Page 18 of The Players We Hate
I shoved a hand through my hair, the back of my neck burning. “I didn’t plan for this, alright? It just… happened.”
Owen eyed me, something unreadable flickering behind his expression. “So what are you gonna do if Tatum finds out?”
I froze. My chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with Wren’s body and everything to do with Tatum’s face flashing through my mind—the look of betrayal and hurt after what Wells had done, only now it was aimed at me.
“She won’t,” I said flatly.
Owen’s voice dropped. “That’s not what I asked.”
My temper flared. “Nothinghappened.”
“Sure.” Owen smirked again, but this one felt colder. “Tell yourself whatever you need to so you can sleep at night.”
I glared at him, but he turned away, rinsing out his bowl without another word.
Owen disappeared upstairs, and I was left standing in the kitchen with nothing but the echo of his words and the memory of her walking out the door. The silence pressed in, suffocating, reminding me exactly what I had done and who I had done it with.
And maybe he was right. Perhaps she was a mistake waiting to happen. The truth I couldn’t escape was that I’d let it happen again.
Chapter Five
Wren
By the time Alisa and I made it back to the dorm, I was a billboard for guilt and bad choices. My hair, once twisted into a loose knot, had mostly fallen out, curls tumbling in a mess my mom would’ve scolded me for, and the smudged mascara sealed it.
I barely made it two steps inside before Alisa clocked me.
She paused, heels in hand, brow arching high. “Okay,” she said slowly, giving me the kind of once-over that only a friend with zero chill could deliver. “You wanna tell me where you disappeared to?”
I tried to play it cool, setting my purse on my desk while I fought to keep it together. “I needed some air.”
She scoffed, slipping off her shoes. “Air doesn’t do that to your hair.”
I avoided her gaze, heading straight for the bathroom. The moment I clicked the door shut behind me, I exhaled hard and leaned over the sink, bracing my hands against the porcelain.
My reflection stared back at me—lips swollen, skin flushed, hair a mess of waves that hadn’t looked that tousled when I left for the party. The neckline of my blouse was wrinkled, and in the bathroom light, a faint pink mark stood out along my jaw.
I lookedwrecked.
Not messy-cute. Not post-party tired. Wrecked in a way that screamedsomeone touched me like they meant it.
If my mom could see me now, she’d absolutely flip. Probably launch into a tirade about how “public image is everything” and “the risks this could cause my father’s re-election campaign.” God forbid I looked like a girl who lived a little.Besides, I was used to being invisible in our family. Aside from Alisa and Talon, I doubted anyone else saw me.
I let out a dry, bitter laugh and turned on the faucet, splashing cold water over my face as if it could somehow undo what had already happened.
The damage was done. No matter how hard I scrubbed, I still felt his hands on my skin.
When I came out a few minutes later, barefaced and damp-haired, Alisa was already curled up on her bed, arms crossed, waiting.
“You’re always so put-together,” she said, voice light, but her eyes locked on mine. “Tonight, you looked like someone rocked your world. Twice.”
I froze for a second too long.
Alisa tilted her head. “Wren.”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“So you’re sayingsomethinghappened.”
