with the sound of laughter and the clatter of cleats against the tiled floor. Practice had been grueling. But the camaraderie in the air after a tough session always lifts my spirits.
“Seriously, Ethan, I saw you lurking around Curly’s apartment. What are you, her personal stalker now?” I tease, tossing my towel over my shoulder as I lean back against my locker.
Ethan rolls his eyes, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “It’s not stalking, man. It’s… strategic positioning. And it’s funny how you know that, though? Were you there too?”
Grinning, I repeat his words. “I was doing… strategic positioning too.”
Liam shakes his head, wrapping his towel around his neck. “Strategic positioning? Mate, that’s like Stalking 101.” His British accent makes it sound softer than I knew he intended. “If I have to get you out of custody, I’ll be seriously pissed.”
“You’re not; things are starting to move in the right direction,” Ethan replies as he towel-dries his hair, and I throw him a side look, wondering if it is actually the truth or if he is, like me, lying to himself.
Liam sighs, and it’s weary like he’s expecting too much shit coming from us, and once again, I don’t think I can deny that.
He turns his inquisitive eyes toward me. “How’s Operation Eva going?”
I shoot him a glare. “It’s a work in progress,” I reply, keeping it vague. My obsession with her is my business, and the less they know, the better.
“Work in progress, huh? I see.” He purses his lips, and I shrug.
It’s probably true that Poppy wouldn’t call the cops on Ethan; she’s a stern girl, yes, but there isn’t as much animosity when she looks at Ethan. Thinking of Eva… yeah, I can’t suppress a wince. My girl would; she’d definitely put the cops on me, and, oddly enough, that thought brings a smile. Her fierceness, those claws of hers, I love them. Even if it means they’re sometimes out for me too.
“Why are you smiling?” Liam’s question catches me off guard. He lets out a sigh, full of frustration and humor. “I’m only twenty-one. I’m too young to parent your grown arse! I—” He runs his hand through his hair. “Look, I’m not going to be here forever. I’m leaving at year’s end, and I need a new captain. Just… do better.”
Ethan and I look at each other, and for once, we really understand each other. We don’t think we have a choice.
The good mood has faded, and silence accompanies my getting dressed, the aches from the start of season training hard to ignore. Coach is pushing us to our limits, weeding out the weaker links. An ice bath would be ideal today, but there are things to organize for Operation Eva. Glances at my phone become frequent, debating whether to accidentally bump into Eva on campus. Since that incident in the library, I’ve taken a step back from our forced encounters. Playing this dangerous game could easily backfire, yet the thrill of the chase, the challenge she presents—it’s intoxicating. At the library, I had only planned to toy with her, but I almost slipped. If not for Poppy’s intervention, I know I’d have kissed her, consequences be damned. There’s a need to rein in my impulsivity. To work smarter.
I’m grabbing my bag, ready to leave the locker room’s charged atmosphere, when Peter’s voice cuts through. “Hey, Westbrook, hitting up the Delta Sigma bash tonight? It’s shaping up to be epic.”
His words halt me midstep. Parties aren’t usually my scene anymore, but this one… it’s an opportunity, a hunting ground for information on her roommates.
“Yeah, sure. I could use some unwinding,” I reply nonchalantly.
“Great! Heard it’s going to be one of the best this year. Everyone’s talking about it,” Peters says, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
I nod, a plan slowly forming in my mind. A party at Delta Sigma—notorious for their extravagance and lack of boundaries. It’s the perfect scene for every girl who wants to be seen.
Okay, time to review the strategy.
By the time evening rolls around, I head to the party with a few half-baked plans, all crazier than the next, and with a few items in my pockets that, if I were to be checked, would raise far more questions than I could answer.
Dressing for the party, I choose clothes I know she’d like and hopefully remind her of the times when we were close. It’s ridiculous, I know, especially since she won’t be there, but I can’t help it.
The guys might see my obsession with Eva as only physical, and part of me wishes it were just that—simple and superficial. It would be so much easier if it were only skin deep, but it’s something far more profound and personal.
The way Eva looked at me in high school—truly saw me—resonates in my memory. She saw beyond the facade, the image I projected to the world. She saw the flaws, the shortcomings, the struggles. And yet, she stood by me, fighting to help me overcome them. Her kindness, her genuine caring—it was something I hadn’t known I needed until she gave it to me and I lost it. She made me believe I was enough, just as I was. She made me feel seen, understood, and valued—not for my athletic skills or my family’s wealth, but for who I was beneath all that.
Gazing into the mirror, the reflection shows a man who’s achieved much but still yearns for something more meaningful. Eva gave me a taste of that, a glimpse of a connection that goes beyond the superficial. And her betrayal when she revealed my secret to Jenny and then her leaving after prom, abandoning the fight, it didn’t just hurt—it tore a hole right through me.
As I head out, my thoughts are a mix of strategy and genuine emotion. This party tonight is a step in my plan to get her back. Beneath the schemes and the manipulation, there’s a simple truth—I want to feel that connection again, to feel like I’m enough. She did that for me, and I can’t let go of the hope that she might do it again.
The Delta Sigma house is already buzzing when I get there, the bass from the music vibrating through the ground. The air is thick with anticipation and the promise of reckless abandon. I scan the room, my eyes searching, always searching for her, even knowing for a fact she’s at home right now. This is not her scene.
Looking through the crowd, I wince as my eyes connect with a blonde girl. She smiles as she sways toward me, her Solo cup in one hand, her body language screaming with intent.
“Cole Westbrook, the legend himself. Thought you’d be too cool for this kind of party,” she says, her voice low and flirtatious.
A thought crosses my mind as she steps so close her tits brush against my chest. I don’t have the energy for this tonight.
