I meet Willow in the student center. We’re wearing the requisite blue and white, our jackets open to expose the colors—mainly so the coordinator doesn’t yell at us. The coordinator, a staff member in Activities, stands at a booth and checks people off.
There’s a whole group of us going.
“Heads-up,” the coordinator, Lauren, calls. “We’ve got two buses. The first is the party bus, which will be full. Then we have room on the team bus.”
My stomach twists. “We have to get on the party bus.”
The doors open, and Paris strolls in with her minions. Dance team girls she won in what Willow calls the divorce . I haven’t so much as glanced at her since she dumped a drink on my head. Not that I’ve wanted to. I get the urge to rip her hair out when I think of her.
And, yep, it’s worse when I see her in person.
“If looks could kill,” Willow murmurs. “Down, girl.”
I force myself to turn away. Who would I hate to see more? Greyson or Paris?
“Do you think we’ll get lucky and Paris will get on the team bus?” I ask Willow. “Like, Karma can’t really hate me that much, right?”
“Right…” My best friend winces. “Yeah, nope. I don’t think so.”
I glance over my shoulder. Paris has picked up the sign for the party bus. Her golden hair is perfectly curled. Her eyeliner is blue, and the highlighter illuminates her cheekbones when she turns her head.
She’s definitely the type of girl who all the guys fall for—it’s no wonder she thinks she can just stomp all over me.
“You have a look.”
I meet Willow’s gaze and shrug. “I don’t.”
“You do. It’s like scheming but worse. What’s worse than scheming?” She loops her arm through mine. “Methinks this has to do with Paris. Listen, we’re just going to go sit on the team bus with Jess and Amanda, and we’ll totally ignore the guys.”
I snort. I’ve ridden on the football team’s bus to away games before. They’re loud. Rowdy. They sing and argue and generally cause a ruckus. Adrenaline runs high, anticipation runs higher.
Greyson won’t just let me sit there. I’m pretty sure it’s not in his nature to let me do anything unchecked.
She shoulders her bag. “Come on, we’re rolling out.”
We head to the two buses that await us. Paris keeps her sign lifted. I notice another girl has the team bus sign in her grip, but she lags behind. She seems put out to be assigned to that one—and who can blame her? She probably wanted to be with the girls. Full of pep and shit.
The hockey team hasn’t come out yet. I think we have to go get them from the stadium anyway. It’ll be a whole big thing.
Willow takes my arm and pulls me aside. “It’s worth it,” she whispers. “Whatever the hell happens. It’s worth going to see the doctor, right?”
I nod vehemently. It is worth it.
Yesterday was quiet. I have two classes with Greyson on Thursdays, but I didn’t see him in either of them. Unlike him to skip, but I wasn’t going to push the issue.
He didn’t text either. Or sneak into my room and harass me that way.
Jess and Amanda break away from the throng as soon as Paris has climbed into the party bus with her friends. We cross over to the second bus, accompanied by the sign holder and the coordinator. “There are five more students coming,” she tells the driver. “Then head to the stadium to get the team.”
We toss our bags into the storage space underneath and climb the steps. It’s nicer than a school bus—the seats are individual and cushioned. There’s even a tiny bathroom at the very back. Amanda and Jess pick seats, and Willow and I take the row behind them. More people filter on, dressed in blue and silver like us, with Hawks or Crown Point University splayed across their chests.
Two girls from Amanda’s sleepover take the row beside us, across the aisle.
The girl on the window side, Michelle, leans toward us. “We brought face paint if anyone is in the mood to streak their cheeks with blue…”
“Later,” Jess decides. “I don’t want to sit with it on my face for two hours.”
If I show up to my doctor’s appointment with blue stripes on my face, I think they’d automatically just stamp me as a failure. So, yeah, that’s not happening.
“How are we pulling this off?” I ask Willow quietly. I didn’t ask too many questions, and now I’m wishing I had.
“Your appointment is at four-thirty,” she says under her breath. “We get there at four to check into the hotel. Game starts at seven. We just sneak out of the hotel and call a car. Should be easy.”
I swallow. Okay, yeah, sure. Sounds fine.
