Page 88 of Heart of Thorns

Briar’s roommate,Lydia, meets me at the door with a raised eyebrow and pursed lips.

“I know,” I say, holding up my hands in surrender. “If she told you anything about the train wreck my family is…”

She sighs and holds her apartment door open wider, allowing me to pass. “She’s sleeping.”

“I figured.” I rub the back of my neck. “Thanks for not slamming the door in my face.”

Lydia points to the coffee table, where two phones sit. “She left her phone out here when she went to bed, and it kept lighting up rather insistently with your texts. So…”

Right.

I did go a little crazy with the texts as soon as my father was finished. Just more bullshit about how embarrassed he was with this girlfriendstunt, and then about how I’d better enjoy my last season of football.

Because, according to him, my time to fuck around is coming to a close.

One more year left of school, but no football?

He said he would buy the university a whole building to keep me from playing. What administration will be able to resist that? Millions of dollars, just to bar me from the field.

My dreams flushed down the toilet.

I push away my anger and leave Lydia behind, creeping down the hall and entering Briar’s room carefully. I nearly trip over a black pot placed right in the opening. It has a few metal utensils balanced on it. One touch and it would cause quite the ruckus.

My brows furrow.

I click on my phone’s flashlight and illuminate the room, curious about the booby trap. I close the door behind me and step farther in, first taking in Briar’s still form buried under the blankets, then the rest of the room.

A mini hockey stick catches my attention. It’s wedged into the upper portion of the window to prevent the lower pane from opening. There’s an actual hockey stick leaning in the far corner. A gleam of gold in the light pulls my attention, and I move to her desk.

It’s a trophy.

I lean down and scan the plaque at its base. She won Most Valuable Player last year.

Wow.

Of course she did. She’s fucking impressive.

Which makes me want to wake her up andtellher she’s impressive. Not just for the hockey award, although that is cool. But also for being herself, and not caving to my parents’ bullshit,andfor surviving dinner with a smile intact.

And also, I wouldn’t mind finishing what we had started earlier…

I peel back her covers and lean over her. She looks so peaceful, I almost don’t want to disturb her. Almost.

I touch her shoulder.

She wakes immediately, but her gaze doesn’t focus on my face. Her lips part, her eyes widen. Instead of shrinking away, she grabs my wrist andhauls.

Not expecting it, I lose my balance and topple. She grips my shoulders and uses her legs, twisting, and suddenly I’m on my back, and she straddles me.

Her breathing is ragged, and something sharp presses into my throat.

Holy shit.

“Briar,” I rasp. “It’s me.”

My palms land on her thighs, sliding up to her hips, then her waist. The prick of pain wakes me up, but she doesn’t seem to understand—or see.

“Kitten. Focus on me.”

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