“Are you even listening to me?” Ponytail asked.
“Yeah, sure,” Jack lied.
“So what do you think?”
“About what?”
“Forget it. I’m getting another drink.” She left.
Doll Face was still talking to Peter when she noticed her friend was gone.
“I’d better check on my friend,” she told Peter. Her tone suggested she didn’t actually want to. Jack read her imaginary subtitles: “I want you to tell me to ignore my friend and ask me to stay here.”
Jack waited for Peter to use one of his usual get-lucky lines. If he left with this girl, his relationship with Ice would end before it even started.
Instead, Peter just shrugged. “Sure,” he said, lifting his glass to drain the last inch of his beer. “I’m heading home anyway.”
Hit by her second rejection of the night, Doll Face left tight-lipped.
Jack was shocked and unnerved. True, the team never stayed out late or for more than a light beer during the season, but that didn’t mean they didn’t pick up girls on the way. It wasn’t like Peter to pass on an opportunity like this.
The team left together, and they paused outside the pub in the cool night air to say goodbye and part ways. Scott and David headed down Cambridge St. with Matt and Blake, while Peter and Jack left in the opposite direction up Oxford St.
“Dude,” Jack said as they walked. “That girl you blew off was hot.”
“My man,” Peter sighed. “She was.”
“How come she’s not headed home with you?”
“I have a date with Alice tomorrow.”
“Oh, so now you’re going exclusive?”
Peter stopped. “Sullivan, if you have a problem with me dating one of your friends, just come out with it and say so.”
“I don’t have a problem with you dating anyone,” Jack lied. “But I care about her and I don’t want to see her get hurt.”
“So why did you try to fix me up with a blonde doll tonight?”
“I didn’t. I was talking to her friend.”
Peter ignored his lie. “Listen, my man, I get it. Alice is your friend; I told you, I have my white gloves on.” He lifted his hands and wiggled his fingers. “So, did I pass the test?”
Jack nodded stiffly. Peter was too smart for his own good, only he had no idea how badly Jack wanted him to fail, not pass.
Thirteen
Alice
For her date with Peter, Alice decided to wear a long, knitted dress buttoned up at the front and ankle boots. Peter had given her his address, so at five in the evening she left her building and headed for his house. She was both excited and anxious. College guy’s houses could be scary. They could range from generally unclean to sanitary service emergency. And the bathrooms… ew. The only boy’s room she’d ever seen cleaner than hers was Jack’s; he was too fastidious not to clean after himself. Not that it mattered. Other than for group projects, they weren’t going to use his room for any extracurricular activities.
She had to stop thinking about Jack. He wasn’t a variable in her sentimental equation anymore. She was going on a date with Peter, not Jack. The tall, blue-eyed team captain needed to be her sole focus. What would Peter’s house be like? Alice was about to find out. She stopped in front of a mahogany wood-framed house, a duplex actually, and double checked the address before ringing the bell.
Peter came to the door wearing gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt. Why are guys in sweatpants instantaneously ten times hotter?
They hugged on the threshold and he showed her inside. The house smelled of eggs but in a good way. Despite this being a college-boys-inhabited apartment, the place didn’t look too dirty. Not stark clean, but not gross either.
Alice followed Peter behind the kitchen bar where he had two pans on the stove.
“Mmm.” She inhaled deeply. “Smells good. How come you can cook?”
“I’m part Italian on my mother’s side. She taught me.”
“Wow. Can you speak Italian?”
“Un po’.”
“That sounds like Spanish, un poco. How about something more elaborate?”
“All right. Sei bella come il sole.”
Alice recognized the word “bella.” He must have paid her a compliment of some kind. Hearing him speak Italian was too thrilling to be wise. So she moved on to safer topics. “That was cool. What are you making for dinner?”
“Grazie. And I’m making spaghetti carbonara. Please tell me you’re not a trouble-eater.”
“Trouble-eater?”
