Page 37 of Wicked Serve

“I mostly had tutors, to keep up with hockey training.” He snorts, shaking his head. “She threw some really wild parties, though. Flew half her class year to Ibiza for her eighteenth birthday.”

“Holy crap, your cousin is a badass.” I wanted to meet Cricket over the summer, but our schedules never aligned. It was for the best, anyway; only a girlfriend would meet family like that. From the way Nik talks about her, she’s the closest thing he has to a sister.

He nudges me playfully. “What about you? You’ve probably had some fun birthdays.”

“Um, yeah. My family has this tradition—each birthday is like, Izzy Day, or Cooper Day. We do something fun and exclusive together.”

“That’s sweet. What was your best one?”

My heart seizes. “Um...”

He frowns at the look on my face. “Sore subject?”

“No, I’ve had some good ones. Just not recently.” I should move on, talk about something else, but for whatever reason, I keep going. “It’s just, my ex-boyfriend stood me up on my seventeenth birthday. And I didn’t really celebrate last year, either.”

I look at the ground, so I don’t see the pity in Nik’s eyes. That birthday was supposed to be the first Izzy Day I spent with a partner, not just my family. They still made it as special as they could, but it wasn’t what I wanted. Especially not when I was reeling from Chance’s betrayal.

“Oh,” he says. “Shit, Isabelle. I’m sor—”

“It’s not a big deal,” I interrupt. I pause, leaning against a tree to catch my breath. “It happened ages ago.”

I put enough firmness into my voice that he doesn’t press, although he gives me a lingering look. I just lift my chin. He pushes me against the tree as he kisses me. The bark scrapes my shoulder blades. He breaks away, but doesn’t stop touching me, hands running down to press into my hips and inch up the fabric of my shirt.

His brown eyes have flecks of gold in them. Somehow, I never noticed until just now. I push back his hair, studying him.

He kisses me again. It’s the kind of kiss that holds the promise of more. His mouth in more sensitive places. His fingers tracing more than just my midriff. He pushes his leg between mine, and I gasp, biting his lip. My hands twist in the back of his shirt.

“We’re finishing the run,” he murmurs. “Even if I want nothing more than to see you on your knees.”

I’m dizzy, suddenly. It must be the lack of caffeine. My brain is dying for pumpkin spice. “You did promise me orgasms if I ran with you.”

He nips my bottom lip. “But not when, sunshine. Keep up.”

He takes off, running down the trail at full speed. I stare at him in outrage for a moment—he’s always a tease, but that’s just evil—before sprinting after him. The trail curves, half-overgrown with bushes, but I run right through them, ignoring my stinging legs. His laughter echoes in the forest, spurring me even faster. I finally catch up to him, and whether he’s slowing his pace or not, I don’t care; I tackle him into a pile of leaves.

“Oof,” he says, muffled underneath me. “See? You can run.”

“Bastard,” I pant. “Of course I can run, I have three older brothers to keep up with.”

He yanks me down by the ponytail. I laugh and kiss him again and again.

Chapter 17

Nikolai

Isabelle plops on my bed, cold pizza slice in hand. “I’m so glad you live on an all-gender floor. The bathroom is marginally less gross than it could be.” She pauses to bite her pizza before adding, “Although I’m still surprised you’re living in a dorm at all.”

“I didn’t want to put anyone out last minute,” I say as I reach for another slice of pizza. We both prefer it topped with vegetables, a summertime discovery that delighted her to no end. “It’s not like I need more space. And anyway, it’s better now that I replaced the furniture.”

Back in the city, I’d stop by the office after Mom left for lunch with a couple slices, plus a Fanta for her and a seltzer for me. When she waltzed in an hour ago, pizza box in hand, I tossed it on my desk and busied myself with a different sort of feast. Not that she put up a protest, of course. She knew what she was getting into when she showed up still dressed for practice.

“This bed is definitely better,” she says teasingly, stretching out her long legs. I let my gaze linger—she has a cute freckle on her knee that I can’t stop staring at—until she blushes, swatting at me.

Prettiest stress relief I’ve ever seen.

I gesture to her with my pizza. “Interesting shirt choice.”

She glances at her chest. Usually, she goes for a soft maroon T-shirt of mine that I suspect will go missing one day, but tonight, she opted for my favorite band shirt. We saw Rift over the summer, when I snuck her into a club with a surprisingly hard-ass bouncer, and even though she pretended to hate the music, by the end of the night, she was scream-shouting the lyrics with me as we danced.

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