“Why do you even care what I think of you?” I asked, voice low.
She snapped her head toward me.
“You’re right,” she said. “I don’t.”
But she didn’t get up. Instead, she stared down at the bubbling water and kept talking.
“It’s my mom,” she said quietly. “She was born poor. Came over here with nothing. She’s always wanted the American dream—the big house, the cars, the bank accounts. She did whatever she had to do to get close to it. Tanning beds even though she’s already tan. Perfect French manicures. Expensive hair treatments. Lip fillers. A boob job. Everything.”
Isa let out a shaky breath.
“She wants me to have what she never did. She thinks if I can lock down someone like Tristan, it’ll erase everything. Like I can fix two hundred years of nothing just by marrying rich.” She shook her head. “It was stupid. I was trying to be popular. Trying to take some of the heat off Stella so if I got my heart broken, at least it wouldn’t be because I actually liked him. It would be because my mom told me to. My father does well but not Vale money well. You know? he never cared about my mother’s social climbing as long as she ‘took care’ of him if you know what I mean. Both of them are kinda gross. I guess soccer gave me purpose. A childhood distraction that turned into an escape ticket.”
She finally looked at me, eyes glassy.
“But I really did love him,” she whispered. “And I’m sorry if I used you.”
She looked small sitting there. Pathetic in a way that made something in my chest twist, even through the haze of the beer and the heat. For a second, I almost reached for her.
But I didn’t, because I still had to protect myself.
I took another slow drink and let my head fall back against the edge of the hot tub, staring up at the dark sky.
“Doesn’t really change anything, does it?” I said, voice rough. “You still ran the second things got real between us. And I’m still not interested in being your backup plan while you figure out if you’re done chasing rich boys.”
Isa didn’t say anything.
I closed my eyes and let the hot water and the alcohol pull me under again.
I couldn’t afford to feel sorry for her.
Not when I was already halfway gone.
“See ya, Texas. Good talk.” I left my muscular arms rest on the edge of the hot tub. My words dull, dry, dripping with sarcasm. Let her think she didn’t own me. Let her walk away without me as the emotional crutch she knew she could lean on. I took another sip of my beer, ignoring her confusion and anger. She expected more from me because she always got more.
Now I was locking myself down, refusing to be another casualty of Isa Calloway’s bad decisions.
It was brutal.
She didn’t see the way my fist clenched when she finally walked away, leaving me with a warm beer in my hand, foam swirling in the water around me, and a group of girls trying too damn hard to be what she still was to me.
Chapter Ten
DREW
We werein LA for the UCLA game. The team had taken buses down with a bunch of other student athletes who were planning to tailgate and party after. Word was Isa was coming too— soccer didn’t have a game this weekend, and a couple girls from her team were dating guys on the team and wanted to make the trip. I told myself I didn’t care. I needed to get her out of my system anyway.
I was out on the field during warm-ups, trying to lock in, when I heard someone call my name from the sideline.
“Drew!”
I turned.
Holy shit.
Casey.
She was standing there in a tight Color Guard uniform, baton in one hand, way too much makeup on, and even more perfume. The second our eyes met, she lit up like it was still high school.