“Yeah, you know, vegetarian, pescatarian, gluten-hater, or something like that.”
“I’m not, I swear. I love pasta, and I couldn’t live without bacon.”
“Great, because this recipe has both. I’ve opened the wine if you want to pour us a glass.”
Alice turned toward the bar where the opened wine bottle and glasses were. This was all very grown up. Much more of a mature date than what she would have expected from a college boy. It was the kind of date Ethan would have taken her on.
She winced at the thought of her ex. Her heart was still a bit sore from the breakup—er, dismissal. In the span of two weeks, her boyfriend had dumped her and her best friend had returned her romantic advances with the warmth of an ice block. If it weren’t for Peter, she’d be at an all-time low. He was the perfect distraction, one that could cook delicious pasta with loads of bacon in it, judging from the smell.
Alice poured the wine—red, of course—and handed Peter a glass. “So, you live here alone?”
“No, I have a roommate. He’s visiting his family this weekend, and he doesn’t have classes on Monday, the lucky bastard,” Peter said. “He’ll be back tomorrow night.”
Leaving them alone in the house for the entire evening. Well-played. Alice wasn’t sure if she wanted to sleep with Peter tonight. As dates went, it was so far so good, but her mind wasn’t made up yet. She decided to go with the flow and see where the evening would lead.
Alice didn’t comment on the Home Alone situation, so she just lifted her glass and said, “Cheers.” She clinked her glass against his and they both took a sip.
Peter started working on the sauce while Alice hovered behind him. He bent over a bowl beating raw eggs with a fork and mixing them with some kind of grated cheese. Watching him cook made him sexier than usual. He still hadn’t kissed her, although she wished he would.
He lifted the lid off the stockpot, probably to check if the water was boiling, which it was. Then he threw some salt in, followed by the spaghetti, set a timer on his phone, and turned to her.
“Did you enjoy the game last night?” he asked.
“Actually, I did.”
“You seem surprised.”
“I am a bit. I thought sports were boring, but when you have a team to cheer for, it’s exhilarating.” She beamed at him. “Congratulations on the win.”
Peter shrugged. “Thanks. We didn’t play at our best, though, and the season is long.”
“Madison said Harvard was a bit on the cheap side, as basketball pavilions go.”
“She’s right,” Peter agreed, surprising Alice. “But a degree from Harvard is a degree from Harvard. There’s no topping that.”
“So you chose a better school with a less-than-stellar team?”
“Yeah, basically.”
“Even if you’re shooting for the NBA?” Alice asked.
“Scouts will spot talent no matter the team you play on, and I could get a serious injury at any point in my career. A good degree never goes away.”
Peter was proving to be more levelheaded than she’d expected.
“Cheers to that,” Alice said, taking another sip of wine.
Peter checked the timer. “The pasta will be ready in a minute,” he said, and came closer to her. She was leaning with her back against the kitchen bar, and he trapped her between it and his body. He set his glass on the bar, too
k hers away, and put it down next to his. “Which means I have exactly sixty seconds left to kiss you.”
He wrapped his arms around her back and pressed his lips to hers. Alice’s entire body warmed, an electric current spreading through her from head to toe. When the beeping timer put an end to the kiss, Alice wished pasta took longer to cook.
“You can sit down,” Peter said, pointing her toward the table. “I’ll bring the pasta over in a second.”
Alice noticed the laid table for the first time. The living area was an open space that included the kitchen, the main living room, and a small dining area on the side. The table setting wasn’t too fancy, but, again, impressive for an alleged college jock.
“Mmm, this is delicious,” Alice said after tasting the first forkful of spaghetti. “You have to give me the recipe.”
Peter shook his head, smiling. “Not possible. If you want real Italian pasta, you’ll have to come to me.”
Was he planning another date already? “You mean you want me to knock on your door whenever I’m craving great pasta?” she teased. “That could become a problem.”
“With you, it wouldn’t be.”
