Chapter 2 Champagne girl

Mia’s POV

I knew my life was over the second Sophie came hopping on my bed at seven in the morning screaming like she’d won the lottery.

“You’re famous!”

Someone had recorded me throwing a drink in Ethan’s face and posted it online.

The video had dramatic slow motion edits.

Of course it did.

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

Five hundred and twelve thousand views in eight hours.

“Holy shit, it’s at half a million.” Sophie squealed from her spot on my bed, where she’d planted herself with her phone like she lived there now.

“Listen to this one,” she said.

‘She’s my hero!’

SHE’S AN ICON.

Ethan Cross finally met his match.

Girl definitely did that for attention.

She’s probably trying to get famous.

Nah because why is he kinda hotter covered in champagne???

Protect this waitress at all costs.

Gold digger behavior.

Team Champagne Girl forever.

“Oh my God,” I repeated.

“I know.” Sophie practically vibrated. “You’re viral.”

“Can you not?” I groaned, pulling my pillow over my face.

Jess leaned against the doorway drinking orange juice straight from the carton. “Honestly? Humiliating a rich hockey player in public is the most interesting thing anyone in this apartment has ever done.”

“I’m going to campus,” I announced, rolling out of bed. “Maybe if I pretend this isn’t happening, it’ll go away.”

Sophie snorted. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

I threw on my usual outfit. Faded black jeans. An oversized Berkeley hoodie I’d found at Goodwill. My beat-up Converse that had seen better days circa 2019. My dark hair went into a messy bun because I had an 8 AM class and exactly zero minutes to care about anything else.

“You can’t go out looking like that.” Sophie protested. “You’re famous now.”

“I’m not famous.”

I closed the door behind me.

Campus was a nightmare.

The second I stepped out of the humanities building, someone yelled, “YO, CHAMPAGNE GIRL!”

I kept my head down and walked faster.

“Is that her?”

“Holy shit, it is.”

“Get a picture.”

I tightened my grip on my backpack straps and kept moving.

My hoodie and sunglasses did most of the work. For forty-five minutes in Professor Williams’ probability lecture, I could almost pretend my life hadn’t become a circus.

Then class ended and I had to find Derek.

Derek was a sophomore, starting point guard, and academically, a slow-motion disaster. He was failing Statistics. That was a problem because Whitmore needed him on the court, and Professor Lang needed him to show up to tutoring sessions I’d been running for two months.

“Derek.” I caught him trying to slip out the side door. “Tonight. Eight o’clock. We still on?”

He winced. Never a good sign.

“About that.”

“Derek.”

“I’m not canceling. I’m rescheduling.”

“Tonight is literally the only free time I have this week.”

“I already made other plans.”

I stopped walking. “Professor Lang only agreed to the midterm retake because you promised to attend every session.”

“I know, but.”

“If I tell him you skipped, you fail the class.”

He ran a hand over his head. “Okay so. The thing is.” He paused. “My parents are out of town and I’m kind of throwing a party tonight.”

“A party.”

“A small gathering.”

“Derek.”

“Okay, fine. A rager. But you could come. We could do the session there. My dad’s office is quiet.”

I stared at him. “You want me to tutor you at a party.”

“You could also just come and have fun. Wild concept, I know.”

“I don’t do parties.”

He shrugged. “Then I guess I’ll have to tell Professor Williams you didn’t show for our scheduled session.”

My jaw dropped. “Are you seriously blackmailing me right now?”

Another shrug. “Sometimes you gotta play dirty, Champagne Girl.”

I was going to kill him. 

“Fine. Text me the address.” I exhaled. “And be sober when I get there.”

He grinned and walked away.

Sophie, who had been shamelessly eavesdropping two feet behind me, grabbed my arm the second he was gone. “We’re going to a basketball party.”

“We’re not going anywhere. I’m going. To tutor. That’s it.”

“Mia. When was the last time you went to a party that wasn’t serving champagne to rich people who hate you?”

I thought about it.

Nothing came up.

“This is happening,” Sophie declared. “Jess is going to lose her mind.”

Jess lost her mind.

“A JOCK PARTY?” She was already tearing through my closet before I could protest. “This is the best day of my entire life.”

“It’s a tutoring session that happens to be located at a party.”

“Shut up and put this on.” She threw something black and tiny at my face.

An hour of arguing later, I was standing in Sophie’s black mini skirt, a cropped white tank top that showed more stomach than I had ever willingly shown anyone, and my one pair of heeled boots without visible scuff marks.

Jess did my hair. Sophie did my makeup.

When I finally looked in the mirror, I didn’t recognize myself.

My hair fell in dark waves down my back. My eyes looked bigger with eyeliner. The skirt made my legs look longer than they had any right to be.

I looked…

Pretty.

I hated it immediately.

Derek’s house was exactly what you’d expect from a basketball player with absent parents and a generous allowance. Modern, massive, and currently vibrating with bass I could feel in my back teeth.

The front door was wide open. People spilled onto the lawn with red cups and the specific energy of people making decisions they’d regret by Sunday.

I found Derek in the kitchen doing body shots off a cheerleader.

“CHAMPAGNE GIRL!” He spotted me across the room. “You came. Damn.”

His eyes did a full sweep.

I felt my face go warm.

“Time to study,” I said.

“Five minutes.”

“Derek.”

“Fifteen. Tops. Grab a drink and chill.” He disappeared into the crowd before I could finish my sentence.

Great.

I stood there in the middle of a party I hadn’t wanted to attend, in clothes I hadn’t wanted to wear, waiting for a student who clearly had no intention of studying tonight.

People stared. A few tried to take selfies with me without asking.

I spotted Derek twice over the next hour. The first time he waved from across the room and pointed at his watch in a way that meant later. The second time he physically turned his back when he saw me coming.

By the third time, I stopped looking.

Two hours in, I was done.

“Screw this,” I muttered, heading for the door. Professor Lang could fail him for all I cared.

I turned toward the exit.

That’s when I saw him.

Ethan Cross stood near the staircase, laughing at something one of his teammates said. 

My stomach did something I chose not to examine.

Shit.

He was wearing a grey t-shirt and black jeans. 

Was there anything he didn’t look good in?

His head turned.

Our eyes met.

Shit.

I spun around so fast I went dizzy.

Absolutely not.

I started moving in the opposite direction immediately.

And walked directly into a very solid chest.

“Easy,” a familiar voice said.

Tyler Morrison.

Great. Just great.

Tyler had been my lab partner last semester. He’d asked me out seventeen times. I’d said no seventeen times. He still hasn’t taken a hint. 

“Tyler, hi.” I tried to pull my arm free. His grip tightened.

“I’ve been texting you,” he said, swaying slightly. “You never answer.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Too busy for me but not too busy to throw yourself at hockey players?”

“Excuse me?”

“Saw your little video.” His other hand found my waist, fingers pressing in too hard. “Trying to get his attention?”

“Let go of my arm, Tyler.”

“We’re just talking.” His grip didn’t loosen. “Don’t be such a…”

A warm arm dropped around my shoulders from behind.

“There you are, babe.” Ethan’s voice came from somewhere above my head. “Been looking everywhere for you.”

I went completely still.

What.

Tyler’s bloodshot eyes moved between us. “And you are?”

Ethan pulled me back against his chest. His arm tightened.

“Ethan Cross,” he said. “Mia’s boyfriend.”