Page 45 of Never Your Girl

Bridger Sanderson and Holland Tate—now there’s an odd pairing. Betting pools are now open as to how long that situationship will last.

My face heats as I glance around. People have stopped in their tracks and are staring, their gazes darting between me and Holland as whispers spread like wildfire.

Holland stiffens beside me, her face paling as she stares at her phone. “Bridger…”

Her voice is oddly soft as her hand rises to touch my arm.

Instead of allowing her to comfort me, I take a hasty step in retreat. “I need to go,” I say roughly, shoving my phone back into my pocket. “I’ll see you in class.”

“Bridger—” she tries again, but I’m already walking away.

My mind churns as I put distance between us.

That message wasn’t as vicious as some of the others, but the implications are enough to make my skin crawl. Someone out there is watching us, stirring the pot.

Or is it her attempt to throw me off and turn my suspicions elsewhere?

I have no fucking idea.

And that’s the problem.

The way she looked at me just now—like she was worried, like she actually cared—makes something inside me ache in a way I’m not used to.

Holland Tate isn’t just tangled up in this mess, she’s twisted up deep inside me.

And that might be the hardest knot to untangle.

What I do know is that I need to get my head on straight before I see her next.

15

Holland

The moment I step out of the sciences building, the weight of curious stares and muffled whispers hits me like a tidal wave. Normally, I can blend into the flow of students on campus, but today is different.

Today everyone is staring.

At least that’s the way it feels.

Maybe I’m capable of commanding this kind of attention on stage, but I’m not Holland Tate in those moments.

I’m Lavender Smoke.

“Holland! Wait up!” Ava’s voice cuts through the noise on campus.

For a second, I consider ducking my head and running, but she’s faster than me, weaving through the crowd until she falls into step beside me. Her expression is a mix of curiosity and amusement.

I know exactly what’s coming.

“Did you see the message?” she asks, wide-eyed. “It’s crazy. Everyone’s talking about it.”

I blow out a steady breath and keep my gaze focused straight ahead. “Yeah, I saw.”

Ava tilts her head as she studies me. “I mean, it’s obviously not true, right? Everyone knows you can’t stand Bridger Sanderson.”

I keep walking, my stride purposeful, as if it’s possible to outrun this conversation.

When I remain silent, her voice dips, filling with confusion. “Holland?”

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