I elbow her and keep walking.
He pushes off the fence when I get close. “Took you long enough.”
“Sorry. Some of us play real sports where you can’t pause every six seconds for dramatic male sweating.”
His mouth curves. That private almost-smile he never gives away for free.
“I brought tribute.” He holds out a blue sports drink and a protein bar.
Not flowers. Electrolytes. Athlete romance.
My stomach flips. “You waited for me with hydration?”
“You say that like I showed up with a sonnet.”
“That would’ve been less useful.”
“Exactly.”
I take the bottle. His fingers brush mine for one second.
We start walking toward the athletic complex. Campus at this hour belongs to athletes and ghosts.
“You look wrecked,” he says.
“Very romantic.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
By the time we hit the doors I’m smiling despite myself.
And that’s when I see her.
Stella.
Coming down the opposite path from the volleyball side, long legs eating up the pavement, face tipped toward her phone. Even from here you can see why boys lose their minds. She’s all clean lines and control and quiet heat. Dark eyes. Strong mouth. Hair pulled high, neck bared like it’s more intimate than if it were down.
At the start of the year the campus couldn’t shut up about her and the two boys orbiting her—Tristan and Kane. Everybody had a theory. Everybody said she had both of them half insane and refused to choose either.
Then, supposedly, she turned away from both. And the whole time Vale was supposedly trying to get with her… he was walking me back from the sports complex. Walking me cross campus….double dealing I guess. But he never crossed a line with me enough to call him out about any of it.
Stella looks up as she nears us. Tristan’s head turns before I can stop myself from noticing. Only for a second. Recognition. History. Something expensive.
Her eyes flick from him to me. One quick, assessing look. Then she nods once and keeps walking.
Tristan watches her go for a fraction too long before he looks back at me.
“Volleyball royalty,” I say lightly.
His eyes narrow. “You know she hates that.”
I smile anyway. “Good. I’d hate to think she enjoyed the branding.”
He opens the door and gestures me through first like a gentleman and a problem.
I go.