Except for the whole cutting-it-close part, but I don’t mention that. I just need to not think about the fact that my whole life is riding on this doctor’s appointment.
Dramatic?
Maybe.
I feel like I’m entitled to some dramatics.
The bus doors hiss closed, and we pull out of the parking lot. In no time, we’re stopped in front of the stadium.
The hockey team comes out with their duffle bags slung over their shoulders. The driver hops out and opens the storage doors, and I watch them each toss their bags in and then climb on the bus. Their coach watches them all carefully.
My focus is drawn toward Greyson. Of course. He’s one of the last ones out. He wears black slacks and a maroon sweater that clings to his lithe form. It really accentuates his body, unfortunately.
I think he’d do better wearing a paper bag.
I try not to stare at him too hard, convinced he’s going to feel my gaze on him. I force myself to sit back in my seat.
Jess and Amanda are craned around, chatting to Michelle and the girl beside her. Lucy, I think. She has teal hair, pulled back in a bun on top of her head, and wicked eyeliner. She smiles a lot. I don’t know her very well, but she seems genuinely nice .
Some of the players—skaters who don’t get a ton of ice time, I think—slip past us to sit in the way back. They barely acknowledge us.
More fill in the middle, and then Greyson, Knox, and Steele are coming down the aisle.
Greyson’s gaze fixes on me. He doesn’t have much of a reaction, except the corners of his lips tip up. Just for a second.
Fucking hell.
I don’t really know what I was thinking, subjecting myself to two hours of this. Well, not this . But whatever Greyson has in store for me, I know it’s not going to be pleasant.
Or it’s going to be really fucking pleasant… in a humiliating way.
I gulp, and my stomach knots.
Willow squeezes my hand. Knox has already probably made eyes at her—or she told him she was coming along. I miss his reaction as he slides into one of the seats toward the front.
Steele lifts his eyebrows and grins. “Hey, Violet.”
I suppress my cringe.
He drops into the seat behind me, then leans forward. “What a nice surprise.”
“Yep. Party bus was full.”
He smiles knowingly. “Uh-huh. Hey, you didn’t text me back.”
Willow chokes behind me.
“I’ve been busy.” I don’t bother looking to see that Amanda is glaring holes in my head, too. I can feel it from here. Also, I forgot about her crush on him.
Damn it. That means I take the cake for shittiest friend. I literally didn’t think of anything except using him when I put my number into his phone. But I can’t very well say that to her, can I?
Not right now.
Miles comes down the aisle and pauses beside Steele. “Hey, man. Greyson wanted to talk to you.”
Steele snickers. “Did he?” He leans back in his seat, kicking his legs out. That move shouldn’t be sexy, but it is. Every time. Especially on someone attractive like Steele, whose abs could probably have their own zip code.
I mean, Greyson’s could, too, but he’s not in front of me right now. And when have I paid attention to him shirtless? Never. See? Greyson isn’t on my mind. And he’s definitely not messing with my head at all. Not me .
“I’m comfortable here,” Steele continues. “Talking to my friend, Violet.”
Willow makes another noise in the back of her throat, and that’s the only warning I get before Greyson looms over us.
Miles scrambles out of the way.
Greyson grabs the front of Steele’s shirt and lifts him. He doesn’t so much as look at me as he drags his housemate toward the front of the bus. He throws him into a seat and marches back to me. His knee comes down on the edge of my seat, and he leans over me.
“Stop playing games,” he hisses.
I meet his gaze.
Somehow, that got under his skin worse than anything else. I shift forward, until we’re nearly nose to nose. “You don’t fucking own me.”
He smiles. “No?”
“No.”
“We’ll see about that.” He straightens and backs away.
Just in time for Coach to come barreling down the tight aisle, stopping just before he crashes into Greyson.
“Get back to your seat, Devereux,” he snaps. His attention sweeps over us, his face scrunching in disgust. “Fucking party bus. And you .” He glares at me. “You should know better.”
I’m so surprised, I can’t say anything. Not until he’s turned around and made his way back to the front. He sinks into his seat, and I let out a slow, shaky breath.
What the fuck was that?
Willow makes a face. “And here I thought we could ride under the radar.”
“Hate to break it to you, but that was never going to happen.”
