Page 100 of Wicked Serve

“He just keeps calling.”

I nearly snap that I hate him—because I do—but I know that despite everything, Nik doesn’t hate him, so I hold my tongue. I dance around an icy patch, sniffling from the cold.

“He has to know by now that you’re not going to play for his team.”

The thought of Nik back in Russia, alone with his father... I can’t entertain it. I know that Nik doesn’t want it either, so I have nothing to worry about, but I wish he’d kick him to the curb and never talk to him again. How can he call his son, much less want to look him in the eyes, after what he did to his mother? To him? The evidence is on Nik’s face.

“I don’t know. I keep telling him, but...”

“He’s trying to wear you down until you say yes.”

“That’s not going to happen.” He stops in place, chest heaving. Despite the cold, sweat trickles down his temple; we’ve pushed each other on this run, choosing the hillier parts of campus. After halting exercise for a week to let my tattoo heal, it’s been nice to get back into the routine. “But he’s my father, Isabelle.”

“I know that.”

“It’s just—it’s complicated.” He tucks a lock of hair underneath my headband. “Did you get the invitation samples?”

Whenever we talk about it, he says it’s complicated. I give him a look, but don’t press the issue. “Bex and James want to go with the cream and lavender.”

“That sounds nice.”

“We’re still deciding on a font, though. So many script fonts are very formal, and you know they’re going with more of a semiformal vibe, so it’s been tough to settle on something.”

“Am I going to get an invitation?” he asks, pulling me against the side of a building, ostensibly to clear the path for a tour group walking in our direction, but really, I know, to kiss me in front of other people on campus.

I let him do it, then poke him in the stomach. “Plus-ones don’t get their own invitations.”

“Plus-one. I like the sound of that.”

“You’ll come, won’t you? James and Bex want you there.”

“And you, I hope.”

“Of course.” My brother and Bex settled on an early May wedding date, hoping to take advantage of the springtime weather in New York and have time for a long honeymoon before prep for next football season kicks into gear. It’s a tight timeline to get everything together on the scale they want, but I’m throwing myself into the challenge. Katherine gave me full creative control and is just acting as a sounding board. I want her to feel confident about hiring me again this summer, and maybe even beyond.

“Then I promise I’ll be there.” He smiles, squinting in the winter sunshine.

I rise onto my tiptoes, pressing my lips against his cold cheek. He winds his arms around my waist. One hand slips low enough to squeeze my ass. I yelp, making him snort into my hair.

“Ugh, look at you two. Disgustingly adorable. Aaron, babe, you owe me twenty bucks.”

I turn at the sound of Victoria’s voice. “Torie!”

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been busy with wedding planning and she’s been focused on spring league, so we haven’t seen each other nearly enough. Now that I think of it, I need a margarita-and-movie night, stat. She weaves through the tour group, yanking me into a hug when she’s close enough.

Aaron trails behind her, swiping a hand through his long hair before settling a beat-up Tigers cap on his head. A smirk plays on his lips as he gives Nik a back-thumping bro hug. “Can’t believe you’re doing that with Callahan’s sister in public.”

“Hey,” I say, my voice muffled by Victoria’s shoulder. She’s wearing a ridiculously puffy black coat, plus a bright green knit cap. “For the record, I think PDA is very healthy. Not that it matters to you or Cooper.”

“I can totally tell what that one girl is thinking,” Victoria says, jerking her chin in the direction of a prospective student literally stopped on the sidewalk, looking at the four of us. I like her sense of style; she’d fit in on campus. “‘If I go here, maybe I’ll get with a super-hot hockey player too.’”

“Aw, I’m flattered,” Aaron says.

“Obviously I meant Nik.”

“There’s no way that Abney is hotter than me.”

“Wow,” Nik deadpans.

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