CADEN

Trouble.

That's what she'd be for me, and that's exactly what I've been telling myself for the past three days.

I don't know what it is, and I fucking hate that I don't know what it is. There's just an intrigue that I haven't felt for a while.

It might just be the fact that I didn't fuck her, didn't get that instant attraction out of my system. Whatever it is, it's best I don't lean into it. It'll pass in its own time.

"Right, men!" Coach Davis addresses us on Tuesday like fucking soldiers standing to attention. "That's us finished for today. I want everybody on form, back here at 11am sharp tomorrow."

"Yes, Coach." Everybody mumbles in unison, probably fucking destroyed after that practice sent right from the pits of hell.

It's been three days since the party, and I honestly don't even think Isaac has fully recovered. No idea what he did over the summer, but his alcohol tolerance definitely hasn't gotten any better.

"The next game is an away game, right?" Miles confirms with me. I nod in response, pulling out my gum shield.

"Phoenix, yeah." I say, tipping back some water.

"When?" He urges.

"Do I look like a fucking diary? Some weekend in early November." I snap, yanking my gloves off with an amount of aggression. Miles crosses his arms, eyebrows shooting up.

"What's got you all damn angry?" He asks with an intrigued glare.

"He's always fucking angry," Isaac chuckles, pulling on his sneakers.

"What Isaac said," I gesture to him, shoving my guarded-skates into my duffle along.

"Right, well. I'm fucking starving. Can we pick some food up on the way back to the house?" Miles abruptly changes the subject, and I must admit, food does sound really good right now.

"Alright," I shrug, swinging the bag over my shoulder as we leave.

We head across campus, making the turn onto Main Street, probably the best place to eat in this area of LA. Owen slacks along next to me, who hasn't said a fucking word all morning. Miles and Isaac walk ahead.

"So," I say, breaking his silence. "Saw you were talking to the icy red-head on Saturday. How'd that go?"

"It was an experience, to say the very fucking least. Somehow ended up talking about feminism for half the night. Don't remember much else." He shrugs.

"Probably best I don't remind you that you went in for a kiss with her, then," I laugh.

"Did I? Fucking hell," he groans. "Surprised I made it out in one piece. What about you, anyway? Swear I saw you fucking around with her friend."

"'Fucking around' is an overstatement. I just spoke with her for a bit." I brush off. Brush off the thoughts of those long legs, those golden eyes.

"When did you become such a goddamn bore? Don't think I've known you to have a civilised conversation without it ending between a woman's legs in a long time." He snickers.

I go to snap out a reply, but Miles and Isaac have come to a stop outside a diner.

"This place is good, Hana brought me here the other week. Dirt cheap, too." Miles suggests, rolling his shoulders. I look up, reading the sign.

'Astro Diner'

"I honestly don't care, just need to eat as soon as possible," I shrug, Miles taking the lead and pushing open the door.

A bell jingles, and an absolutely tiny lady with greying hair scurries over to greet us.

"Well I'll be damned, I'd better get chef to pick up his game if the hockey fella's are in here." She chuckles, gesturing to the sticks Miles is carrying.

"I was in here the other day with my girlfriend, and you had these insane bagels. Are they on today?" Miles asks, licking his lips like a fucking dog.

"Ah-a! I thought I recognised you. You were here with Hana. Well, buddy, you're in luck." She beams, gesturing somewhere around the corner with a thumb over her shoulder. "Far left booth by the window."

I've got no fucking idea what she's on about, but I go with it, the three of us walking behind Miles as he turns the corner. I look to the far left, and Hana is sat on one side of the booth with the icy-redhead.

She glances up and spots Miles, jumping from the seat. "Babe! Hey!" She exclaims, striding over. "I didn't know you'd be here."

"Wasn't meant to be, but was craving one of those bagels after practice." The sandy-blonde replies. As conventionally 'adorable' as their relationship might be, I find it fucking ridiculous.

"Well, we were just about to order brunch. Might be a tight squeeze, but we can always pull up a chair." Hana beams. Jesus Christ, I don't think I've ever seen this girl not smile. It's like it's sewn onto her mouth.

Miles looks to us, gesturing for us to follow as his girlfriend drags him to the corner, squeezing him onto the end of the bench and laying the sticks at the side.

I throw my duffle at the edge of the table, rounding to get onto my side of the booth.

And I could've guessed it.

Lennie St. James is sat opposite her friends, staring at me with a slightly gaping mouth. I don't really know what to do, so I flatten my lips into a small smile before sitting down next to her at a respectful distance.

Until Owen's fat ass shoves onto the end, pressing me right up against her side.

"Fucking hell- sorry." I bite out, elbowing Owen in the ribs as Isaac pulls up a chair to the end of the table.

Lennie lets out a breath, shifting her legs to point away from my own. "It's fine."

I'm overly aware of her presence. I'm close enough to see she's wearing navy shorts, a matching sports bra with VHU Volleyball imprinted on it in white. Must have just got out of practice.

And yet, she doesn't seem to be in a good mood at all. She's barely even fucking looking at me, making a point of playing with the corner of the menu. I thought we'd gotten along pretty well, but apparently not.

I watch as she helplessly attempts to make eye contact with Hana or Quinn, but they're both so immersed in whatever shit Miles is talking about, they don't even notice.

Did I do something wrong the other night? I was pretty fucking drunk, but I don't remember anything being off.

