Page 67 of From Now On

I’ve debated bringing that night up every single time I’ve seen him since. But I’ve always talked myself out of it, convinced itwas weird or unnecessary or would result in the awkward pause I’m experiencing now. Now that the words are out, I can tell they were a mistake.

Of course he doesn’t remember. It was a ten-minute interaction nearly four years ago. And I’ve just put Hunter in the uncomfortable position of admitting how forgettable I am or else feigning remembrance of a meaningless moment.

“Are you guys seriously sitting on thecouchinstead of in thehot tub?” Aidan’s booming voice fills the living room, cutting through the heavy silence.

I’ve never been more relieved for an interruption.

I glance over one shoulder, spotting Aidan in the kitchen rummaging through the fridge. “I, um, forgot my suit.”

I wasn’t expecting to swim in the ocean, and Harlow didn’t mention a hot tub. Which is probably for the best, because I have a strong feeling sitting in a hot tub with two couples wouldreallyfeel like fifth-wheeling.

“Did you tell Rylan? She basically brought her entire closet. I’m sure she has an extra.”

I can’t think of a tactful way to tell Aidan that my boobs are twice the size of his girlfriend’s, and that bikinis aren’t exactly aone size fits allsituation, so I just respond with a vague “Maybe.”

And then, before Aidan can exit and leave me and Hunter alone, I stand and stretch. “I’ll come outside in a little bit. I just have to use the bathroom first.”

I flee before Aidan or Hunter can say a word.

The rest of this trip, I’mtriple-guessing before opening my mouth.

Especially around Hunter.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

HUNTER

FRESHMAN YEAR

“Where to next?” Aidan Phillips asks.

The group of girls clustered around him immediately chime in with suggestions, all vying for my new teammate’s attention.

I tune out the chatter as I shove my hands deeper into my pockets, staring at the front yard littered with red plastic cups. So far, college parties seem pretty similar to high school ones. Less supervision, I guess, but same games. Partying has never been my scene, but I’m trying to fit in. This isn’t Casper. When I started high school, Sean had already paved the way. Holt is a fresh start in every sense. All that the strangers clustered around know about me is that I play hockey.

And the only reason they know that much is because Aidan has been talking loudly enough about the team for everyone in a twenty-foot radius to hear. He’s been bragging we’ll be raising a championship trophy before we graduate.

Unlikely, but not impossible.

Aidan’s high school stats are decent. I looked his up—along with those of the other freshmen on the team—but if we have any shot at improving Holt’s historically horrible ranking, it’ll be because of Conor Hart. I haven’t met him yet, and there’s a good chance I’ll be starstruck when I do. The guy is insanely talented. He should be playing at Boston College or Minnesota or some other DI program that’s basically a straight shot to the pros.

I’m not sure if Conor has arrived on campus yet. If he has, he’s kept a low profile. Pretty much everyone who Aidan has talked to has asked if Conor Hart is here, and no one appears to have actually met the guy yet.

The porch railing shifts as someone claims the spot next to me, jarring me from my thoughts.

“Hey. I’m Sarah.”

I glance over at the girl who’s leaning beside me, summoning a smile so I don’t come off as a total dick. “Hey. Hunter.”

“Nice to meet you, Hunter.” She tilts her mostly empty beer bottle toward me, and I tap my mostly full one against it.

“You too, Sarah.”

“Where are you from?” she asks.

“Wyoming.”

“So, like, cowboys?”

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