Bit cheesy, but Alice let it slide, accepting the compliment. A girl could get used to wonderful homemade dinners and a stream of compliments coming from a smoking hot, tall guy in sweatpants.
“I haven’t made any dessert,” Peter said once they’d finished eating the pasta.
“Oh, that’s all right.” Alice patted her belly. “I’m already so full.”
“Want to finish the wine on the couch?”
Heat rose in her cheeks. She was certain the couch was heavy-making-out territory. “Sure.”
Peter emptied the bottle into their glasses and picked them both up, guiding the way to the living room. They sat almost on top of each other, her legs across his lap, her back leaning against the puffy couch arm. They chatted a little longer, Peter casually stroking her shins as they talked. Her head was spinning a little—because of the wine, or because of Peter, she couldn’t tell.
I like him, she realized. A lot. The night they’d met, their first date, and now tonight—everything with him was perfect, exciting, new. Peter wasn’t the superficial jerk Jack insisted he was.
Jack. She didn’t want to think about him or her unrequited love for him ever again. Alice wanted to close that book and move onto a much more interesting read.
When her glass was empty, Peter took it from her and set it on the coffee table. He pulled her fully onto his lap and they started kissing. After a while, he flipped them over and laid her on the cushions, pressing his body on top of hers. That’s when Alice knew they weren’t simply going to make out and then say goodnight—she was aching for more, and she could tell he was too. Peter was an amazing kisser, and her toes curled as she imagined what he would do to her in a bed.
Alice tried to stay in the moment and not think what it’d feel like if it was Jack on top of her. She needed to move on with her life. She was too old to believe in fairytales; time to grow up. Ethan, Jack… they were her past. Peter was her present.
Fourteen
Jack
Jack wanted to kill someone. A very specific someone. Sulking, he watched Alice walk into their first Monday class with her cheeks flushed from the cold and a dreamy smile on her lips—she was practically glowing. Peter hadn’t given Jack any specifics at practice, which was the first red flag. But his smug, stupid face and confident smirk had hinted at more than enough for Jack to figure out that his captain had gotten lucky with Ice.
They’d slept together. Jack had no doubts. The thought was like a sucker punch to his guts. He was rotten jealous; there was no denying it at this point. He’d always thought he was fine with Alice being his friend and nothing more, a platonic relationship. Wrong. When she’d tried to kiss him, something had stirred in him, and seeing her with Peter was torture. Thinking of them together turned his stomach in a washing machine spinning at full speed.
For the first time, Jack had arrived at a lecture before Alice. He was usually late as he had to run all the way across campus from the gym after practice. Today, he’d managed to get in at the top of the hour and Alice was fifteen minutes late. Ice was never late. Had Peter given her such mind-blowing sex that she’d had trouble getting up this morning? Jack’s stomach churned again.
What now? Should he tell her? Tell her what, exactly? Accuse her of having had sex with Peter? Demand an explanation? Or go for something more along the lines of, “Hey, Ice, remember the other day when you tried to kiss me and I told you it wasn’t going to happen between us because we’re just friends? I was kidding. Let’s get together.”
She would laugh in his face. Coming clean with her now would be a disaster, and Jack still wasn’t sure starting a relationship with Ice was right. What if he screwed up again? He’d already lost one best friend because he’d thought he was in love with Felicity when he wasn’t. He’d mistaken familiarity and attraction for something they weren’t. Was he misinterpreting plain territorial jealousy for deeper feelings here? Jack didn’t know what he felt for Alice or if he should be with her; the only clear certainty in his mind was that she shouldn’t be with Peter.
If he’d never cared who Alice dated before, why the change now? What if Alice wasn’t the problem? Maybe it was Peter. Jack didn’t like his captain invading his turf. Yeah, that must’ve been it. Male competition was his problem, not his non-existing-before-two-weeks-ago feelings for Ice. Jack had better play it cool with both of them. Their relationship would evaporate just like all the other relationships Peter had. He shouldn’t worry. This problem would solve itself.
