Page 19 of Wicked Serve

I practically fling my hair over my shoulder. A piece falls back over my eyes. “Look—”

“Here,” he says, pulling a scrunchie out of his bag. A pink scrunchie, to be exact. A scrunchie I lost one day after an impromptu and ill-advised trip to Jones Beach with the guy holding it out.

I stare at it like it’s poisonous. “You found it? And kept it?”

He gives it a shake. “It’s yours.”

Our fingers brush as I take it, sending a tiny, delicious lick of warmth through me. I smooth my hair into a ponytail, willing away my flush. It’s just a scrunchie, after all.

“Found it in my cupholder,” he adds, half smiling. “Remember when you—”

“Why are you toying with me?” I bet I could finish his sentence; he’s thinking about when I put my hair up to blow him while we were both sunburnt and sandy and craving cold beers. I banish the thought. “You never—we never—”

His gaze doesn’t leave mine. “You know me better than that.”

“We can’t do this.” I take a step back. “Summer’s over.”

“And things look a hell of a lot different now.”

“So?” I blink, emotion crowding my throat. “You can’t tease me just because I’m the convenient option.”

“Is that what you really think I’m doing?” He traces the side of my face, fingers hooking on my chin.

This close to him, I feel the power in his body—and remember exactly how he used that to make me scream. Every intimate encounter before him ended in disappointment, but he made me feel so wanted, so good. A tangle in the bedsheets meant orgasms so intense I cried and him praising me for it in his lowest, roughest voice.

Good girl, Isabelle. So perfect for me, like sunshine after a storm.

I want to melt into him, but instead, I steel my spine. “I’m sure dozens of girls are dying for a shot with McKee’s newest hockey star.”

He tugs on my ponytail, gaze darkening. “And I haven’t noticed a single one, sunshine.”

My heart skips a beat or five. The ponytail move is bad enough, but calling me sunshine again?

I should leave. Go to class. He’s just saying whatever he thinks will get me to agree to one last hookup, and I’m falling for it. And yet I can’t help but sway closer, inch by breathless inch... until my lips brush his.

My entire body sparks at the light contact. I relish his sharp intake of breath, gripping his shirt even tighter as I swipe my tongue over the seam of his lips. His familiar, clean scent makes me shiver. He slides an arm around my waist, holding me close, my coffee nearly spilling over our shoes.

For one perfect, sparkling moment, it’s July again, and I’m drunk on him.

Then my eyes open, and reality crashes through. I jerk away, hitting my hip on his bag and stumbling.

“Sorry, sorry. That was just—a thank-you. A thank-you for the coffee.”

It’s just a kiss. Kisses don’t count for anything.

I make a break for my building, and this time he doesn’t try to follow me.

Chapter 9

Nikolai

Five missed calls from Dad.

The news took longer to reach him than I thought it would.

I ignore my phone, trying to focus on the reading for my class on modern Russian politics. I pick up my highlighter, but the words—English and Russian alike—swim in front of my eyes. I wonder if Donna enrolling me in this class is Grandfather’s idea of a joke.

My phone buzzes yet again. The girl sitting across from me raises her head, smacking her bubble gum.

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