Chapter 1 1

CHLOE pov

There he is, propped against the bar like he owns the place Mason Hayes, absurdly tall, beer bottle hanging loose from his fingers, wearing that smug expression he seems to have been born with. The varsity jacket, the messy dark hair, the whole "campus hockey god" package. I've disliked this guy since we were kids nine years old, if you want an exact number and somewhere along the way that dislike calcified into something closer to genuine contempt. These days just seeing his face is enough to set my teeth on edge.

At the moment he's doing what he does best: charming some poor bartender into giggling fits with nothing more than a lazy half-smile. It's working, obviously. It always does.

I hate that.

I can feel my face twisting into a scowl every single time he wanders into view though if I'm being truthful with myself, I'm the one whose eyes keep drifting toward him in the first place. I still haven't figured out how the universe thought it was a good idea to put us in the same city, let alone the same school.

"Chloe. Hello?"

Kelly waves a hand in front of my face, pulling me out of whatever spiral I'd fallen into. She's been my person since our very first day on campus.

"You're staring again."

"Glaring," I correct. "Not the same thing at all."

That gets a laugh out of Sam, who nearly spits out his drink.

"It's literally your birthday," he points out. "Don't let that man ruin it for you."

Easy for him to say he's not the one who has to look at Mason's stupid face all night.

"Out of every single night this year, they pick tonight to celebrate their win." I glare across the room again, unable to help myself. "There are, what, a hundred other bars in this city? And somehow the team ends up here at the exact place I booked weeks ago."

I don't buy the coincidence for a second. Knowing Mason, he probably found out about my plans and decided crashing my birthday would be a great joke.

Because tormenting me seems to be the entire point of his existence. And from the look on his face right now, he thinks tonight's going great.

"New topic," Kelly announces, raising her glass. The three of us have had just enough to drink that my irritation's gone slightly fuzzy around the edges.

"Speaking of," Sam says, "where's Austin? And Cole, for that matter?"

"Cake run," I tell him, glancing at the silver watch circling my wrist Austin's gift from our second anniversary. Even mid-conversation, thinking about him makes me smile a little.

Austin's nothing like Mason. Sure, he plays goalie for Silverlake , but hockey isn't the sum total of who he is. He doesn't need an audience. He's not out here flirting with anything with a pulse. If you asked people on campus, most would tell you I'm basically the center of his world and honestly, they'd be right. He remembers things I mention once in passing. He's never missed an anniversary. He always knows what to say when I'm in a mood. Word is national scouts have started showing up just to watch him play, on top of everything else including the fact that his father just got reelected mayor.

"They're taking forever," Sam mutters, checking his phone again.

"Traffic, probably," I say, not sounding convinced even to my own ears.

"Happy birthday, Trouble."

My whole body locks up. I don't even need to turn around to know who that is.

Mason, obviously hand shoved in his jeans pocket, beer in the other, wearing that grin like it's a permanent fixture. That nickname. I've hated it for years and he refuses to stop using it.

"Took you long enough to come bother me," I say.

"Couldn't let my favorite enemy's birthday go unmarked."

"You don't have a favorite enemy."

"We both know that's not true, Trouble."

I roll my eyes so hard it's basically a full-body motion at this point.

"No sidekick tonight?" I ask, sugar-sweet. "Where'd your little shadow run off to?"

"You mean your own brother?" he counters, eyebrow raised.

Right small detail my older brother happens to be Mason's best friend, and also plays on the same team as him and Austin. Small world. Annoying world.

I've had enough of this conversation before it even started. I grab my purse, throw the strap over my shoulder, and turn my back on him to face Kelly and Sam instead.

"I'm going to go call Austin."

"Tell him to hurry I want cake," Kelly says.

"I'll drag him here myself if I have to."

I don't look at Mason again on my way out, cutting through the crowd toward the exit. Outside, the night air is cool and quiet compared to the noise inside. I dial Austin's number.

Nothing. I try again this time it goes straight to voicemail.

Strange. He never misses my calls. Scanning the parking lot, I spot his car under one of the streetlights, and something in my chest loosens. For a second I'd worried something had actually happened to him. But no this is Austin we're talking about. Trouble doesn't find him.

I almost laugh at myself. They probably already went back inside and just didn't notice their phones.

I head toward the car anyway and then stop cold, my breath snagging in my throat.

Surely I'm seeing this wrong. But the windshield's clear enough that there's no mistaking what's happening inside. Austin's in the driver's seat. Someone's on his lap, facing him, his hands tangled in her hair while they kiss and it's not subtle. It's not something I can talk myself out of.

She shifts slightly, and the streetlight catches the pink fabric of her dress. My stomach drops before my brain even catches up. I know that dress. I helped pick it out this afternoon, actually, when Cole stood in my room asking what to wear to my own party.

I'd told her pink was the right call.

Now she's wearing it, straddling my boyfriend, in his car, on my birthday.

My best friend. Practically a sister. My fourth roommate.

Kissing the man I've been with for two years.

What. The actual. Hell.