“Get here late last night?” Eliot asked first, his head a mess of dark curls falling over his blue eyes as he nodded up at me, arms crossed over his chest. He looked like he was a terrible actor pretending to be a cowboy, Scott being his sidekick, and I was a rough-looking intruder in their territory.

  “Are we in a Western now? Because you forgot your hats. And fake guns. And your acting skills.”

  Eliot looked at me, unimpressed, while Scott tried not to break into a smile and ruin the mood.

  I ended up shrugging, trying for nonchalance. “Got distracted.”

  “Distracted.” Eliot stared at me with a ‘you’re-full-of shit’ expression.

  I put on the coffee maker, since they had probably been waiting for me to enter to hit me with their interrogation, and once the tension between us got too much for me to handle, I admitted “Fine. I was out.”

  “Out where? Did you go to a party?” Scott asked, looking me up and down for signs of…something. His pajamas were all wrinkled, but no more than Eliot’s sweats, which looked like he’d been doing origami with them.

  “I was at Henry’s frat.”

  More silence. More stares.

  The coffee maker beeped, and I poured coffee for the three of us before exploding in a nervous rush and saying, “He invited me there, okay? I didn’t just go because I wanted to. I’m doing a small favor to his father, and Henry and I have an agreement that I’m not going to tell you about, so that is that.”

  Eliot was the first to break into a laugh at my nervous outburst and Scott asked, “Wait, rewind. Henry invited you, but it’s his father you’re doing a favor for? I thought they didn’t get along?”

  I sighed. They were going to make me tell them what had happened weren’t they? Only I wouldn’t tell them all of it.

  I was keeping my deal with Henry secret for a reason—which was that I didn’t want Scott to find out we were using him as an excuse. It had started as me being benevolent enough to sacrifice myself in order to help Scott’s boyfriend, but really, I thought both Henry and I knew it wasn’t about that at all.

  Especially when he kept giving me outs.

  Especially when I was the one desperate enough to throw myself at his feet and beg for him to take me in.

  I wasn’t ready to talk about it, though, and if I told them, my friends would see right through me. They would also ask for me to tell them what had happened three years ago, and if they joined the dots, they would realize…

  Well. They would see where all this Henry-related pain was coming from.

  So I told them a bit about Connell Campbell’s request and the whole dinner at the steak house.

  Their brows furrowed the more I told them.

  “Connell wanted you to convince Henry? He thinks you can do his dirty work?” Eliot asked, sounding skeptical.

  “It’s not his dirty work.”

  “Then what is it? Because that’s what it sounds like.”

  “I’m not even going to try to convince Henry to do what Connell wants. What Henry needs is some guidance and motivation to get out of his own way and pursue something for real. So if Connell wanted Henry to ‘get his shit together’, he’ll get that—just not in the way he’d imagined.”

  Now they gave me worried looks. Scott said, “Look, Ant, I know you probably think you have very good intentions and all that…but I don’t think Henry’s going to see it that way. And if he finds out, he could give you a lot of problems.”

  Eliot took a very hot sip of the coffee I’d made for them, gasping as he burnt his tongue, and with one eye still closed from the sting, he added, “Yeah, and if I know one thing, it’s that you don’t want the Heartbreaker on your bad side.”

  No, you didn’t.

  I knew that.

  I knew it before I made my decision and I still made it anyway. Because, the funny thing was, as much as they were telling me this because they were concerned for me and for my well-being, my greatest concern here was Henry’s emotional reaction. I wasn’t thinking about the potential consequences I would have to face, but rather the betrayed look on his face.

  The fact that I was sure that once he found out, because he inevitably would, I would be as good as dead to him. Forever.

  I looked away from my friends, trying to distract myself by pouring almond milk into my coffee and swallowing a wave of pure anguish at the thought.

  There was no point in me worrying about this. Because, dead or not, Henry and I were never going to be friends. People like us didn’t belong together, and Henry, who would finish his degree this year, would probably go off into the world, move to a different state or a different country altogether, and explore his limitless life to his Heartbreaker heart’s content.

  I wasn’t in those plans. I’d never be. And it would be made abundantly clear the more I hung out with him just how different and incompatible we were.

  “It will be fine.”

  Scott’s blue eyes were all concern as he stirred his own coffee. “If you say so.”

  Eliot stole my almond milk, giving it a sniff before pouring some into his coffee. He’d done this maybe four times now, and each time he tried it, he always said he was unconvinced.

  He kept trying to like it because it was his boyfriend’s choice of milk.

  And I kept drinking it because…

  Because it was Henry’s.

  “Maybe this will be good,” Eliot said before he winced at the taste.

  “You think Antony working himself to the bone and probably inciting the Heartbreaker’s fury will be good?” Scott asked, watching him like he’d grown a horn.

  “Yep.” Eliot grinned, full of mischief. “Henry needs a good influence when it comes to his academic life, and Antony needs a good influence in his personal life.”

  “I think this is the first time I’ve ever heard anyone call Henry a good influence,” I muttered to myself but Eliot went on.

