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The words are on my lips—to tell him he’s won—that I’m planning on quitting. But as we stand there, barely a breath apart, my resolve falls away. I don’t want to let him win. If I walk away now, I don’t find out why he hates me so much. I don’t get to say sorry to Joy. My heart aches as I realize that’s what this is really about. Even if she never forgives me, I have to tell her. I need her to hear the words from my lips.

The bathroom door opens and Doug leaps backwards, shoving a hand into his light brown hair as he stalks toward a cubicle.

“Everything okay in here?” Mika asks, his raised eyebrows flitting between the now closed door of the cubicle and where I’m still pressed against the wall. Swallowing hard, I slip my phone back in my pocket and paint a smile on my face. “You know what? How about a round of shots?”

DOUG

Downtown Portland is busy. Which is what I wanted. Declining Lane’s round of shots, I drove straight into the city. I’d planned to leave my car at Extra Credit and pick it up in the morning, but I guess I’ll just do that here instead. Here is better. Here has no blond-haired asshole trying to steal my job.

Shuffling from foot to foot in the queue for Alesso’s, I shove my hands in my pockets and hunch my shoulders up around my ears, trying to brave the cold. I’m only wearing dark jeans and a black button down, but it’s enough to get into the club. I won’t be cold for long, and I plan on getting annihilated. Which is why I left Extra Credit. Drew and Mika won’t let me get as shitfaced as I plan on getting without shoving me in a cab.

The bouncer barely gives me a glance as I reach the front of the queue and dive into the dark warmth of the club. I have no coat to check, so I head straight for the bar. It’s busy, but that’s good. The more people there are, the less I’ll stand out. And I don’t plan on standing out until a bouncer drags my semiconscious body from the building. Dangerous? Yes. Immature? Yes. Do I give a fuck? No.

Grabbing the bartender’s attention, I order six shots of top shelf vodka. No point pissing about. As I wait for him to line them up, I lean against the bar and survey the tightly packed space. There’s a VIP area roped off at the end of a long bar on a raised upper level, two large circular dance floors with a wide bar between them, and a DJ booth, which is currently two deep with girls flashing cleavage trying to request songs.

I snort and turn back to tap my card against the reader to pay for my shots. Shaking my head, I knock them back one after the other.

Fucking,Lame. I should have known Drew and Mika would pull a stunt like that. They’ve been not-so-subtly hinting that I should try and make an effort with him for weeks. Drew’s tried several different tactics. From, ‘it’ll lessen your workload’, to ‘you could be friends’, and even ‘you could be a mentor to him’. Not interested. I fucking hate the guy.

I hate his cocksure smile. I hate his perfect teeth. I hate his sharp jaw and bulging tattooed biceps. I hate his golden hair and the way he always smells like fucking cinnamon.

I close my eyes and I swear I can still smell it, like being that close to him marked me.

A series of squeals causes me to open my eyes and I follow the source to the dance floor.Fuck.I recognize some of the girls jumping up and down excitedly at the choice of song. They’re Franklin Westers. Just my fucking luck that there’d be a bunch of students here.

My blood hums as the vodka infuses itself with my bloodstream and I hold up four fingers to the bartender. He comes quickly and I reward his loyalty with a twenty-dollar tip. I rarely have cash on me, but any I do have is going to that sainted bartender if he continues to serve me like this.

Scanning the crowd, I realize with relief, the students are all women, and none are on the swim team. Good. The last thing I need is to run into Aldo.

I knock back two of the four shots in quick succession. It was stupid and reckless to let that happen again, but fuck I wanted it to. Maybe I only want him because he called it off. I’m that juvenile, I wouldn’t put it past me. But I do. Want him. Which is fucking stupid, because as much as the chemistry between us is off the charts, he doesn’t want me. He’s made that pretty fucking clear twice now.

“Oh, shit! Coach!”

I turn, my third shot poised in my fingers, to find Joy Blake at my elbow, her eyes wide.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, her dark lined eyes flitting between the two empty shot glasses and the third in my fingers.

I raise my eyebrows. “Getting wasted. You?”

She blinks, then jerks her head over her shoulder toward the dance floor. “Abi’s birthday. Bees’ night out.”

It takes me a second to figure out what the hell she’s on about. Bees. The sorority. Right.

“Want one?” I ask, pushing the remaining shot toward her with my finger.

She shrugs. “Sure.”

We throw them back and slam the empty glasses down on the counter. “Want another?”

“Not another shot,” she says. “But I’ll take a whiskey and lemonade if you’re offering.”

Signaling for the bartender again, I order two whiskey lemonades. Nine shots of vodka are probably enough to start to erase tonight, so there’s no harm in slowing down a little.

“Thanks,” Joy says, accepting the drink.

“Cheers.” I knock my glass with hers and try not to down it all at once.

I expect her to slink off back into the crowd to her friends, but she stays, leaning against the bar. Sipping my drink, I look at her properly for the first time. I’ve seen Joy Blake almost every day for the best part of three years, but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this version. I’ve seen her in her suit and goggles, I’ve seen her on the bus on the way to meets. But this is different. Her dark brown—almost black—eyes are lined with a smoky gray that sparkles a little under the lights of the club. Her lips are painted a dark purple and her skin shimmers with a golden hue, making her cheekbones look sharp and elegant. The black dress she’s wearing looks modest from the front, cut to mid-thigh with a high neck and sleeves, but it’s the back that draws my attention. It’s completely backless, falling in a loose fold of material right at the base of her spine. It's no wonder she chose the dress because it shows off her tattoo. I’ve never seen it in full before.

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