A forced half smirk appears, not really in the mood for this dance. “Linda,” I greet her, not bothering to hide my disinterest.
“It’s Fiona,” she corrects me, but there’s a playful edge to her voice.
Raising an eyebrow, my response is flat. “Right, Fiona.” The old me would have taken this as an opportunity, but now it’s just another tiresome routine.
“So, anyway, my friend Brooke”—she tilts her head toward a brunette by the drinks station who’s now eyeing us—“is totally into re-creating that night from last year, if you’re up for it.”
The game has lost its appeal, especially since Eva reentered my life. My cock, seemingly on life support, is unresponsive to anyone but her.
“Not tonight, Fiona. I’ve got… other things on my mind,” I say, my gaze drifting across the room, searching for a distraction, any distraction from this unwelcome conversation.
“Oh, come on, don’t be such a killjoy,” She pouts, leaning in closer, her perfume enveloping me. It’s too strong, too bold… I don’t like it.
It doesn’t smell like her; the voice in my head taunts.
Suddenly, my eyes zero in on someone. It’s not Eva, but it’s as close as it gets. It’s her goth roommate, looking so bored that I wonder what she’s doing here, but I’m way too pleased to have this opportunity to question it.
A smile crosses my face as the evening takes a promising turn. I stride in her direction, parting the flow of partying, sweating bodies.
Approaching Vanessa from behind, she seems absorbed in her own world, unaware of my presence.
“Hey,” I call, but she’s in a bubble of isolation. Impulsively, I reach out, my fingers brushing her shoulder.
She startles, turns around, and her bag falls down in the process. Shiny keys catch my eye as I bend to pick up the bag. Seizing the moment, I subtly pocket the keys and then hand the bag back to her.
She glares as she takes her bag from my grip, her eyes shooting daggers. “Don’t touch me,” she snaps, her voice sharp as a whip. “I don’t remember us being on touching terms, Westbrook.”
I can’t help but be taken aback by her intensity. “Just trying to get your attention. You seemed lost in your own world,” I say, attempting to sound casual.
She gives me a look that could freeze lava, her posture rigid, a defensive barrier. “Oh, please. Save your charm for someone who hasn’t seen a hundred guys like you. I’m not interested.”
Her sarcastic, blunt dismissal catches me off guard, and I genuinely laugh. It’s refreshing; her spunk so different from the usual reactions I get.
“I’m being friendly,” I insist, but she cuts me off.
“Friendly? With Eva’s friends? Since when? Let’s not pretend you care about anyone here except yourself. And I’m telling you right now, whatever you’re planning for her and think you can involve me in, you’re at a loss. I will never be on your side for anything, and if you try to hurt her…” She shows me her pointy black nails. “Your balls will never recover.”
Her protectiveness is like a shield, her loyalty to Eva clear and unapologetic. I’m momentarily thrown off by her fierceness, a quality I hadn’t expected but begrudgingly respect.
Before I can respond, Liam suddenly appears beside us, his protective stance unmistakable. “Is there a problem here, Cole?”
Hands raised in mock surrender, I take note of the unusual intensity in Liam’s eyes. “No problem at all. Just chatting with Nessa here.”
“Nessa? Since when did we become friends?” she asks, raising her red lips in a sneer. “It’s Vanessa to you.”
Responding with a bow, the words escape me in a tone of mock deference. “Of course, Your Highness.”
Liam doesn’t seem convinced but stays close, his body language signaling that he’s not about to leave Nessa’s side. Interesting. Liam’s always been the team’s peacekeeper, but this… this is something else.
Seizing the moment, I excuse myself under the guise of grabbing another drink. Moving away from the pulsing heart of the party, a thrill courses through me, the weight of Nessa’s keys in my hand feeling like raw power. The chatter and music fade into a distant hum as I focus on the task at hand. I find a quieter corner, my actions swift and precise.
I press the key into the soft clay, a tool I acquired and kept, just in case. My plan to enter Eva’s apartment, one way or another, demanded such preparedness. As I ensure every detail, every notch and groove of the key is perfectly imprinted, there’s no flicker of guilt, no second-guessing. This isn’t just a key; it’s a means to an end, a necessary step in my plan to get Eva back.
In my mind, I justify every action. Every decision. The prom night stunt, the entire high school drama—it’s all child’s play compared to what we shared. To me, it’s simple. Whatever it takes to get her to see that everything that happened before had just been childish incidents. So once she gets over it, we can be together again.
The imprint is perfect. I return to where Nessa is; her attention is now on Liam. I slip the key ring back into her bag, a smooth, practiced move, ensuring it’s exactly where it was. In that moment, I’m acutely aware of the line I’m crossing, yet I don’t falter. Morals and rules blur into the background when it comes to winning Eva back. To the world, it might seem extreme, unethical even, but to me, it’s clear-cut. I’m doing what’s necessary, what anyone in love would do.
Bits of their conversation drift to my ears, talk of looking out for each other. This tidbit is mentally filed away—it might prove useful later.
Nessa turns back toward me and huffs. “You know, maybe you should take a hint. Eva doesn’t seem to care much for you.”
Leaning in, my response is in a low, confident tone. “Give her time. People change their minds.”
Nessa snorts, clearly unconvinced. But I know better. She might be resisting now, but I’m patient. I know how to wait for what I want.
Liam gives me a long, hard look, but I smile and step back, melting into the crowd. The night is still young, and I’ve already made significant progress.
Leaving the party later, the imprint of the key in my pocket feels like a victory. Nessa, Liam, the crowd—they’re all pieces in a game they don’t know they’re playing. And I’m always several moves ahead.
Eva might think she’s out of my reach, but I’m closer than ever. And I won’t stop until I have her right where I want her.