  “Who knows? Maybe by the end of it, they’ll be friends again. Maybe Henry will make our Ant see why he should break his no-dating rule, and he’ll be able to have fun before he turns eighty.”

  As if.

  It was definitely not going to happen. That was probably the least likely result in all of this.

  I let all the foolish hope of our friendship being rekindled burn down to ashes, and got myself ready for the day.

  * * *

  “Have you talked to your advisor, yet? About your internship applications?” Oliver asked lowly to me, hunched over his notebook. His dark hair was falling all over his eyes, making me wonder how he could even see what was in front of him, but as if he’d heard my thoughts he pushed it all back, revealing soulful brown eyes.

  We were in the library, late morning light filtering through the great windows, neck deep into this never-ending homework. As much as a small distraction from it was welcome, the reminder of the internships wasn’t.

  But he didn’t know that.

  “No. I haven’t had the time.”

  Not entirely untrue. Because as much as I’d been hyper-focusing on getting ahead on both homework and studying—so that I could be free to spend time with a certain Heartbreaker—I had to admit I’d been procrastinating. There were still several months until I’d be able to start an internship, but the applications should probably be sent in soon. At least, if I wanted to be ahead of the game and give myself options if I didn’t get the results I wanted. Needed.

  My stomach knotted with nerves. “What about you? Are you going to be looking for internships yet?”

  “I don’t know,” Oliver shrugged. “My mother wants me to give working in her company a try, at least for a bit. And we’re still in our third year anyway, right? I might just do it the next one.” A slow grin spread over his face. “Not everyone is a perfect, over-prepared, always top one student.”

  I scoffed, then had to remind myself to keep my voice low. “Not always.”

  Especially not when Keller was involved.

  The guy had a vendetta against me. He was probably the next best student after me in our classes, and we shared many. We were both majoring in Business, and we both wanted to be the best, only that while I was the type to think I was only in competition with myself, Keller thought beating me was his life’s purpose and favorite pastime.

  Not that he managed to, anyway. Or at least, not often.

  As if he could hear my thoughts, Oliver said, “Keller is probably the biggest asshole I’ve ever met, you know? That guy has no chill. At this point, I’m starting to think he’s a little obsessed with you, and not in a lovey-dovey way.”

  I groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

  There was only one person’s obsession that I could cope with, and he’d already given up on me.

  Oliver patted my back. “Don’t let him shake you off your game, though, okay? If anyone can stay on top with a cool head, it’s you, I know it.”

  We both looked up when the librarian passed us by, and we immediately left our conversation and got back to our Economics problems.

  Oliver and I had met in our second year of college through shared classes, since we were both majoring in Business, and from almost the first time we’d spoken, I’d known we were going to get along, which was a weird occurrence for me.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t have other friends other than Scott and Eliot, but close friends I definitely didn’t have. Oliver was, like me, ambitious, hard-working, and a little too straight-laced compared to the average college student, while also being humble and having an easy-going personality. Hanging out with him reminded me of being with Scott and Eliot, too, which I supposed was the biggest tell that I felt comfortable with him and a big, fat, green flag in my book.

  When the librarian was gone, I turned to Oliver to ask, “How is your Philosophy class going, by the way? Interesting, or having second thoughts?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing much to say. Don’t feel one way or the other, yet.”

  Well, that was a half-assed lie if I ever heard one.

  Oliver had been debating whether to take this class or not for months. It was something he’d been wanting to dip his toes into, excited like he hadn’t been for any other subject before, and now this?

  I wasn’t buying it.

  “Is the professor as strict as they say?” I asked, hoping he might elaborate or that at least, I’d see the source of his brush-off.

  Oliver seemed all too interested in the problem in front of him. “Just like the average professor.”

  Before I could respond to that with further prodding, he put his notebook in front of me. “Have you done this one already? It’s giving me weird results.”

  Deflection. Huh.

  I was going to save this tidbit of information for later.

  Because I was nothing if not a good friend, though, I decided to indulge him and let him be, examining the problem and walking Oliver through it with hushed tones, our heads almost hitting each other’s as I let him see my notes.

  It was then that I became aware of a familiar prickling feeling in the back of my neck. One that I hadn’t felt in some time, and that by now, it was enough to make my whole body stand at attention, like a trained dog waiting for a bone.

  “Is something wrong?” Oliver asked when he noticed I’d stopped talking.

  Clearing my throat, I said, “No. Just got distracted.”

  We kept going through the problem until we were both satisfied with the result, and all the while it felt like I had phantom fingers tracing the back of my neck, the line of my shoulders.

  Henry Campbell was here, staring at me, and instead of being annoyed that he was interrupting my already limited study time, I was all too excited to know his probing gazes were back.

  That his little obsession might just not be over.

  A foolish hope.

  It just wouldn’t die, would it?

  It was an effort to keep myself from just going up to him and catching him in the act as I’d fantasized about doing so many times before.

