The Chase

  I arch an eyebrow at the huffy girl. “Would you like to model in my show, Kaya?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  It’s hard not to roll my eyes, but somehow I manage to restrain myself.

  “I just feel like I should have been informed about this before you agreed,” she says stiffly. “I’m the president of this sorority, Bianca. Anything a Kappa does has the power to reflect poorly on me.”

  “Chill out, Kaya. It’s just a fashion show, and it will look great for the house, I promise. We’re helping out a fellow student. Nationals likes it when we show community spirit.”

  “How many of you said yes?” Kaya demands.

  “Six of us.”

  “Six? Oh my God. I can’t believe you all agreed and not a single person told me!”

  “Because it had nothing to do with you.”

  I edge toward the door. “Um. I’m going to take off now—”

  “After everything I went through with Daphne! You know how upset I was when I found out she was going behind my back, and now you’re doing the same thing?”

  “No one is going behind your back,” Bianca coos. She gives me a look that says, Get out of here while you can.

  I make my escape, fleeing through the front doors of the house that, instead of Kappa Beta Nu, should be called DAPHNE KETTLEMAN WAS HERE, because holy shit did that girl leave her mark on this place.

  As I’m unlocking my car, “Cheap Thrills” blares out of my purse. I fish out my phone and flip it over to check the screen.

  Hunter.

  I answer with an overly bright, “Hey.”

  “Blondie. Hey.”

  The sound of his husky voice triggers a rush of guilt. Saturday night is fast approaching, and I’ve been stalling in telling him it’s Valentine’s Day. Because he’ll either want to go anyway, or reschedule, and I don’t even know if I want to keep the date.

  “So. I was just informed that I scheduled our date on Valentine’s Day.” He snickers. “My bad.”

  I laugh in relief. “Okay, thank God. I was going to say something about it, because, yeah…I don’t know if V-Day is the best idea for a first date.”

  “No, I totally get it. That’s a lot of pressure.”

  “We should probably reschedule,” I say, even more relieved now. Maybe I can put this off indefinitely, or at least until I figure out how I feel about him.

  Hunter throws a wrench in that plan by suggesting, “How about tonight?”

  I gulp. “Tonight?”

  “Yeah. No game, and I don’t have plans. Do you?”

  “No.” Crap. Why did I say no? Now there’s no reason for me not to go.

  “So let’s do it. Dinner?

  “Sure,” I concede.

  “Cool. I’ll pick you up at your place.”

  Another laugh pops out. “That was so lame.”

  “I know.” He chuckles. “Should we leave around seven?”

  “Sounds good.” I hope he doesn’t hear the note of uncertainty in my voice.

  “Later, Blondie.”

  After we hang up, I instantly call my mother.

  “Sweetie!” She sounds overjoyed. “You caught me at a good time. I just got out of a meeting.”

  “I’m having man problems!” I blurt out.

  There’s a second of silence, and then, “Okay, baby. Hit me.”

  Laughter bubbles in my throat. I love this woman. “I have a date with one of my roommates tonight. Hunter. He went to Roselawn, but he was a year behind me.”

  “All right…” I can practically see the deep furrow between her eyebrows as she absorbs my words. “Are you nervous about the date?”

  “No, not really. But…” I let out a breath. “I kissed my other roommate.” Among other things. But what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

  “You kissed him before the date?”

  “No, I didn’t kiss the one I’m going out with. Well, I did, but that was a while ago. On Saturday I kissed the other one.”

  “Hunter.”

  “No. Fitz.”

  “Fizz?”

  “Fitz!” I sputter. “Colin Fitzgerald. Mom, keep up.”

  “Sorry, Summer, but maybe I’d have an easier time keeping up if your love life wasn’t like an episode of The Bachelor.”

  “The Bachelorette,” I correct. “Okay. Pay attention. Hunter is the one I’m having dinner with tonight. Fitz is the one I kissed.”

  “I see. And you have feelings for both of them?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is that a question?”

  “No? I mean, I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

  “Well, I’m not sure what to say to you, sweetie. You’re skimping on both the context and the details. I suppose pick the one you like more?”

