Page 11 of Wicked Serve

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

“How is she?”

“No idea. You know that.”

“Okay, sure, like you haven’t stalked her on Insta.”

“It doesn’t matter that she’s going to be there.” I scrape over a scuffed spot on the floor with my shoe. Of course I’ve searched for her Instagram, but I’m not about to admit that. Half the photos on her grid are of her with her family; our childhoods couldn’t have been more different if we tried. “I’m going to be on her brother’s team, and he already doesn’t like me, remember?”

Cricket’s eyes widen. “Oh, shit. Right.”

“And anyway, she can do better than me,” I say, scrubbing a hand through my hair.

Better that she settles down with a guy who deserves her, someone her brothers will never have to worry about when it comes to treating their little sister right. Someone who won’t dread the day his relationship turns him into his father.

“That’s not—”

“It’s true.” I make myself smirk. It’s a mask, and normally Cricket would be exempt from seeing it, but the last thing I need is her encouragement. I couldn’t even bring myself to give Isabelle a proper goodbye the last day of her internship; I left her asleep in her sublet. “When have you seen me do relationships? I’d break her heart.”

And maybe her, too.

Cricket studies me, clearly unconvinced. “But what about yours?”

Chapter 5

Izzy

“The semester technically hasn’t started yet,” Victoria says as she drags me by the hand to Haverhill House. “Listen to Alexis after tomorrow.”

I dig in my heels, stopping both of us in our tracks. I got dressed when she showed up at the house, armed with makeup and assurances that we’ll only stay at this party for a little while, but Coach’s words are still echoing in my mind. She didn’t explicitly tell me not to party, but surely “no distractions” also means “don’t get shit-faced at senior housing.”

On the other hand, Victoria does have a point. I’m sociable by nature, and maybe I’ll be able to focus on my classes better once I’ve scratched the party itch. Just a little, mind you. A couple of beers, a few dances, maybe some flirting. I could definitely use the latter, because I’m not going to forget about Nikolai until I find the right distraction.

“Two drinks,” I say, trying for a stern tone. Victoria’s lips twitch as she fights a smile. “Two drinks and like fifteen minutes of dancing. That’s it.”

“Yay!” She pulls me into a sticky hug. The late August air is irrepressibly humid; it’s going to be a swamp at Haverhill. Hopefully the beer is semi-cold. “This is going to be so much fun.”

Aside from being my best friend, Victoria is an excellent volleyball player. She plays libero, and even as a freshman last year, she led the defense with conviction. We met in middle school during volleyball camp, and we’ve only gotten closer over the years. Balancing the intense sports schedules of four kids wasn’t easy for my parents, and whenever a tournament of mine wasn’t at the top of the list, her family would keep an eye on me. We’d eat pizza in bed at the hotel while Friends played on the television, and the next day, try our best to dominate every set we played. I still get warm fuzzies whenever I think about how excited we were when we both got into McKee.

She marches down the sidewalk, forcing me to jog to keep up. “These heels aren’t meant for fast movement, you know.”

“The faster you go, the sooner we can get you laid.”

“I said flirting, Torie.”

“The best way to get over a breakup is with a rebound.”

“And you would know? You and Aaron are practically an old married couple.”

Victoria is dating Aaron Rembeau, the goaltender on Cooper’s team. It’s serious enough that she spent the majority of the summer at his family’s lake house in Michigan, tanning on his boat and bonding with his cousins. A tiny, selfish part of me hates that it worked out so well with her hockey player, but I shove that deep. Maybe I’ll get to plan the eventual Rembeau-Yoon wedding.

She smiles, twirling her hair around her finger. Thinking about Aaron’s six-pack, I’m sure. “Yeah. I love that goof.”

“Anyway, Nik and I were never dating. There’s nothing to get over.”

“You spent the summer screwing all around Manhattan. And the Hamptons.” She stops at the crest of the hill, putting her hands on her hips. Haverhill House—which is actually a collection of regular houses that the university bought and converted into off-campus housing for seniors—glitters just beyond, light spilling from the windows. “And wasn’t a yacht involved? I watched those private stories like a hawk.”

“It wasn’t his—whatever. It doesn’t matter. He’s not even here.” I take a couple of halting steps. Damn these stupid heels. “Wait up.”

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