SWNOVELS The Enforcer: Chapter 6
still ticked off about how things went down with Nash yesterday, and to add insult to injury, he’s been living rent-free in my head ever since.
“We can’t be friends.”
Asshole.
Bass throbs in the background of Overtime as the music switches to a new R&B song by The Gruuv; it’s an angsty number about an old lover, and it could not be more ill-timed. The same could be said for coming here tonight. In all of my stress, I forgot the Grizzlies had a game at seven, and the place is packed from wall-to-wall with people flying high on a post-game win. By the time I realized my error, Jules and I already walked through the doors and snagged a booth. Since we made plans to meet other people here, it was too late to do anything about it.
I tear another piece off the paper coaster, adding it to the pile of tiny cardboard shreds next to me. Despite the celebratory atmosphere, I’m firmly in moping mode. All I want to do is go back to my apartment, cocoon myself inside a cozy blanket, and watch Love Island while eating a pint of cookie dough ice cream. Maybe have a bonfire with all those law of attraction books while I’m at it.
Julianna returns from the bathroom and slides into our booth. “I know you’re bummed, but at least we’re together, right?” She picks up her strawberry margarita glass, offering me a sympathetic smile over the salted rim.
“Right. That definitely helps.”
She beams. “Plus, my brother’s friend interned with Christina two years ago and he landed a spot training an AHL team right after graduation. She’s a freaking genius.”
“Totally.” I force a smile, trying to sound enthusiastic, but it comes out flat. Part of me feels ungrateful. Objectively, this opportunity is an amazing career stepping-stone. It should help me after graduation . . . if I survive that long.
After yesterday, I’ve been having some serious second thoughts about not asking for a reassignment. I’m my own worst enemy—in more ways than one. Because the first thing I did last night when I got home was something most people do far sooner, post-breakup.
The thing I said could only bring trouble.
The thing I swore I’d never do.
I looked up my ex.
And I went deep. First, I discovered that Nash either has zero social media presence or it’s so locked-down he’s a ghost. Then I fell down a rabbit hole of newspaper articles, Internet forum gossip, and wild speculation, trying to piece together the time I missed.
Shortly after we broke up, Nash was selected as a second-round draft pick by Chicago, which is a huge accomplishment in and of itself. He had an amazing sophomore year before experiencing an undisclosed injury last January, prompting rumors and conjecture regarding the nature of his issue and whether he had surgery. Based on his chart and his assessment, I already know it was his shoulder, and he didn’t.
After missing half a season, he must be under an unimaginable amount of pressure to perform this year.
“Still,” Julianna says. “The whole thing is kind of wild, huh?”
“Very unexpected,” I reply truthfully, finishing the last of my second rum and Coke. As the alcohol starts to kick in, warmth spreads through my body and I begin to unravel, decompressing from the ball of stress I’d turned into. Maybe things will be okay.
But probably not.
“It’ll be great having Preston with us too,” Julianna adds.
Immediately, my unraveling stops. Will it? Preston and I have been friends for more than a year, but lately, we’ve had this different, flirty dynamic going on. Since he’s in the same program, it’s made for some awkward situations where neither of us knows how to act. We’re not quite “just friends” anymore, but we’re not quite more than that, either. We’re stuck firmly in the friendship gray zone.
Technically, nothing has happened between us yet. We’ve been doing a bit of a dance, alternating between getting closer and drifting further apart. More specifically, he keeps trying to get closer, and I keep pulling back. He’s broached the subject of “us” a few times now and I’ve blown it off, telling him I’m not ready for anything serious right now.
I don’t know what my problem is. Preston is perfect, both on paper and in-person. He comes from a nice family and he’s the kind of guy who’s destined to get married and have a nice family of his own someday, replete with a big white wedding, white picket fence, a couple of kids, and the whole nine yards. My ten-year plan includes the same things, so it’s a logical match. Everything I want. Or should want, at least. So why don’t I?