  “Mom! That doesn’t help at all,” I grumble. “Whatever. I’ll figure it out on my own.” I mimic her crappy suggestion. “Pick the one you like more. Come on, Mom. Get it together.”

  Her laughter tickles my ear. “Hey, it’s all I’ve got. Call me later. Let me know how everything shakes out.”

  Wonderful. Usually my mother dispenses the sagest advice in the world. Today she gives me nothing. Even grammatically incorrect fortune cookies offer better solutions than pick the one you like more.

  Besides, it’s not a matter of liking. Half the time I’m not sure I even like Fitz. He drives me bananas most of the time. But I’m drawn to him, and he’s on my mind constantly, a lot more than Hunter is.

  In all honesty, I wouldn’t be considering going out with Hunter if Fitz came up to me and said, “Let’s do this.”

  But Fitz isn’t saying that. He isn’t saying anything, except that he’s “bad at expressing feelings” and “not good at this shit.”

  What the hell am I supposed to do with that? Beg him to magically be good at “this shit”? Forget that.

  Hunter is a great guy, and we get along so well. What’s the harm in getting to know him better?

  You’ll be leading him on.

  Not necessarily. Maybe we’ll have so much fun on the date that my feelings for Hunter will eclipse my feelings for Fitz.

  Or that won’t happen at all, and you’ll be leading him on.

  Do I keep the date or cancel it? I have no idea what to do.

  I’m still debating it when I take a shower later. A worry-free shower, thanks to the new lock Hollis installed on the bathroom door.

  I’m still debating it as I dry my hair and get dressed. I pair a dove-gray sweater dress with black stockings and Jimmy Choo lace-up combat boots, black suede.

  I’m still debating it when Hunter calls out from downstairs that he’s warming up the car.

  And I’m still debating it when Fitz enters my bedroom without knocking and levels me with two husky words.

  “Don’t go.”

  23

  Summer

  “W-what?” The question comes out in a fast, quavery squeak, as my heart stutters mid-beat.

  Fitz’s long, muscular body advances on me. I find myself moving backward. Moving away from him, because his intensity is a bit terrifying. Usually his eyes are a normal shade of brown. Right now, they’re dark chocolate and liquid fire. The heat of them sears right through me.

  I move until I can’t move anymore—because my butt meets the wall. Fitz doesn’t stop until his body is a mere inch from mine. If I inhale, my breasts would rise and probably bump his chest.

  “Summer.” His voice is low, tormented.

  His rough fingertips graze my cheekbone. I can scarcely breathe. My worried gaze flicks toward my bedroom door. It’s ajar. Hunter or Hollis could walk by at any moment and see us.

  “Don’t go with him tonight.” It sounds like the words are being ripped out of his throat.

  My pulse quickens. Fitz’s lips are so close to mine I can almost taste him. His chest tat peeks out the top of his worn, gray T-shirt, and I have to fight the urge not to reach out and run my fingers over the faded ink.

  “Don’t go with
Hunter,” he rasps, those molten eyes locking onto mine.

  I find my voice again, though it’s shakier than I’d like. “Give me a reason not to.”

  He visibly swallows.

  I silently implore him. I can’t speak the words for him, but if he doesn’t want me to go out with Hunter, then he has to tell me why. He needs to tell me why.

  He doesn’t. A muscle in his jaw tics, but still he doesn’t speak.

  “What the hell is going on, Fitz? Because it kinda feels like this is you wanting to have your cake and eat it too. We hooked up, and then you pushed me away. You don’t get to make demands now about who I go out with—I owe you nothing. You had your chance.”

  “I know,” he finally says, sounding as confused as I feel.

  Clearly when he stormed into my room, he didn’t have a damn thing rehearsed other than “don’t go with Hunter.” Well, that’s not enough for me.

  “I know I messed up.” Remorse swims in his eyes. “Avoiding you after what happened in the locker room was so fucking stupid. And selfish.”

  “No kidding.”

