Page 120 of Wicked Serve

I meet Cooper’s gaze. He nods at me.

If he knew what I dreamt about last night, I doubt he’d be doing this. He’d want me away from his sister as fast as humanly possible. But I just return his nod, closing my fist over the keys. The cold metal digs into my palm. “Thank you.”

Stupid, stupid. And yet there’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be than right here. However selfish, I want to be by Isabelle’s side. The more time we spend together, the deeper I fall. She’s everything I want, everything I thought I could never have. If I make a mistake—if the switch flicks at the exact wrong moment, proving my grandfather right—I don’t know how I’d live with myself.

If she’s sunshine, I’m the guy who hopes it never starts raining.

But deep down, I worry that I’m the typhoon.

Chapter 57

Izzy

“Yeah, I’m sending over their portfolios now.” I hit send on the email open on my laptop, juggling my phone between my ear and shoulder. “I think having the wedding video will be really fun. Imagine when Charlie gets old enough to watch it.”

“I know, right?” Bex says. “By the way, the Polaroid camera idea was genius. We definitely want to do it, and the photo booth.”

I open the notes app on my phone, jotting down reminders about both. “That’s so great. We don’t want the event to be overly focused on football. It’s for both of you, it should represent who you are, too.”

“You’re so sweet,” she says. “And I think it’ll be fun to see what everyone decides to photograph, you know? I’m sure we’ll all see the day differently.”

“Totally.” I get up from the kitchen table to refill my coffee mug. “Let me start pricing out the photo booths.”

“Awesome.” There’s a pause, and then a sigh. “Crap, I have clients coming in a couple minutes. Text me if you have any other questions, okay? You’re killing it, Iz. Happy to hear about the volleyball, too.”

I check the time as I walk upstairs. Usually, Nik is up and about at this hour on Fridays, getting ready for his individual training session with the assistant coaches, but I haven’t seen him since I rolled out of bed. I have a million things to do before class later, but I don’t want him to be late if—highly unlikely, but still—he overslept.

I open the door to the bedroom slowly, poking my head in. “Babe? You up?”

He isn’t in bed, but the bathroom door is open, light spilling into the darkened bedroom. I’m about to head back downstairs when I hear something clatter. I put my coffee on my desk, hurrying to the bathroom.

Nik’s standing at the sink, frowning at it. His toothbrush is in the basin. His cheeks are flushed, eyes glassy. He runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up at odd angles.

“Hey, are you okay?” I frown, reaching over to turn off the faucet.

He shakes his head once, violently, as if to wake himself up. “Yes. Sorry. I’m just...”

I feel his forehead with the back of my hand.

“Wait. Nik. You’re burning up.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re absolutely not fine. You’re sick.” I tug him in the direction of the bedroom, but he digs his heels in. “You need to go back to bed.”

“I need to get to the rink. What time is it?”

He tries to pull my phone out of my pocket, presumably to look at the time, but I slap his hand away. “You can’t be serious. You look awful. No offense.”

He snorts. “I’ve skated through worse.”

“Well, not today.”

He manages to snag my phone, groaning when he sees the time. “Shit. I’m going to be late.”

“Just call your coach and tell him you’re sick. I’ll make you some breakfast. Do you want toast? We have rye bread.”

I block the doorway so he can’t slip past me to get dressed. My heart is fond, but my brain is ticked off. Not at him. I’d bet all the shoes in my closet that his father never let him have a day off. He’s practically swaying on his feet; there’s no way he doesn’t have a fever. He needs to rest, and yet by the way he’s glaring at me, he thinks he’s somehow capable of conducting a full workout right now.

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