Amy pulls the door closed, but not before Dallas winks at me, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Ew, really? What the fuck? How did that happen? Goddammit. I guess things got more interesting after we left last night.

Amy adjusts her bra straps inside her shirt and looks up, freezing as she spots me.

Out-standing. This day started two minutes ago and sucks so badly already. Clay and I shouldn’t have left the bed.

Amy sighs, a blush crossing her cheeks as she makes her way over to me. I’m pissed, but I’m not exactly sure why.

Maybe because my brothers are sleeping their way through my teammates all of a sudden? Because Amy got off in this house? Because the Saints might be treating this house like a brothel? Take your pick.

She stops in front of me. “Can I please ask you to keep this quiet?”

What? The threesome you just had with two older men?

“And I’ll do the same about you and Clay?” she says matter-of-factly.

I narrow my eyes. She knows?

Fine, whatever. “Okay.”

Not like I’d gossip anyway. Amy having sex with my family members isn’t a bragging right for me.

But I hesitate. “Are you okay?” I ask, just making sure. They’re experienced. She’s not, and I don’t want her suddenly feeling guilty about whatever happened in there.

Not that I think Dallas and Iron would coerce her into a situation she wasn’t comfortable with, but it’s a lot.

But she simply breaks in a smile, zero regret evident. “Is Clay okay?” she teases.

I open my door and enter my room. “Fuck off, Amy.”

And I slam the door, happy to continue our silent hatred of each other.

• • •

“Do you ever feel like you’re living the same day over and over again?” Becks asks.

She tosses her carrot down on the lunch table, and I peel another string off my cheese stick, clicking out of the TikTok video.

“I used to,” I say.

To be honest, I never really considered it a bad thing, though. Just the waiting period I needed to go through before I got to college and started my real life.

“What changed?” she asks as Chloe takes a seat beside me with her tray. “I need advice.”

I smile to myself, but I keep Clay quiet. She’s what changed. I’m not bored, that’s for sure. I wish I could talk about her to someone.

“I’m getting out of here,” I tell her instead. “That’s what changed.”

“Dartmouth.” Chloe feigns a shiver. “It’s going to be cold.”

“Really?” I gasp. “Damn.”

People keep saying that as if I’m unaware I’ll see snow in New Hampshire.

“If you got into Dartmouth, you can get into Tulane,” Becks points out. “Come on.”

“Hmm…” I think, weighing the pros and cons in each hand. “Within driving distance to New York City, Boston, and Philadelphia, or more bugs the size of my fist and a hundred-degree humidity. Tough decision.”

Becks smiles, continuing to eat her carrot. I can always visit New Orleans. I’ve made my choice.

“I booked a limo for prom.” Chloe elbows my arm. “My treat.”

I glance at her, remembering. Prom. “Right.” I hesitate, searching for words. “I mean, in case we don’t have dates?”

In case I’m not going with Clay, and I know I’m not, because Macon is right, but it would be perfect to go with her. We still have a month. A lot can happen in a month.

“Absolutely,” she says. “You should wear purple.”

“I don’t…wear purple.”

“Red, then? With your black hair, it would look niiiiiiice.”

“Black,” I state.

But then she eyes me, her pink lips wet from licking the hummus off her cracker. “With red underneath?”

Her tone is soft and tantalizing, and awareness makes the hair on my arms rise. She’s flirting.

“Maybe.”

Chloe is pretty and she wouldn’t hide me. She would be easier.

I look over my shoulder, seeing Clay surrounded by her friends at a table, hovering over an assignment she’s trying to finish before class. Her eyes lift to mine, as if she already knew exactly where to find me, and all I can see anymore is her wet and on top of me in the shower. The perfect girl with her perfect hair, and her little secret.

Chloe would be much easier. But even if I’d met her before I started with Clay, I still wouldn’t have been able to resist Clay as soon as I saw her. As soon as she spoke, I would’ve craved nothing more than to make her only see me.

“I love this bracelet.” Chloe touches the metal symbol on my leather band. “An hourglass.”

I pull my arm away. “Yeah, it’s kind of a family thing.” I stand up, grabbing my materials and garbage. “I gotta go,” I tell her.

But as I drop everything into the trash bin, Chloe touches my arm, stopping me. I turn, seeing her standing in front of me. “Do you have a girlfriend?” she asks.

Huh?

Jesus. Almost four years at this school, and now people want to make me feel liked and accepted?

“Sorry, I asked Ms. Martelle,” she says, “so I didn’t embarrass myself before I asked you out, and she said she didn’t think so. Will you go out with me sometime?”

I flash my eyes to Clay, seeing her watch us. The look in her eyes, like she’s not breathing, owns me. She owns me.

It takes a moment, but I meet Chloe’s gaze again. “I have a girlfriend,” I tell her gently.

I belong to someone.

“But you’re not going to prom with her?”

I fight not to look in Clay’s direction again. “Maybe.” I hope. “I’m sorry. It’s…”

“Complicated,” she finishes for me. “It’s okay. I think I knew. I mean, how could you not be taken, right?”

Yeah, right.

“See you this weekend,” I tell her.

I leave, heading to my locker and feeling a little badly. If Clay weren’t in play, I would’ve accepted. How nice would it be to have someone any time I want?

I stop at my locker and look down the hall, seeing Mark Calderon leaning into Sophia Herrera, the whispers between them and everything in his body language telling me they’re getting it on.

How nice would it be to be as close to Clay as I want, any time I want, and wherever I want like them?

I could have that with someone like Chloe or Megan. I can have that when I leave for college.

But I really like my crazy-as-fuck Barbie doll with a mouth that pisses me off one minute, and arms that hold me so tightly that I don’t care if I can breathe the next.

I open my locker, a paper dropping onto the floor from inside.

Bending down, I pick it up and unfold the half-sheet.

Fear grips me. It’s probably a hate letter. A threat. It wouldn’t be the first time.

I almost crumple it up, but I see the words and start reading.

It never looks like me, the person in the mirror, the black script reads.

She looks like everyone else.

I look around, not seeing anyone else in the hall, except for a few loiterers down by the doors to the lunch room.