Page 127 of Unbound | AllFreeNovel

We stare across the table at each other again, two halves of an unfulfilled promise.

A hand tapping my shoulder has me jumping in my seat like a live wire, knee slamming into the hard wooden oak.

“Sorry.” Hannah laughs, nervously eyeing Rhys and Paloma before ducking her head closer to my ear. “I just needed to get out, for the restroom.”

“No, I’m sorry,” I say, exiting the booth so she can scoot out. I rub at my knee for a moment while standing up, matching my date’s smile as best I can, before sliding back in.

Brow furrowed, Rhys settles his forearms on the table and leans toward me. “You good? Is it from last night?”

“What happened last night?” Paloma blurts, cheeks blushing a little when she realizes how loud she’s asked.

Her eyes roam my face, then look down at the table like she can somehow see through it and my pants to the bruise on my knee.

“Bennett’s our goalie,” Rhys explains unnecessarily. “Some asshole from Yale hit him last night while he was in a bad position—”

“Butterfly,” I say, knowing Paloma too well not to explain. “But I’m fine. Just tweaked it.”

She’s upset, clearly, and something in that makes me feel better. But it’s like putting a Band-Aid on a fatal wound.

Rhys settles back against the wood of the bench seat before he tilts his head down to kiss her cheek gently. Every touch they share is familiar, like this isn’t a first date for them. And maybe it’s not.

I know my best friend isn’t the sleep around type of guy. I know Rhys Koteskiy is the three-date-rule golden boy that girls don’t just thirst over but romanticize—and accurately. He’s always been easily romantic and loving to the few girls he’s dated.

So, as much as it feels like a fist to the gut, there is a comfort in the fact that I know how Rhys treats Paloma. That he walks her to her dorm and always gets her car door for her. That he foots the bill for any date. That he would never pressure her for something she didn’t want to give.

Bittersweet. I finally understand the word.

I don’t go home with Hannah—I don’t go home at all. I find a bar, drink too heavily, and try to drown out the sight of Rhys’s hands on Paloma’s skin. The sight of my father looking toward Anna Koteskiy.

Is this some kind of Reiner curse?

Burying my sadness and anger, I go home with someone I don’t know. The alcohol makes my head swim enough that it doesn’t bother me. I try to focus on my hands in her hair, the tight control I exude over her body—the way I want so desperately.

But her face bleeds into soft doe-brown eyes and brighter, voluptuous hair. Until it’s Paloma beneath my grip, letting me hold her tightly.

Shame eats at me until I stop prematurely, apologizing and kissing the woman’s forehead. I don’t know her name and she doesn’t know mine, but she lets me shower and offers to call me a car home.

I choose to walk, hoping I won’t make it all the way.