Page 17 of Rival Summer

I plucked a flute of champagne from a passing tray, the bubbles tickling my nose as I settled into a chair next to Parker. Who, when food was involved, always showed up early.

"Seriously, what is this?" Parker said with dramatic disgust as he held up some sort of meat from his plate.

"I was planning on drinking my way through this," I replied, lifting my glass in a half-hearted toast to the gourmet mystery in front of him. With a deep breath, I rose from my seat, the need for a quieter space pulling me away. "I’m going to make sure the committee doesn’t need any extra help."

The clubhouse still felt like stepping into a portal that led to last summer. The trophies still glistened under the soft lighting, probably polished daily. My gaze lingered on every shining surface until I was drawn, inexorably, to the shadowed hallway where Reese had once stood last summer when I first laid eyes on him—a memory permanently etched into my mind.

I remembered how he looked that day, the intensity of his green eyes, the carelessness in his stance as I unknowingly insulted him. Reese, who played the bad boy so well, unraveling a part of me I hadn't known was wound so tightly. He'd forced his way into my heart, only to leave it cracked like I’d never felt before.

The ache of it, the ghost of him, still clung to me. But the Chandler standing there wasn't the same girl who had fallen for his charm. This summer was a clean slate, a promise to myself that history would not repeat its painful cycle. Reese Carrington had taken his final bow in the theater of my affections. This time, my heart was locked away, and he was coming nowhere near it.

My eyes scanned the trophy wall again as I moved toward the exit—none of the committee members were in sight. Thenmy eyes locked on something new—a glinting addition to the collection. It was Reese’s MVP trophy from last year, his name engraved in bold, assertive letters. Another reminder of the season he dominated the field and, unwittingly, my every thought back then. The impulse to turn away, to deny the trophy any more attention than it deserved, was strong. Then I smiled, realizing a few smaller trophies had also been added. Parker, Boston, and a few others had been put on the wall too.

"Never learn your lesson, do you?" The smooth voice cut through the silence, as unmistakable as the trophy I was fixated on. It curled around me like smoke, insinuating itself into the space I had regretfully walked into again.

I stiffened, the words ricocheting through my bones. I didn’t need to turn around to picture the smirk that would accompany his taunt, or the green eyes that would be sparkling with mischief and charm.

"Reese," I said, allowing his name to acknowledge his presence without betraying the tremor I fought to keep from my voice. There was no turning back now; the past had stepped into the present, and I braced myself for the moment I had been dreading.

I turned, my resolve wilting under the weight of his gaze. There he was again—Reese Carrington—leaning casually against the clubhouse wall, as if he had all the time in the world to unravel my knotted together composure. He rolled up his sleeve and readjusted the watch on his arm as he waited for my reaction. Something about him was different. My eyes traced the intricate tattoos covering his right arm—an annoyingly sexy addition on his tan skin. I knew then it must have been what Willow was talking about.

"Should have known better," I managed, hating the way my heart skipped as if trying to leap out of the fortress I’d built around it. The tattoos were mesmerizing, each one wrappingaround the curves and veins in his arm. I caught a glimpse of one that stood out—an adorable little dinosaur on his wrist, almost like a cartoon character. I wanted to inspect them closer, but I knew better than to step into his orbit again.

"Not happy to see me?" The corner of his mouth quivered, reading my lingering glance with ease. That smirk, those piercing green eyes—he was an alluring danger trying to lead me back to the wreck I'd barely survived.

“Thrilled,” I said, sarcastically. “New ink?” I asked, hoping my voice sounded nonchalant.

"A friend of mine worked on it this year," he replied with a tilt of his head, the light catching on hints of mischief in his eyes. “Wanted a change.”

It was in-fucking-sane how both Reese and Boston were the very reasons last summer was chaos for me; how they both stirred up so many emotions; and now they both were—somehow—even more fucking attractive than ever before. It was like the universe had conspired to test the limits of my sanity. Both guys were even hotter than last year. Cool. Universe- 2, Me- 0.

Without warning, he pushed away from the wall, closing the distance between us. I was unprepared for his presence, wrapping around me like an inevitable storm, impossible to ignore.

"I texted you a few times," Reese said, his low, rough voice in contrast with the smooth lines of his face. "Even called you once."

I kept my gaze steady, though I felt the weight of his stare trying to dissect my carefully curated indifference. "Sorry, I was busy," I replied, my tone clipped.

The corner of his mouth twitched into that signature side smile. It had once quickened my pulse. Now it was just a reminder of the hurt he had caused, and all the damage hewas capable of. His eyes narrowed, as if he was peering straight through my thoughts, seeing through the layers I'd built up since last summer.

Undeterred by my short response, Reese leaned in slightly, the faint scent of his cologne teasing my senses. "So, how've you been? You look good," he offered. His words were stained in charm and the ease of someone who knew the effect they had on people.

"Reese, can we not make small talk?" I interrupted, irritation threading through my voice. I brought the champagne glass to my lips, taking a sip to have something to do other than acknowledge the flutter in my stomach.

His gaze lingered on me for a moment too long before responding. "That wasn't my intention," he said, that smirk playing across his lips as he stood there, tall and self-assured. "Nothing about me is small."

His words didn’t phase me, not now, even though the Reese that so many, including myself, found hard to resist was right in front of me. But I was determined not to fall into that trap again, not when I knew the cost all too well.

I rolled my eyes and turned on my heel. My heels clicked against the polished floor, echoing around me as I strode towards the door, eager to end the conversation. "Maybe not," I tossed over my shoulder, my voice cold. "But you sure know how to make others feel that way."

I didn't look back to see his reaction; I didn't need to. I could imagine the slight tilt of his head, the way he'd run a hand through his hair in that casual, self-assured manner. But the Chandler he knew—the one who blushed at his every word—was gone.

"Chandler." The raw edge of his voice snagged me, like the fading colors of a vanishing sunset still painting the sky with lingering, quiet beauty.

His tone alone threatens to unravel me, reminding me of whispered promises, of intimate moments we shared. "Glad you’re back," he said, words hanging heavy behind me.

With little effort, I lifted my hand in a dismissive wave, not trusting myself to face him again, or even respond. The champagne flute, now light in my grip, came up to my lips as I forced down the remaining bubbles.

As I reached for the door, his voice, confident yet hopeful, carried across the hallway. "I'm sure I'll see you at Willow's later tonight."

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