  “I’m sorry for that,” he says hoarsely. “I really am. And I’m not trying to have my cake and eat it too. Or at least I’m not doing it intentionally. All I know is that I feel sick about the thought of you going out with him tonight.”

  I wait for him to elaborate. As usual, he doesn’t.

  “Then tell me why I should stay here, Fitz! And don’t say it’s because you’re hard twenty-four-seven because of me. We can’t hook up anymore, okay? I’m not interested in a fling with you. I get the feeling you don’t do flings, anyway.”

  “I don’t,” he says hoarsely.

  “Then what is this?” Frazzled, I gesture between us. “Why shouldn’t I date Hunter?”

  “I’m not saying you can’t.”

  “You’re not saying anything at all!” I remember the open door and quickly lower my voice. “What do you want, Colin? Just tell me how you feel.”

  We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. I can’t pick out a single emotion in his expression. He’s so good at that, placing a veil over his eyes. He guards his thoughts and emotions with the dedication of a Secret Service agent. Hell, he’d probably rather take a bullet than show anyone what he’s feeling.

  And whether he means to or not, he’s playing games with me. I like games—the ones you play at parties, with friends. When it comes to my love life, I’m not interested in having to guess what the other person is feeling or thinking.

  “I have to go,” I mutter.

  He makes a frustrated noise under his breath. “Summer.”

  But I’m already marching out the door.

  And he doesn’t stop me.

  Needless to say, I’m more than a little distracted when Hunter pulls out my chair at the nicest restaurant in Hastings. It’s called Ferro’s, and it comes highly recommended by both Allie and a friend of hers, Grace Ivers. Grace is Logan’s girlfriend, and apparently they eat at Ferro’s all the time.

  I can’t deny that Hunter looks hot tonight. His tight ass fills a pair of trousers very, very nicely, and he recently got his hair buzzed. I prefer shorter hair on guys.

  While I check him out, he’s doing the same to me. His sultry gaze admires me from across the table. “That’s a great dress, Blondie.”

  I manage a smile. “Thanks.” Can he tell that I’m preoccupied? Or worse, can he tell I’m upset? Because I am. I’m still so shaken from that encounter with Fitz.

  Why couldn’t he just tell me how he felt? Why do I have to pry the details out of him like I’m trying to extract a splinter from under my fingernail? Talking to Fitz is painful and frustrating and I don’t fucking understand him.

  I don’t even notice the waiter coming by to take our drink order until Hunter says, “Summer? Vodka cran?”

  I hastily shake my head. “Water for now,” I tell the waiter. After he leaves, I explain my choice to Hunter. “I haven’t eaten in hours. I don’t like to drink on an empty stomach.”

  “Yeah. Makes sense.” He watches as I unroll my napkin.

  It’s a fancy cloth one, and my hands tremble slightly as I smooth it over my lap.

  A crease lines his forehead. “What’s wrong?”

  I swallow. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just been a long, somewhat crappy day.”

  “You had to see your academic advisor, right? How’d that go?”

  “Not great. Richmond hates my guts.” My cheeks hollow as I grind my teeth together. I force myself to stop. “He pretty much baited me into saying one of my professors creeps me out and then scolded me about how I shouldn’t be making accusations.”

  “Accusations?” Hunter sounds alarmed. “What’s this fucker done?”

  “Nothing,” I say quickly. “Really, he hasn’t done anything. But he creeps me out, and he’s kinda handsy. I told Richmond about it and, like I said, got scolded.”

  The waiter returns with our waters and asks if we’re ready to order. Neither of us has even opened the menu yet, so Hunter says we need more time.

  We pick up our menus. I try desperately to concentrate on the app list, but my brain is still back in my bedroom with Fitz.

  Hunter releases a heavy sigh.

  I lift my head. “Are you okay?”

  “Me? I’m fine.” He gives a wry shake of his head. “You, on the other hand? Doesn’t seem like you’re fine.”

  I offer a feeble assurance. “I am.”

  “Summer, I’ve been living with you for a month now. I’m pretty good at deciphering your moods. You’re extra distracted tonight.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” I clasp my hands in my lap. “I…”

  He hesitates for a long moment, then asks, “What’s going on between us?”

