Page 18 of Wicked Serve

Victoria squeals. “So you have Shona, Izzy has her—”

“Don’t you dare. I haven’t even seen him since the party.”

“Right,” she says, dragging out the word. “I’m sure.”

I’m not lying; in the week since the party, I’ve stayed away from Nik. It’s been harder than I’d expect, at a school this large, but it’s like when I really want a pair of sold-out shoes and suddenly it seems like everyone is wearing them but me. A couple days ago, as I walked past the athlete gym, I saw him bench-pressing enough weight that I almost started drooling. Just yesterday, I nearly ran into him in the quad, but hid behind a shrub before he noticed me.

I still can’t believe he showed up out of the blue, asking me if I missed him.

Of course I missed him; I missed him before I even lost him. But that’s not the point. We were never dating, which means I don’t have the right to be upset by how things ended. The only thing more pathetic than getting upset at your former fling in a stupid party outfit complete with glitter would be pining over him, and as long as I avoid him, I can try to move on. Maybe I’ll get lucky and he’ll be gone for the NHL by Halloween. He told me over the summer that he wants his degree first, but a girl can dream.

“Really,” I say. “I’m chill. I’m moving on. My crush on Harry Styles is returning.”

I wonder what Nik thinks of McKee girls. Who knows, maybe he’s hooked up with a new girl each night this week, enjoying the fact that male athletes on this campus never have to go looking for company. Maybe the next time I see him, he’ll be holding hands with some gorgeous girl who—

“Izzy,” Ellie says, nudging my arm.

“Are you going to order?” the dude behind the counter asks.

I blink, my green-tinged daydreams scattering. “Oh, sorry. Yeah. Can I get an iced coffee with a pump of vanilla syrup?” I pull out my card, hoping to foot the whole bill before Victoria or Ellie offers, but someone else beats me to the chip scanner.

“No latte today, Isabelle?” Nik asks, tilting his head to the side as he tucks his credit card back into a leather wallet.

My heart jackrabbits as I glare at him. He’s got a smug look on his face, as if he’s thrilled to have surprised me. First the party, and now this. Where did he even come from? I glanced around when we arrived to make sure I wasn’t about to run into him, and I thought I was safe.

“This is the best day ever,” Victoria whispers. “Free coffee and a show.”

He looks good today, dressed in a gray T-shirt and dark wash jeans that I’m sure cost a couple hundred dollars each. I know what his wardrobe is like. Damp hair curls over his forehead. A leather messenger bag hangs from one shoulder, and somehow, the pen tucked behind his ear looks attractive, not douchey. He gives me a lopsided smile; it’s always a smirk, thanks to his scar.

I straighten. At least I put on more than just mascara this morning.

“I was about to pay for that.”

He hands me my drink. “I figured one more coffee run couldn’t hurt. Old times’ sake.”

My cheeks erupt in what I’m sure is a very noticeable blush. He bought my morning coffee at least a dozen times over the summer. I drank whole milk iced lattes with the most colorful flavors on the menu: orange, lavender, raspberry. He always got a black iced coffee, bitter enough to make me scrunch my nose when I kissed him. The best mornings were the ones when he could hang out with me for a while, instead of rushing off for a session with his trainer.

I stab a straw into the coffee lid. There’s no point in bringing up those memories. “Come on,” I tell Victoria and Ellie.

“What, no thank-you?”

I want nothing more than to thank him, except my thank-you would involve a kiss, so instead, I try for a smile. A polite but dismissive one, like you’d give the weird old guy staring at you on the subway platform. “Thanks. I need to get to class.”

“How is volleyball going? Did you talk to your coach yet?”

“It’s fine. And I did.” I step around him, ignoring the fluttering in my belly. “I’m going to be late.”

He flashes my friends a smile before guiding me forward, fingers brushing the small of my back. “I’ll walk you.”

I march to the door, knowing he’s right on my heels. Outside, before I can escape, he stops me in my tracks with a hand on my arm.

“Please, Isabelle. Let’s find a time to talk.” He glances around as he tugs me behind the nearest tree. The September sun filters through the still-green leaves. “I know you have a match later, but what about tomorrow? Dinner?”

I bite my lip, brushing the hair away from my face. I should have put it up before I left the gym; it’s annoyingly windy outside. Somehow, it doesn’t surprise me that he knows my volleyball schedule.

“There’s nothing to say.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

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