Claire claims I’m afraid of getting hurt again, and she’s probably right. I’ve had a few boyfriends since Nash, but I haven’t let anyone else into my heart. Because he didn’t just break it—he decimated it.
When I don’t respond, Julianna looks at me inquisitively. “What’s going on with you and Preston, anyway? Is it going to be weird to be working together?”
“No, it’s okay. I mean, I’m okay. I don’t know about him. He seems okay. I’m sure we’re okay.” I wave her off, but my rambling and repetitive word use is a dead giveaway that things are not even a little bit okay.
“Are you sure?” Julianna tilts her head.
I swallow what feels like a mouthful of gravel. “Yup.” Being stuck with Preston and Nash in the same room every day. Awesome. I haven’t even dated that many guys. What are the odds of this happening?
Her coral-painted lips fold into a frown, but she says nothing. She doesn’t need to, it’s more than obvious that I’m hiding something.
“Coach Ward is a silver fox, huh?” I offer, trying to change the subject. It’s true; I’ve never been super into older men, but he’s the exception. He’ll make for nice eye candy while the rest of the world burns down at my feet.
“Right?” Julianna’s hazel eyes widen. “Lucky Mrs. Ward.”
A gust of cool air whooshes past as the double doors behind us burst open, and a mass of students push into the pub. Most are clad in black-and-white Grizzlies gear, coming from the home game that just wrapped up. I spot Claire in the crowd, and she gives us a wave, pointing at the bar to indicate that she’s going to get a drink.
Behind her is a group of strangers, plus someone I recognize—Vaughn, Nash’s best friend and a forward for the Grizzlies. When Vaughn turns, I catch a glimpse of who’s standing behind him, and my heart comes to a screeching halt. If I were hooked up to an electrocardiogram, it would flatline.
Because standing less than twenty feet away is Nash.
He turns back to Vaughn, shaking his head and laughing. They’re accompanied by the rest of the team and, of course, a generous handful of drop-dead gorgeous girls who are hanging all over them. Clearly, nothing’s changed on that front.
“Oh my God.” Ducking, I try to make myself less visible. I knew coming here on game night was a mistake; we should have left while we still had the chance. “Let me come sit beside you.”
Stealing another glance in Nash’s direction, I confirm he hasn’t seen me yet. If I can make this fast, hopefully he won’t. Julianna turns around and cranes her neck, trying to see what the issue is, but I’m already out of my seat, gesturing for her to stay down. Pulse galloping, I slide in beside her, safely hidden behind the tall back of the vinyl booth.
“What on earth is going on?” she asks.
“Nash just walked in.”
Julianna grimaces. “You’re hiding from him?”
It doesn’t make sense to me, either, considering I’m about to spend an entire semester working with Nash and his team. But I’m not ready to face him again, especially not without the opportunity to prepare myself first via rehearsal and self-administered pep talks. Maybe some prescription sedatives, too.
“I’m not hiding from him. I just don’t want him to see me.” Quickly, I add, “Don’t tell Claire I’m hiding from him. She’ll tell me I should keep my chin held high and all that jazz, and I’m not in the mood.”
Claire strolls up, trademark vodka cranberry in hand, and slips into the vacant spot where I was sitting. “Are we playing musical chairs, or what?”
“There was a draft,” I lie, trying in vain to drain additional alcohol from my empty glass. Realization dawns on Julianna’s face that I can’t risk going up to the bar and being seen.
“I’m going to get us refills,” she announces. “Be right back.”
I slide out of the booth to let her out, shooting her an appreciative look. “Thank you.”
“So? How was your first week?” Claire sets down her drink, leaning over the table expectantly.
“About as good as you’d expect, which is to say, awful.”
“I bet.” Sympathy flashes across her face. “It’s not too late to ask for a different placement. If you explained the situation, I’m sure the department would understand. I mean, it’s not your fault.”