  Misery burns my throat, stings my eyes. I don’t know how to explain what I’m feeling, because I don’t know what I’m feeling.

  My heart drops as I realize I’m in the exact position Fitz was in twenty minutes ago. The position I put him in. Demanding access to his thoughts. Insisting he tell me how he feels about me.

  Maybe he truly doesn’t know. God knows I can’t quite describe what I feel for him. Yet I’m expecting him to, what, fight for me? Declare his undying love for me? And now here Hunter is, asking me what’s going on between us, and I cannot for the life of me answer the question.

  “Summer,” he says roughly.

  I clamp my teeth over my bottom lip. I don’t like disappointing people, but I’m not sure there’s much of a choice at the moment. “I think I have to go,” I whisper.

  Hunter doesn’t respond.

  I lift my gaze to his. There isn’t an iota of surprise in his eyes.

  “Is it Fitz?” The words are curt, low.

  Despite the guilt and shame weakening my body, I force myself to say, “Yes.”

  His hard gaze slices into me and then through me. I couldn’t even hazard a guess as to what he’s thinking right now. And I’m not sure what he’s going to do. Drop his napkin on the table and calmly exit the restaurant? Lose his temper and call me a heartless bitch?

  He does neither. He scrapes his chair back and walks over to help me out of mine.

  “Come on. I’ll take you home.” He tosses a twenty on the table, way more money than necessary for two waters we didn’t even drink.

  Trying not to cry, I follow him to the door.

  Neither of us says a word on the drive home. It’s awkward as hell, and it only gets worse when Hunter stops in the driveway but doesn’t kill the engine.

  “You’re not coming in?” I ask, then curse myself for giving voice to the stupidest question in the world. Of course he’s not coming in. I just rejected him. It’s not like he’s going to sit on the couch with me while we watch 1D music videos on YouTube together.

  “Naah.” He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. He seems wired with energy, or maybe he’s impatient for me to get out of the car. “I can’t be in there right now. I’m gonna go out, find a
party.” He shrugs. “Don’t wait up.”

  “Text me if you decide to stay out all night so I don’t worry?”

  For the first time since I told him I was interested in Fitz, he reveals a flash of anger. With a cynical smile, he says, “I’m pretty sure you’ll be too busy to care what I’m doing tonight, Summer.”

  Guilt pierces into me. “Hunter…”

  Don’t be like this, I want to say, but how can I blame him? I agreed to go on a date with him, and ten minutes into it I told him I wanted to be with somebody else. That’s a crappy thing to do to someone, and I don’t know how I’ll ever make this up to him.

  “Thanks for driving me back,” I whisper.

  “Of course.”

  I reach over and gently touch his shoulder, and he winces as if I’ve hurt him. And I realize I have, only not physically. I hadn’t known he’d liked me this much. I thought it was more of a flirtation on his part.

  I pull the door handle and slide out of the Rover. I’ve barely taken a step before Hunter reverses out of the driveway. He drives off in a cloud of exhaust that burns my nostrils before floating away in the evening air.

  I feel awful as I let myself into the house. I guess Hollis went out, because he’s not in the living room, and his bedroom is empty when I pass the open doorway. I ignore my own room and walk to the master. No light spills into the hallway from beneath the door, but I know Fitz is home because his car’s in the driveway. Unless he went somewhere with Hollis, but I guess I’ll find out.

  I take a breath, gather my courage, and knock softly.

  No response.

  Crap. Maybe he did go out.

  I hesitate, just for a second, before turning the knob and easing the door forward. The room is bathed in shadows. I squint in the darkness and make out a bulky figure on the bed. He’s not under the covers, but a fleece throw is haphazardly draped over his lower body.

  “Fitz?”

  The mattress shifts. “Summer?” he says sleepily.

  “Yeah. I’m back.”

  He makes a drowsy sound, a cross between a moan and a rumble. It’s so frigging cute. “How long was I asleep for?”

  “Not long. It’s barely eight.”