Page 25 of All Your Pucking Secrets

But damn him for knowing just how to press my buttons. Especially now, when I’m still emotionally tender from my experience at the Kickoff party. I don’t want to be reminded of him, or of the fact that he supposedly saved me from a creep and comforted me during a panic attack.

I don’t know what to make of that, so it’s best if I don’t think of it. In order to keep him out of my head, the book has to go, and so does the necklace. If he refuses to take them back, I’ll just have to give them away or donate them. The library is always looking for rare editions.

It doesn’t matter how much I want it for myself. My peace of mind is more important.

Metal clinks on metal as a key turns in the lock, and then the door swings open. Martina breezes into the room, a wide smile on her face. Her plump cheeks are rosy, and she pauses to breathe in the scented air. She glances at me and notices the book in my hands and the discarded envelope.

“Oh, good,” she says. “You found your gift.”

“I did.” And now I feel like a kid with their hand caught in the cookie jar. “Did someone give this to you?”

“Mmhmm.” Her glossy pink lips adopt a sly slant.

“Who?” I don’t have the mental energy to play guessing games as she’d probably like me to. I know Tyler sent it, but I’m curious if he delivered it himself. If so, it means he knows where my room is, or at least what my roommate looks like.

She rolls her eyes. “You’re no fun. It was that hockey transfer student. Tall, blonde, built like Thor. I wouldn’t mind seeing his hammer—if you know what I mean.”

“Thanks.” I bite my tongue. For all that she’s a shameless flirt, Martina means well, so there’s no point snapping at her just because Tyler is throwing me off my game.

“So, what is it?” she asks, coming closer.

“A first edition collection of poems by the romantics.” I hold it up to show her. “Do you want it?”

She looks at me like I’m crazy. “Girl, no. If a guy like that wants to woo you, you let him.” She frowns, then adds, “Unless you’re dating someone, or identify as part of the rainbow spectrum that isn’t interested in men.”

“I’m straight,” I tell her, amused by the speculative gleam in her eye.

She throws up her hands. “Then what’s the problem? If you ask me, that’s a pretty romantic gift.”

It is. That’s the problem.

Tyler is being annoyingly thoughtful about trying to buy my forgiveness.

“I don’t want it,” I say. “Tyler and I have history, and it’s not the type I want to remember.”

Her deep brown eyes shine with sympathy. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I don’t have any use for a poetry book. You know I’m not much of a reader.”

I sigh. “You could sell it.”

“Or you could return it to him and say, ‘Thanks but no thanks’?”

Damn, I hate the fact she makes a valid point. Tyler’s family has money, but his father always kept him on a tight leash, so I don’t know how much he has personally or whether he can afford to throw it away. I should give him the chance to resell or return the book before I get rid of it.

“Maybe,” I mumble, my mind already busy trying to work out where I could track him down. I’ve given no thought to his living situation here.

Mostly because I’ve been doing my best not to think of him at all.

Is he in a dorm?

No, that doesn’t seem like his Dad’s style. He’d insist Tyler be in a fraternity or else live in an expensive apartment off campus.

I open my social media and search his name, frustrated that he pops up immediately because I’ve already cyber-stalked him several times. I don’t need to be reminded of my weakness.

I scroll through his information, looking for any hint of where he might live, but the sparse details don’t give me much to work with.

“You could wait for him after practice.”

I flinch, surprised that Martina managed to sneak up on me. She’s hovering over me, watching me behave like the kind of stalkery ex-girlfriend that guys warn each other about.

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