She leans forward to take a sip of her drink, some insane monstrosity of a milkshake.

"Well," I clear my throat, reaching for one of the laminated menus lying on the table. "What's good here?"

Her peripheral flicks to me as she leans back into the bench. "The brunch bagels are good," she shrugs.

"Guess my choice is made," I say, turning towards her a little and gesturing to her top. My eyes wander a little further down than I'd hoped. "Been at practice?"

My attention drags to her hands, fingers
drumming on her knees in a repetitive
movement. Left leg jittering slightly.

Is she nervous or something? I don't think I've given her anything to be particularly nervous about.

"Yeah, I came straight here afterwards." She replies with a sigh, tilting her chin in the opposite direction to me. Definitely something up.

"So, what's the matter with you?" I deadpan, probably not in the best way.

She whirls to face me, button nose scrunching up in a way that makes her freckles mix together. "Excuse me?" She gawks.

"You seem to be in a mood, and I'm asking if you're alright?" I quirk an eyebrow. She scoffs, shaking her head. "Yes," she breathes after a second. "I'm fine."

"Sure you are. That's why you're sitting as far as humanely possible away from me." I gesture to the distance she's futilely attempted to create between us.

"Oh, my bad," she says, pouting her bottom lip out and taking a sip from the straw. "I'll sit on your lap next time."

"Be my guest," I shoot her a grin, that isn't received all too well by the looks of things. Her mouth flattens into a thin line.

"You're a predictable one, aren't you?" She says, and for some reason, it's got the same effect as being smacked across the face.

"Sorry?" I laugh. "Is that supposed to be an insult?"

"No, no. Not an insult. It's a fact, Whitlock." She rolls her shoulders, punctuating the 'ck' on the end of my name with a click in her mouth.

"Look," I say, lowering my voice and checking the others aren't listening. "Did I do something the Saturday night? Is that why you're all fucking moody?"

"You didn't do anything, Caden, thankfully. But, please enlighten me," she drawls, leaning forward to close some distance, surprisingly. "Was I just meant to be one of the forty girls you'll fuck this year?"

The question catches me off guard, sending my head reeling. I don't know if it's the boldness, or the fact she knows the fucking statistics of last year's body count.

"Oh, St. James," I chuckle under my breath, drawing out her name and watching her eyes flicker in annoyance. "You really think I'd fuck a sophomore?"

I would.

Her jaw clenches, eyebrows pinch together. "You really think I would have said yes if you'd tried?" She whispers.

I'm starting to get the impression that this fucking weird attraction to her is completely one sided. But, I'm enjoying this. Watching her get all riled up. Even if I don't mean a word of what I'm saying, it's entertaining.

"You want the truth, St. James?" I say with a quirked eyebrow. "If you've got the capability to be fucking obsessed with Redwood, who clearly doesn't give a shit about you, I absolutely think you would've said yes."

She grins. Not a warm grin like the one that suits her face. A real, hard lined, bad intentions grin.

"It's just as well I said yes to him when I got home, that night. My apology to him, after drenching him in vodka-cran." She breathes.

What the fuck?

A ridiculous sensation rips through me, burning like a bitch. She fucked Rowan Redwood? Redwood had his hands all over her?

"Bet that was a hell of a whole thirty seconds for you, St. James." I bite out a chuckle.

"I'll spare you the details," she grins. "After all, wouldn't want you hearing about a sophomores sex life, would we? God forbid."

Did somebody pick up the girl I was talking with on Saturday and replace her? The things coming out of her mouth, I have to do a double take. Innocent. She looks completely innocent, but clearly looks are deceiving.

"Yeah, God fucking forbid—"

"Are we ready to order, folks?"

The chirrupy sound of the waitresses voice snaps us out of whatever the fuck was just happening. I notice that Quinn has been staring at us with clear intrigue, chin resting on her linked fingers.

"I'm actually all good with just the milkshake, Mary. Heading out, " Lennie says, whipping out ten dollars and placing them on the table.

Owen and I have to awkwardly slide across the bench to let her out. She stands, lifting her chin to meet my gaze.

"But yeah, the brunch bagels are good." She smirks, fucking slapping my arm like a farmer in dismissal before wandering away across the checkerboard floors.

She must be the only woman who's had the nerve to dismiss me with a slap on the wrist.

I watch her leave until the bell jingles above the door, then I turn to the waitress. "One of those bagels she was yapping about, please."

—

The redhead opposite hasn't stopped staring at me, and it's making me feel fucking weird.

"So," I say, finishing off the food and returning her glare. "St. James and Redwood, hm?"

It might be a shit attempt at finding out the details without making it blatantly obvious as to why I want to know them, but worth a shot.

"God, yeah," she flashes a grin. "You should've heard it. I barely got any sleep, they must've been shagging all night."

"Sounds like Redwood's not as limp-dicked as he seems, then." I roll my shoulders, and Quinn lets out a deep chuckle.

"Clearly not," she says. "Heard you guys might be hosting a party after the Halloween gig."

Gig?

"Gig?" I repeat, taking a swig of water. "Don't know anything about a gig."

"Surprised your loved-up mate Miles over there hasn't mentioned it," she snickers. "Riva on Halloween. We're playing."

Translates to Lennie St. James is playing. See if she's actually just all mouth about fucking Redwood.

"Oh," I grin. "Well, I'll definitely be there."