Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1)(31)

“What?”

“Come here,” I repeat.

He leans forward.

“Turn around, you dumbass.”

“You have the strangest love language,” he mumbles, scooting so his back is facing me.

I press my fingers into his shoulder, feeling the muscles shift beneath my touch. I realize I’ve never touched him before. Not like this. I try to ignore my body’s reaction to the heat of his flesh, the strength of his muscles, the sound of his groan when his head rolls forward. I silently clear my throat, reclaim some form of sanity. “Are you going to go?”

“Huh?”

“To the party… are you going to go?”

“I don’t know. Do you think I should?”

I keep working his shoulder, below his shirt, skin on skin, up his neck and to his hairline and back again.

He moans. “Ava?”

“Huh?”

“Do you think I should go?”

“Probably. Team building. Blah blah blah.”

He chuckles.

I work on both shoulders, watching his muscles contract beneath my touch. Then I move up his neck, run my fingers through his hair.

“Goddammit, Ava,” he grunts, his hands covering mine, stopping me. “You’re making it really fucking hard.”

“What, being just friends?”

“Yeah… that, too.”





Chapter 22





Connor





I’ve never felt more out of place than I do standing in Rhys’s living room. There’s a Solo cup in my hand filled with beer, given to me by a server who clearly works for a company that gives zero shits about underage drinking. I thought it was just a team thing, but it looks like the entire school is here. Minus the one girl I wish was.

I sent Ava an SOS two minutes after I got here, but she hasn’t responded. And no matter how much I look at my phone, Karen doesn’t get the hint. She’s on my arm, practically hanging on for dear life, and I don’t even know how I got in this situation. “So, you totally should come!” she shouts over the music.

“What?” I yell.

“Next week. To my party. On my boat.” She narrows her eyes. “Have you been listening to me at all?”

“Yeah,” I lie, point to my ear. “It’s just hard to hear you with all the—” My phone vibrates, and I’m quick to check it.

Dad: No drinking tonight, and if you do, no driving. I mean it, Connor. I don’t feel like peeling your brains off the concrete.

Connor: Don’t stress. I’m not drinking.





A tip I learned a while ago is that people tend to leave you alone if you have a drink in your hand. Nobody checks if you’re drinking it. And I’m not stupid enough to drink and drive, especially since Dad has enough stories of car accidents to scar me for life.

“So, you’ll come?” Karen asks.

“Hey, where’s the bathroom?” I need out. Of this conversation and this room.

She points in the general direction of a large staircase, and maybe she’s beyond drunk, because in a house this big, there has to be at least five down here.

“I’ll catch you later, all right?” I don’t wait for a response. Instead, I make my way through the already half-drunk party and start for the stairs where I know I can at least get some room to breathe. At the top are two hallways, and honest to God, I wonder if one of them leads to the servant quarters because the house is that big and that lush that it wouldn’t surprise me if they had full-time help. And also, where the hell are Rhys’s parents? Where the hell is Rhys?

I open door after door looking for the bathroom just so I can shut myself in and get a moment of peace. It’s not like I’m not used to partying; I had my fair share back home, but they weren’t like this. I find the bathroom, but it’s occupied. Mitch has a girl pushed up against the counter, his pants down and her legs around him. “Sorry!” I shout.

“Ledger! What’s up, man?” Mitch laughs. “You want in? I don’t mind sharing.” There’s not enough eye bleach in the world to stop me from slamming that door shut.

The next door I open is an empty bedroom, thank fuck. Illuminated by a single lamp on the nightstand, I do a quick sweep of the room before declaring it safe. I close the door behind me. Lock it. And sit on the edge of the bed.

I look at my phone. Still no message.

Then I look around the room again, at the navy-blue paint and the Wildcats! Wildcats! Wildcats! poster. My eyes narrow, trying to adjust to the darkness. My gaze catches on a large framed picture on the wall. It’s the basketball team, Rhys front and center. Realization sinks in. I’m in his room. And because I’m bored, and maybe a little curious, I start to snoop. I scan the books on his shelf and the clothes in his closet that’s the size of my room. The guy’s got good taste in kicks, I’ll give him that. He owns every pair of Jordans ever released, but only in the classic colorways. Not going to lie, I’m a little jealous. I wonder if he’d notice a pair or two missing…

I look over his desk, boring, and then the massive pinboard above it filled with photographs. Mainly of him. Not surprising. I scan the pictures, one by one. His parents are in them, along with a girl I assume is his sister. And right in the middle, the largest picture there… I look closer, but it’s dark, and my eyes… my eyes might be deceiving me. I unpin it from the board and take a closer look. He’s in his JV jersey in the middle of the court with a girl in his arms. She’s wearing a cheerleader uniform, her hair braided to the side, with his jersey number painted on her cheek. He has his arms around her waist, her arms around his neck, and I fight the urge to rip the picture in half.