Still, when Alice sat next to him and uttered a cheerful, “Hey!” Jack felt like punching something—no, someone.
“Hi,” he replied stiffly. “Had a good weekend?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Just the usual: practice, game, homework.”
“Yeah, I saw the game. It was, uh, cool.”
“I played like crap.”
“The team won; it’s all that matters.”
“Yeah, scoring is all that usually matters with basketball players.”
He noticed Alice stiffen in her chair.
“Are you having a bad morning?” she asked.
“You could say that.” Jack sneered. “For one, it started with me having to listen to Peter bragging about scoring with you.”
“He did what?” Alice hissed. “Did he tell the entire team we had sex?”
Jack felt as if he’d just been punched in the stomach. So I was right—it did happen. He wanted to lie to her and claim Peter had gone bragging to everyone—what better way to drive a wedge in their relationship?—but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “No, he just told me,” Jack admitted. “Actually, he didn’t say it—but I can read between the lines. Thank you for the confirmation.”
Alice blushed. She hid her face by bending forward to take her notepad out of her messenger bag.
“So how was it?” Jack asked. He couldn’t help his morbid curiosity.
“You’ve never asked me about sex with other guys before,” Alice whispered.
“You’ve never dated any of my friends before.”
“Oh, so that gives you kiss-and-tell privileges?” She scowled at him. “I don’t think so.”
“If it sucked, you can just say it.”
“No, it didn’t suck. It was the best sex of my life,” Alice whispered furiously. “Happy now?”
Yeah, Jack had gotten what he wanted. He basked in the bitter satisfaction of having tricked her into saying what gave pain to no one but himself.
“Mr. Sullivan, why don’t you answer the question?” Professor Procter targeted Jack. “You seem pretty busy discussing hypotheses with Miss Brown.”
Luckily, Jack’s subconscious had been half-following the lecture, and he was able to cook up a half-decent answer. After the rebuke, he and Alice didn’t exchange another word
for the rest of the class, and Jack made himself promise he would never discuss Peter with Alice ever again—especially not how good his captain was in bed.
Live and let live was truly the best solution. Jack would let Peter ruin everything on his own. No need to interfere or say anything. Peter would dig his own grave, eventually.
***
Jack’s do-nothing-and-life-will-take-care-of-it plan failed miserably. Two months later, Alice and Peter were still dating. Peter had either become monogamous or was smart enough not to let Jack catch him with some other girl. To be honest, Jack really believed Peter was being faithful to Alice. What with their super-packed schedule, Jack didn’t see how Peter could fit in another woman; it was nearly impossible. The thought gave him little consolation.
Besides his mood, Jack’s performance on the basketball field had suffered too. Alice had become a regular presence at their home games, keeping Jack angry and distracted. Not a good combination when you were playing a team game and all you wanted to do was strangle your captain. Coach Morrison noticed something was up, but Jack refused to provide any explanation, so the coach made him play the bench more often than the court.
On top of everything else, his dating life was nonexistent. All of a sudden, women who were not Ice seemed dull to him. Jack didn’t see the point in sleeping with any of them anymore. The notion that he didn’t want to sleep with anyone else because of Alice surprised and scared him. The only person who knew of this turmoil was his friend Felicity. Over the phone, she’d told him—not without a hint of regret in her voice—that he’d finally fallen in love with someone. And that not wanting to sleep with anyone else because they weren’t Alice was exactly what being in love felt like.
Jack didn’t know what to do with this unwelcome intel on his feelings. Telling Ice now, when she already had a boyfriend, would be a stupid move. Also, the possibility that she could turn him down left him in a state of panic. Was this how Ice had felt after the library incident? Why had he been so stupid? In the last few months, Jack had relived that afternoon over and over in his head. In every single one of his fantasies, he had scooped Alice into his arms and kissed her back. How could he have been so stupid, and how could Ice have moved on so quickly?