Page 12 of Wicked Serve

The guy at the door gives us an appreciative look-over before waving us inside. The price of admission to a party like this—looking like a snack—never fails to gross me out, but I know I didn’t dress like this for the men at the party. Sure, they can look, but I squeezed myself into this tight yellow dress, strapped my feet into these death-heels, and put on a full face of makeup because I love looking hot.

“Drinks?” Victoria yells over the scream-shouts of Olivia Rodrigo.

Someone got a strobe light in here, making the throng of bodies dancing and chatting and hooking up look almost alien. The whole scene is already giving me a headache, but I dressed up and came all this way, so I just smile and nod.

I chug one beer, then another, and cut myself off there. Victoria does the same, then pulls me to the dance floor. We jump to the music, singing along to the lyrics and letting our high ponytails whip around. Sweat drips down my temple; it’s as humid in here as it was outside, but I know it just adds to the shine on my face. Glittery highlighter, clear lip gloss. Winged eyeliner that Victoria applied with a steady hand.

After a couple songs, I start to notice the stares. My heels make my legs look extra-long, and my bright dress is practically a beacon in the flash of the strobe light. Victoria spins me around, laughing as I nearly lose my balance. I do the same in retaliation, and we fall over each other. I’m only buzzed, but I can’t stop smiling. The energy of the music and the crowd around us is acting like magic, weaving a spell that keeps my hips moving.

Someone grips my wrist, turning me around.

It’s absurd, but I feel a pinch of disappointment when I see it’s just another guy with a too-charming smile. Strong jaw, trim waist, looking like he wishes he could taste me.

Nik is hours away, in Amherst. I have to get my head on straight. I’ll never move on if I can’t prove to myself that I’m capable of it.

I muster a smile of my own, so the guy pulls me close, grinding against me. I sway my hips to the music, breathing in the sour smell of his sweat. His hand skims up my side, settling on my rib cage. Possessive, even though I don’t know him. I turn in his embrace, hoping to at least ask his name. He takes that as permission to brush his fingers just above my ass.

The smile slips off my face. Why do guys always want to jump to sex? I’m sure if I gave him the right look, he’d find an unoccupied room in this house and pull a condom from his wallet. He’s not unattractive. He has a nice smile. If we met in class instead, and he asked me to dinner, I’d probably say yes. I don’t want to fall into last year’s pattern, settling for hookups that never led anywhere.

And yeah, fine, I spent the summer scratching that itch with Nik with no expectation of more. But despite the casualness, Nik cared about me. He might not have cared enough to stick around until I woke up, that last morning, but I didn’t mean absolutely nothing to him. The first time we met up, I asked him if he only wanted to sleep with me because it would be something to lord over Cooper. But he shook his head and said he noticed me for the first time last year, at the game UMass played at McKee. He said I was special, and I believed him.

A beam of light in a person.

So fucking beautiful.

The way he said my name never failed to make my pulse race.

“Isabelle,” someone says into my ear.

It was just like that. Just like—

My heart skips a beat.

I glance over my shoulder—and meet Nikolai’s gaze.

I’d know that face anywhere. Tousled brown hair and a face full of tantalizing angles. Deep, practically sinful eyes. A scar that slices from the bottom of his eyelid all the way to his jaw, giving his face undeniable seriousness. He commands—no, demands—attention.

And here he is, looking at the guy dancing with me like he wishes he could rip his head off.

I don’t hear the music anymore. I don’t feel the sweat on my skin. I don’t notice anything or anyone but him, smirking at me like he never left.

“Sunshine,” he purrs. “Did you miss me?”

Chapter 6

Nikolai

To my credit, I don’t punch the guy pawing at Isabelle. I don’t react when he tries to punch me, either, curses falling from his mouth like confetti. I do turn when he calls her a bitch, and my glare is enough to make him melt into the crowd. Drunken asshole.

I grip her hand in mine as I lead her away from the dance floor, through the house, and finally to the backyard. When I feel the hazy night air, I take a full breath for the first time since I realized I wasn’t imagining her.

She jerks her hand away. “Nik?”

I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans, studying her. I didn’t come to the party to find her—I just wanted to blow off some steam before I meet my new coach tomorrow—but she was impossible to ignore, dancing in the middle of the crowd. At first, I told myself I’d finish my beer and leave before she noticed me, but then she started dancing with that asshole, and something about the way she stiffened in his arms set off my alarm bells. I know I don’t have any more of a right to her than him, but fuck if I don’t feel that way. She was mine for three months and she’s still mine, never mind the weeks of silence. How the hell could I have thought this would fade the moment she wasn’t in my mother’s office every day? That I’d be able to stay away?

“It’s really you,” she breathes. “How—”

“Do you know that guy?”

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