens, and I know I’ve got him hooked.
“Damn, Victoria. You look incredible.” He places a hand on my waist, and I let him.
Bait cast. Now we wait.
“You noticed,” I say, my voice dripping with honey as I place a hand on his chest.
Just as Aaron is about to respond, a growl cuts through the air behind me.
“Get your motherfucking hands off her, Taylor, before I break them.”
Hooked. That worked faster than I thought. Thank God. I didn’t want to actually kiss anyone else—just flip Chase’s territorial switch so he’d get his head out of his ass.