Over by the bar, Preston and his friend Silas walk up to join Julianna. They were both at the Grizzlies’ game tonight, and neither knows about my history with Nash. If I have my way, that’s how it’ll stay. The fewer people gawking at this trainwreck of a semester, the better.
“I don’t want Preston hearing about this, okay? We can recap later at home.”
Claire’s lips roll into a line like she wants to argue, and I’m grateful she doesn’t. We discuss her capstone marketing presentation for Gatorade while the hockey team grabs a table in the opposite corner, placing Nash in my line of sight with his back turned away. We’re across the room so fortunately, he doesn’t seem to notice me.
But I can’t not notice him.
And the longer I look at him, the more I realize I’m not prepared to face him all semester.
Preston, Silas, and Julianna turn away from the bar with a fresh round of drinks. As they pass by the groups of tables, four girls huddled near the entrance openly ogle Preston. At six feet tall, with perfectly tousled sandy hair, and a dimple in one cheek, it’s a common occurrence. Despite that, he’s oblivious to the effect he has on them. It’s not that he lacks confidence, it’s that he’s the golden retriever of men; hopelessly good-natured and too pure for his world.
Probably too pure for me, too, but that’s another problem entirely.
Julianna passes me my drink, and I down half of it in two large gulps. She shoots me a worried look. Preston eases into the spot where she had been earlier, next to me. A wave of his cologne floats over to me, pleasant and clean smelling, but it doesn’t make my stomach do a somersault like Nash’s cologne.
I wish it did.
Preston bumps me playfully with his shoulder. “You must be pumped about this semester, huh? I know you love hockey.”
“So pumped,” I agree, but it comes out flatter than a deflated balloon.
Something flashes across his face, a mixture of confusion and disbelief. Clearly, I’m not selling it. Had I known what this semester had in store for me, I would have invested in acting classes over the summer.
Much as I try, I can’t seem to feign cheer with the rest of the group, and by the time I finish my third drink, it’s obvious that I’m miserable. Tipsy, but miserable. I keep catching myself staring at Nash, forcing myself to look away, trying to make conversation with everyone at our table, and finding my eyes drifting back in his direction. Rinse and repeat, like some toxic cycle.
Preston shifts to face me, his slate-blue eyes scanning my face. “How did your assessments go? We didn’t get a chance to finish recapping earlier.”
“They went pretty well. It’s just been a long week. You know, didn’t sleep well with all of the anticipation and now it’s catching up to me.” This seems like a perfect excuse to bail, so I add, “I think I’m going to call it a night, actually.”
Claire is lost in conversation with Silas, who she’s been rocking a crush on forever, but Julianna’s gaze rockets over to me. “Do you want me to leave with you?”
That had been our plan—split a rideshare back to the apartment later. Still, I’m willing to suck it up and pay for it myself if it means escaping my elephant ex lurking in the corner of the room. It’s not even eleven p.m., and Julianna seems to be having fun. I don’t want to drag her down with me.
“I’ll drive you,” Preston offers, pointing to his half-empty pint of beer. “This is only my first.”
“Thank you, but you don’t have to,” I tell him. “You guys only got here an hour ago.”
He reaches for his jacket and waves me off. “It’s no problem.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, debating whether to argue. It’s hard to justify saying no without sounding rude, and if I’m being honest, I’m not a huge fan of taking rideshares alone. It’s always made me feel uneasy.
“Okay. Thanks.”
There’s also a teeny, tiny, petty part of me that likes the idea of Nash potentially seeing me walk out of here with another guy. I know it’s awful. I know it’s wrong. But it doesn’t change the fact that I do. After the way he acted toward me, it would be sweet in-your-face.
Of course, that’s assuming Nash even cares, which is a big assumption to make. There are countless tales floating around campus about the girls he’s hooked up with since we broke up. While I don’t always believe the rumor mill, I’ve heard enough to know this is a “where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” type of situation.
Just one reason of many why I need to steer clear of him, so I don’t get burned—again.