CHAPTER FIVE
Stella
Getting ready for the mixer feels ridiculous and I hate that I care.
Our shared bathroom is chaos—curling irons, bronzer palettes, someone blasting a throwback playlist while Mara debates outfits like it’s draft night.
I stand at the mirror longer than usual with my skin smelling like vanilla body lotion. The expensive one I save for game days. It melts into my skin, soft and warm, the scent subtle but impossible not to notice up close.
My hair falls in loose waves tonight instead of the tight practice ponytail. Gloss instead of chapstick. Mascara on and lashes curled.
Still me.
Just… sharper.
Lila leans against the counter and smirks.
“Who are you and what have you done with Stella Cortez?”
I don’t look away from my reflection.
Mara laughs. “Ice princess in lip gloss. Historic.”
I grab my sandals.
“You’re all dramatic.”
“You look hot,” Lila says simply.
I hate that my stomach flips.
Because part of me wanted that confirmed.
The beach is already loud when we arrive.
Firelight. Music. Sand sticking to everything. Athletes moving in clusters like ecosystems.
Kane spots me instantly. “Well,” he says when I reach him. “Worth the wait.”
“You say that to everyone?”
“No,” he says easily. “Just you.”
He hands me a hard seltzer. Our fingers brush. His gaze lingers — not greedy, just certain.
We fall into conversation like we always do. Easy rhythm. Inside jokes about lifts, coaches, early alarms.
After a minute, his tone shifts.
“So,” he says, nudging the sand with his shoe. “It’s been a year since we met. Tonight. Right here.”
I glance at him.
He doesn’t look away.
“I’m still interested, if you ever decide to let me be.”
Direct. No performance.