  It was, after all, completely unadvisable. We were silently not acknowledging what was going on between us. How much I’d enjoyed his fussing. His protectiveness. How jealous I’d clearly been about Maddox. The lingering feelings from three years ago.

  I was trying my best to keep at bay the flames he was igniting inside me once again—the ones that had never been put out—at all costs.

  But then I thought of him telling me to message him when I got home, and his little good-night retort when I finally did.

  Before I knew it, I gave Oliver a mumbled excuse, getting up from my seat and going out to hunt a rare Heartbreaker-King in a forest of books.

  Not dangerous at all.

  Chapter 10

  Henry

  I’d just been looking away for a moment, examining one of the books in front of me—subject: Mathematics, a.k.a: definitely not my choice of literature—, and then when I looked back over the spines to check on Antony, he wasn’t there anymore.

  My heart lurched, coming up to my throat. Where the fuck had he gone now? His friend was still there, still diligently writing in his notebook, especially now that he didn’t have Antony to flirt with.

  Trying my best to be subtle, I moved a little closer, checking the hallway, the neat rows of long wooden desks sparsely populated with students, and finding no Antony.

  I was contemplating what to do, whether to wait him out or just fucking leave, stop feeding this addiction like I’d promised myself I would, when a familiar voice whispered in my ear.

  “Looking for someone?”

  I nearly jumped out of my own skin, spooked like a startled cat, and clutched my chest with a hand as I turned to the source of my torment.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I whisper-shouted, trying to get my heart to go back to a less frantic rhythm.

  “Asking you a question?” Antony asked, one dark eyebrow raised and mischief glinting in those green, green eyes.

  Damn him.

  Couldn’t he give me a fucking break? He looked way too good for having been stuck here for as long as he had, especially after our late night yesterday. His dark hair, trimmed short, looked perfect as always. It was a haircut that should have been completely unimpressive with how basic it was, and yet it suited him perfectly, enhancing his handsome face.

  Antony Andino had a sort of understated beauty—a phrase that I would always refuse to say out loud—because while none of him was ever screaming look at me, once you did look, you couldn’t turn away.

  And I knew from experience. I hadn’t been able to think about anyone else ever since I met him.

  What a cursed, cursed world.

  “Are you telling me or are you asking me?”

  He rolled his eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  I let out a long exhale, finally calming down, and leaned my shoulder against the nearest shelf, which thankfully didn’t budge under my weight. “I was just looking for books, as I’m told people usually do in libraries. What’s your excuse?”

  Antony copied my posture, making my chest flutter. Why? Why did I have to react to everything this guy did? “I was just going for a stroll. Taking a break from studying.”

  I huffed, hackles rising.

  “Studying or flirting?”

  I had just said that out loud.

  It was definitely something I should have kept to myself, especially since it would betray the fact that I’d been watching him, but now it was out and I was sucking it up.

  Antony’s face froze momentarily. Caught. “What?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “With Oliver.”

  I didn’t even know him and I already hated that name. Oliver. So stupid. So…basic.

  “Oh,” Antony responded, shoulders relaxing.

  Oh?

  My jaw hardened. “I thought I told you no dating.”

  He shrugged, a grin stretching his lips. Cocky Antony was in the house again. “I didn’t think a little study date would have counted.”

  Was he for real right now?

  I wanted to punch something. Like a plaster wall. Or a face.

  I was no fighter but I would give it a try just to get this jealousy out of my system.

  “‘No dating’ means no dating, Andino. You’re breaking the pact and not even twelve hours have gone by. I thought you were a man of your word.”

  It was Antony’s time to huff. “Come on, Henry, this is not a date.”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I countered, “You were flirting.”

  Antony gave me a look. “We were just talking.”

  “You were not.”

  “Flirting isn’t dating—”

  I uncrossed my arms and stepped toward him, backing him against the shelf. “Let me make myself blatantly clear, then: No dating, no flirting, no talking and pretending not to flirt, and no hooking up.”

  It was at times like this that Antony astounded me. I had my arms on each side of him. He was literally cocooned and with no escape—well, technically he could go under my arms—and yet he was completely unaffected. His grin was firmly placed on his face, eyes almost glittering—because of course he got off on pushing all of my buttons—and he was leaning back, as if this was just another relaxing day at the library, and he wasn’t basically being threatened by the most powerful guy in this college.

  “If I were someone else, Henry, I’d think you were jealous.”

  My throat felt suddenly thick, the back of my neck hot. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Antony looked at me for a long moment, but if he’d been about to comment on it further, he decided not to. He just sighed. “I don’t know what sort of casanova you think I am, but I’m not overwhelmed with offers of courtship, you know? A guy who spends way too much time studying, worrying about grades, whose second home is this very library, is hardly boyfriend material, if you catch my drift.”

  I caught no drifts. “You’re not boyfriend material, Antony. You’re husband material. And sooner or later, people are going to find out.”

  I just hoped it wouldn’t be on my watch.

  Unexpectedly rosy lips parted at my statement, like it was the last thing he’d have expected me to say, and for some reason, my own words hit me like a gut punch.

 

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