Keep telling yourself that.
“What are you doing here?”
“Using the bathroom.” I throw my finger over my shoulder to point at the closed door. “Callie showed it to me once, and it was crowded downstairs.”
His eyes narrow, assessing me. “And you just decided to stay and listen to my conversation?”
“I wasn’t listening in on anything.” I cross my arms over my chest, tilting my chin up. There is no way I’m letting him pin this on me. If he wanted to keep this conversation secret, he should have gone to his room. Asshole. “I was surprised to find you here since I wasn’t expecting anybody.”
“Well, it is my house.”
“I know that very well.” It’s hard to forget it when people are chanting his name like he found the cure for cancer.
“And yet you still decided to come here.” He tilts his head to the side as if thinking. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me?”
I grit my teeth. “It wasn’t exactly my choice, okay?”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, really. If you forgot, our best friends are in a relationship.” I glare at him pointedly. “Not like you know anything about that, now do you?”
I’m so pissed, and I don’t even know why. I shouldn’t care one bit if Nixon is or isn’t dating some poor soul and fucking everything that has a vagina behind her back, but I can’t seem to get it out of my mind.
I love you too.
What kind of a woman would get those words out of mighty Nixon Cole? Does it even matter? Because, quite clearly, they’re just plain words. And those mean jack shit if not backed up by actions.
“And you do?” Nixon shakes his head, chuckling as he walks closer. So close that I notice that his jersey is clinging to his broad shoulders, and his hair is still damp and disheveled. From his own fingers, or did some groupie run them over his golden-brown strands? “Tell me, Yasmin, is it just players you’re not interested in, or does that extend to coaches too?”
What the hell?
I step back, my body colliding with the wall.
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh please, don’t play innocent.” Nixon laughs, but the sound lacks humor. “I saw you. For all your talk about how you’re not interested in athletes, you don’t seem to have a problem sleeping with Coach. Is that what does it for you? Old guys like him?”
I react before I can think of it, my hand shooting forward and slapping him across the face.
His head jerks to the side from the impact, a splotch of red covering his cheek.
Nixon licks his lip and slowly turns back to look at me. His light eyes, stormy and hard as stone, pin me in place. A red print colors his cheek; it’s so bright I can see it even in the dim light of the hallway.
My hand stings from the impact. I clench my fingers a few times, working through the pain. My heart is racing from the adrenaline, my breathing hard.
“You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” I hiss quietly.
“Don’t I? Because I think I have a very clear idea of what is really going on here.”
“Like hell you do.” Then something else hits me. “Did you tell somebody?” I shove at his chest, panic slowly finding its way out of me. “Did you?”
“So eager to protect your lover?” Nixon lifts his brows mockingly, his lip tilting in a sneer. He takes me in from head to toe, disgust evident in his gaze.
My body shudders under his excruciating gaze. Dirty. That’s how he makes me feel. Dirty and worthless. Like I did something wrong, although just the idea…
I shake my head, trying to clear it because otherwise, the chances are I’m going to puke.
“You better keep your mouth shut, Cole,” I warn him.
“Or else?” He chuckles humorlessly. “You’ll sleep with the dean to make him forget about your little affair?”
“I’m not sleeping with anybody,” I defend. I can’t tell him the truth, but I don’t have to take his accusations either.
Not that I owe him any explanation at all.
“Didn’t look like that from my point of view.”
It’s like he’s enjoying it, taunting me, playing with my feelings, and having this secret to hold over my head.
I shake my head, done with this. Done with him.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
I try to step around him, but he gets in my way.
“Don’t worry, honey.” He smirks, and I want to slap him so badly just so I can wipe that smug smile off his face. “I didn’t say anything to anybody. Your dirty little secret is safe with me.”
His words sting, but I press my mouth in a tight line, refusing to give in to his jab.
“If I were you I wouldn’t get too comfy. Shit like that has a way of coming out when you least expect it.”
My whole body stills. “Is that a threat?”
“Just a reminder.”
I pull my hand out of his grip. “Well, you keep your reminders and your tongue to yourself, and we should be fine.”
With that, I leave, not once turning back.
Chapter Seven
YASMIN
“Here you go,” I say with a polite smile as I slide the drinks over the counter. “Two hot white chocolates with extra whip cream.”
The girls thank me and hand me the cash before leaving.
I wipe my hand on the towel next to me and tighten my ponytail, puffing a runaway strand out of the way.
“It’s really quiet tonight,” Monica comments when she comes out of her office at the back.
“It’s Thursday.” I shrug. It’s ten PM, and I have another hour on this shift before closing.
“I guess that explains it. You kids like to start partying early every chance you get.” Monica starts to chuckle, but instead, a yawn escapes her.
“You should go home, and I’ll close the shop,” I say, noticing, not even for the first time, how tired she looks. The bags under her eyes have grown bigger with each passing day.
Monica stifles another yawn. “Are you sure? I hate leaving you like that.”
“Positive. It’s quiet, and there isn’t much to do anyway.”
She reluctantly looks around the shop before nodding. “Well, if you’re sure.”
I shove her away lightly. “Go. I can take care of it.”
“Fine, fine.”
True to my prediction, the next hour drags slowly. Apart from a girl sitting in the corner—who’s been here for hours, mind you—with her headphones on, typing something furiously on her laptop as she throws down cups of coffee like tequila shots, and an older guy sitting on the high table, nobody new came.
I grabbed my own notebook and started working on my homework. Maybe if I begin early, I’ll go to bed at a decent hour.
Ten minutes before closing, my phone beeps with a message.
Callie: Come to Moore’s.
Me: Working.
Callie: You’re closing in a few minutes.
I roll my eyes. Of course, she knows when Cup It Up closes, I’d bet that girl would live here if it were possible.
Me: And then I have homework to finish.