“Nothing?” Foster looked skeptical.
“Locking the practice rooms before her recital wassloppy. Reactive.” I shook my head. “This time, I’m going to wait for the perfect opportunity. Something that will end this war once and for all.”
“Meaning?” Liam asked.
I looked at each of them—my teammates, my brothers. They’d have my back no matter what.
“I’m going to destroy her,” I said quietly. “But I’m going to be smart about it. Patient. Harper thinks she’s so fucking clever, but she’s about to learn what happens when she messes with a Dumontier.”
Foster’s expression grew serious. “Drew, don’t do anything that’s going to get you kicked off the team or out of school.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“When it comes to Harper Tinsley, you kind of are,” Gordy pointed out matter-of-factly.
I wanted to argue, but he wasn’t wrong. Something about Harper had always made me react first and think later. But not this time.
“What if you just…didn’t do anything,” Gordy suggested.
“And leave her slight unanswered? Fuck that.”
“So, let me get this straight,” Gordy continued. “You won’t ever let a slight go unanswered…and neither will she. So how’s this going to end once and for all? If you want to end it,youhave to stop reacting or playing into the pranks.”
He arched a brow at me and then headed toward the showers, Foster following behind. Liam stopped beside me and squeezed my shoulder, but didn’t say anything.
What was there to say? Gordy had just laid down a harsh truth I wasn’t sure I wanted to face.
Did I retaliate, or was it time to move on and pretend Harper didn’t exist at all?
SIX
I slipped into Psychology 201 with exactly thirty seconds to spare, scanning the lecture hall for a seat as far away from Drew Dumontier as humanly possible.
It was the only class we had together, but even in this giant lecture hall it was still one class too many.
Drew was already seated on the far left side in the top row, so I grabbed a seat in the third row on the right side.
I climbed the stairs to my chosen seat, pointedly not looking in his direction even though I could feel his presence like a splinter under my skin. This was our first class together since my roommates and I had pulled off the best revenge I’d ever thought of. His silence was almost concerning because I had no doubt he was pissed and likely trying to plan a way to annihilate me, but I was on cloud nine after this weekend, and I refused to let him ruin it.
While I waited for our professor to start class, I pulled out my phone and looked at the website I’d set up. Traffic was already over six hundred unique visitors, and the comments were pure gold.
One of my fake reviews, “He talks a big game butfinishes faster than a firework on the Fourth of July,”had eighty-seven upvotes. Another one I’d written that was a personal favorite was,“He kept calling me by the wrong name. Multiple times. Mid-thrust.”
Someone had replied,“Girl, was the wrong name ‘Jesus’? Because that’s the only acceptable excuse.”
I laughed out loud before quickly smothering it behind my hand.
A few glowing comments had shown up overnight that I promptly deleted because fuck Drew Dumontier and his supposedly “phenomenal” dick. This wasn’t a site for praise. It was all about perception, and I wanted the perception to remain that Drew was a two-pump chump and couldn’t find a woman’s clit even if it were highlighted in neon and had a glowing “Start Here” sign above it.
“Good morning, class,” Professor Keene said, setting down her coffee and pulling up her presentation. I set my phone down on the desk in front of me and focused on her. “I hope everyone’s ready for some exciting news about your final project. I know we’re not quite to midterms yet, but I want you all to get a head start on this.”
I pulled out my notebook and tried to focus. Psychology was one of my favorite classes—the intersection between human behavior and music therapy fascinated me. It’s why I’d chosen this section, even after I showed up on the first day to find Drew also enrolled in this class. I’d figured I could just ignore him for the semester. It was a large enough section that there was a buffer of about eighty other students.
That plan had worked great so far.
“As you already know from the syllabus, your final project will count for fifty percent of your final grade,”Professor Keene continued. “What you don’t know is that this will be a partner project.”
A collective groan rose from the lecture hall and my stomach dropped. Partner projects were always a nightmare—someone inevitably did all the work while their partner coasted.
